Short recap of my life story.
Lived in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath house with nine other people. My father was a rageaholic and an alcoholic who sexually abused me,verbally abused my brother, Scott, beat my grandmother, and forced my step-mother Elaine to have daily sex with him. She was pregnant 7 times in as many years and gave birth to four boys and one girl in that time span. My father rarely worked. My step-mother attempted to support our family on a weekly salary of $90.00, her wage for managing a boutique department store.
A straight A student, I played the violin and was a junior high cheerleader. Entering puberty, I I started drinking, smoking and having all but full-blown sex with Micky Stilson. Quit orchestra, snuck out at night, spent evenings at the skating rink where I could flirt with older boys, and smoked in public. Somehow maintained my grades, while my already low self-esteem plummeted. Mick was the classic bad boy. Cheated on me, ran away from home, dropped out of school, stole his dad’s car, even got into an altercation with a police officer.
Seeing the writing on the wall, I asked my mother, who abandoned me when I was a year old, if I could come to Memphis and live with her and my step-father, Bill. She consented. I contacted a lawyer my mother knew. He took me before the judge, who, because I was 16 and “of age” according to Indiana law, was able to end my father’s custody and free me to go south to live with “Mommy Dearest.”
More abuse, physical and emotional. A mother who served me alcohol on daily basis, took me out drinking with her, allowed me to smoke at home and at school. What more could a girl ask for? Mommy and Bill moved to Florida when I was 18. I stayed in Memphis. I has attended the University of Tennessee in Knoxville for two quarters and dropped out due to a nervous breakdown. Probably attributable to the alcohol and drugs I took during that time.
Once back in Memphis, I found work at what was then St Joseph hospital as an insurance clerk. I filed claims for patients. When my parents moved I found an apartment with an across the hall student whom I befriended while at UT.
By now my bulimia was in full bloom. I had used laxatives for years to control my weight. I ate compulsively until I made myself sick and then did everything but throw up to eliminate the evidence of my over consumption. My digestive system became dependent on the pills I took and the enemas I self-administered.
Began attending St John’s United Methodist Church, found God and moved back to Indiana to “save” my family from damnation. Instead I introduced my already screwed up brother to a gang of thugs and drug pushers with whom I spent most of my time after I gave up my evangelical work.
My soon to be husband, Jeff, rescued me from the den of inequity, brought me back to Memphis and, foolishly, married me. It is a miracle we did not kill one another. After 7 years, an affair and an abortion, he divorced me. I went back to school to finish my college degree. Again, I excelled, majoring in both French and Psychology. Met my next husband, Jackie, and moved in with him in less than a week’s time. I graduated, but turned down an opportunity to go to grad school in Psychology and a teaching job in France to stay home and have children. I worked as a paralegal at a local law firm.
Prior to my law career, I worked at Squash Blossom, a natural food store in Memphis, for Jimmy Lewis who, unbeknownst to me would be my third and final husband. He eventually hired me away from the law firm, offering more money and an opportunity to be a leader. I hated working for the attorneys, most of whom were arrogant, crude and misogynistic.
Jimmy and I were both married. He and I both had daughters. I filed for divorce, but continued to live with Jackie because I did not have the resources to move out. Jimmy and I went on a business trip to Atlanta, a natural foods convention, shared and room and ended up having an affair, falling more deeply in love and…..Jimmy’s wife found out. We came home, arranged to live together in a duplex we rented for a year. Big mistake. We lasted 3 months. I got pregnant by my not yet ex-husband and Jimmy moved in with his parents. He eventually got a divorce from his then wife, but lost custody of his daughter Alyana, from whom he is still estranged. A few years later, Jimmy remarried. He rehired me. We tired to work together, but could not keep our hands off of one another. I was banned from shopping at Squash Blossom.
Doomed to living with a wonderful man whom I did not love or trust, crazy as hell, depressed, suicidal and unable to care adequately for my two children, I reached out in desperation to a friend, Lou Hoyt, who became my first yoga teacher. Through her I contacted Felicty Green, a 6 foot tall South African Yoga teacher who at the time lived in Seattle. I went and spent a week with her. She became my Baba Yaga.
Baba Yaga is a witch (or one of a trio of sisters of the same name) in Slavic folklore, who appears as a deformed and/or ferocious-looking elderly woman. She flies around in a mortar and wields a pestle. She dwells deep in the forest, in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs, with a fence decorated with human skulls. Baba Yaga may help or hinder those that encounter or seek her out, and may play a maternal role. (Wikipedia)
I went back and lived with her for three more months. Yoga became my life line. Over the span of 29 years, I have studied, practiced, trained as a teacher, opened and operated a successful studio, and trained over 100 others to be teachers. But most importantly yoga gave me the tools I needed to be a great parent. Yoga saved my life.
Jimmy and I married in 1999. We are friends, lovers, partners and more. My children, Katie and Jordan, are both grown and living with their partners here in Memphis. I am so proud of them. Every time I hug them, when I tell them how much I love them, I am reminded of what a gift my life is, and I am grateful to be who I am today. What was once impossible becomes possible over time through the practice of yoga.
Putting it into words, words that convey the meaning of a state of being beyond description, a place to which few chose to travel, but where many arrive they know not how. A wrinkle in time, compressed by pain and stretched by courage. The overlap of what once was and what would never be again, a salient point – the absolute knowledge that nothing, nothing will ever be as it had been, not good or bad, right or wrong, simply irreversibly different as is, though unnoticed, every moment of every day. No two seconds are the same. Even the vain egoic attempt to take the past and pale it over the future with what one believes to be an indelible imprint is sheer folly. It is absolutely impossible to predict the future let alone control it, cajole it into giving you what you think you want, what you say you must have to survive. What Tomfoolery. However there may be the possibility, in fact I am convinced that there is just that, of living the future now, of taking the bucket list of things you say must happen in order for you to be successful, to be happy, to be inspired….take that list and start checking them off one by one. Do it now. Live as if all your dreams have already come true. If that were the case, how would you feel? Grateful? Gratitude sounds reasonable, does it not? Gratitude is the ultimate state of receivership. Could one’s destiny be directly linked to the amount of time spent practicing gratitude. Destiny is wither a choice or it is fate. Which will it be? I chose the former. Not fighting to change what is, not forcing something from nothing, but standing erect on the ground of this present moment with an eye to a vibrant, adventurous future. I am now living ispired by the shimmer of what is yet to come.
Writing into the Light 