I nailed it. I played out the entire night with my therapist and it felt amazing. I had been ignoring this particular story in my head for quite some time. I felt the deepest kind of shame about the whole ordeal. Shame. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. “Why did this happen to me again? Am I broken? Why am I so stupid? I should’ve seen this coming.” Over and over again I’d blame myself. I shouldn’t have been so drunk. I shouldn’t have gotten into bed with him. The moment I changed my mind and wanted to get out of that room, I should’ve just left. I should’ve picked my clothes off the floor and ran out the door to my room just down the hallway. Why? Why did I stay?
He’s tall, tanned skin, a beard and a great Yoga teacher. He had this ability to make me sweat more than any other Yoga class I had been to. I hardly sweat in my day to day life, so it was exciting feeling sweat drip down my forehead, into my eyes and tasting salt on my lips. This was a foreign feeling to me. His classes got my blood pumping and my body moving in ways I never thought possible. I’d leave there feeling higher and lighter than ever. This is why I love Yoga so much; to feel high without having to use drugs or alcohol.
This is how I found Yoga. I had just gotten over my six month meth binge as a teenager and I was feeling a bit lost and out of touch with reality. I was sexually assaulted when I was 14 and meth helped me cope with the pain. It helped me feel invincible. It completely took over my thoughts and feelings. I never had to think about anything but doing meth. It was better than thinking about being assaulted. In those six months I had lost almost 35lbs and I looked like a fallen angel sent from hell who hadn’t eaten a good meal in a very long time. I had withered away to skin and bone. Finally, about six months after my last line of meth, I had gained a little weight and was looking and feeling much healthier. I was ready to move forward and gain back some sort of power and control over my life.
Now I was sober and ready to connect with my body and self, so Yoga seemed like a good place to start. What I had heard about Yoga at the time was that it helps to connect your mind and body. Perfect, this is exactly what I need. Little did I know that it is impossible to outrun the trauma you’ve experienced. It stays with you, guiding your every move, creating those headaches that last all week and the shortness of breath when you see or smell something that reminds you of it. It’s all around you, always and forever. I wasn’t even aware of this at the time. I just knew that I needed help and I was willing to search everywhere and try anything to get rid of the gnawing in my gut and in my heart.
So I kept running or in my case biking to every Yoga class possible for the next few years. I found a donation based Yoga studio that allowed me to practice Yoga as much as I wanted. I’d leave $5-$20 in the donation box after each Yoga class. My favorite classes were always packed full of people. There would be only about a foot in between my yoga mat and the yoga mats surrounding me. You’d sometimes graze your neighbors hand while reaching your arms up to the sky before bending over in a forward fold or feel someone's sweat spray on your arm after a long Vinyasa flow. The class would start out slow, then slowly build up to fast paced movements where everyone is inhaling and exhaling at the same time while moving our bodies in ways it’s supposed to move. It felt so fucking good practicing Yoga with a room full of others moving and loving ourseleves in unity. Fuck that felt good. As I write this, I ask myself, “Why did I stop going to Yoga? That was my favorite place in the whole world.” Oh yeah… I remember, I’ll get to the why in just a few more paragraphs. I need to process everything before opening up that old wound that hasn’t been cleaned properly but so desperately needs a new bandaid and some serious tender love and care.
After a few years of practicing Yoga, I decided I wanted in. I wanted to be a Yoga teacher. I want to be that Yoga teacher mopping up the puddles of sweat from the class before with a big smile on her face. Her job is to make people sweat, cry and move their bodies. She knows this. She doesn’t wear makeup, a bra or shoes. Her clothes cling to her from all the sweat, outlining her perfectly sculpted body. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail and loose hairs fall down around her face. She has wrinkles on her forehead and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. I like to call them smile lines. She’d look at all her students, old and new, with her friendly smile and kind eyes. They’d feel free to roll out their yoga mats and look forward to the class ahead. So this was my goal. This was my next big move in life. I finally had a sense of direction and a sense of belonging.
I found a 200 hour Yoga teacher training through two teachers that I admired. Classes took place every weekend for a few months. Those two days a week were filled with Yoga, anatomy and touching people's bodies. This was finally a class I wanted to attend. I didn’t miss a single one. Our final test was to teach a Yoga class to our fellow classmates. I was so damn nervous I could hardly keep it together. I was literally trembling the entire time I taught my class. At one point I got a tickle in my throat from all the anxiety and had to step outside for a moment to cough it out. I was totally mortified. At the end of our teaching a Yoga class, our teachers and fellow classmates would give feedback about how we did. I got nothing but positivity thrown my way. I felt so elated and relieved that I wasn’t a complete failure. When our 200 hour Yoga teacher training was over, my teacher even let me sub one of his classes at a real Yoga studio. I again was so nervous, I could hardly keep from trembling the entire class. My ex at the time attended the class and he said I did a great job. I was doing it. I was feeling myself for the first time ever and my confidence was slowly growing into something beautiful.
But there it is again. That gnawing at my insides. That voice that tells me I’m not good enough or that I’m too stupid to ever become succesful. You know that class I mentioned before? The first Yoga class I taught at a real Yoga studio? Yes that one. I was so nervous and truly thought I wasn’t good enough to teach a real Yoga class, so I sat in my car and drank. Yes. I drank about four to five glasses of red wine before I taught that class. I felt so unworthy that I kept taking sips straight out of the bottle until I couldn’t feel my body anymore. Finally I was able to float above myself and watch it happen to someone else. If I mess up, I can just blame the alcohol. You see? This plan was foolproof. I never have to take responsibility for anything that happens to me because it’s not actually truly me that it is happening to. It is this other person who doesn’t care about what anyone else thinks about her. She’s an ass kicking drunk machine, bulldozing through life with not a care in the world. It’s like a hurricane just walked into this sacred room filled with people who are trying to connect with their bodies and deepest selves, and here I am, drunk and not afraid anymore, yet still trembling from all the nerves that are impenetrable. My trauma follows me wherever I go. It walks straight into a Yoga class with me, swashing around in my stomach, creating a pep in my step and a big goofy grin on my face. It’s always fucking there. Slowly alcohol started creeping its way back into my life. Back into my everyday routine.
I needed something more. I hoped and wished for something big to come my way. Then, like a sign sent from above, after our Yoga teacher training had ended, a fellow student had a plan to shoot a Yoga DVD all the way in Bulgaria. He invited all of us Yoga teacher trainees to come and be apart of the series. I jumped at the chance to go on an adventure. I may lack confidence in who I am at times, but my love for travel and exploring has always outweighed my lack of self worth. Traveling has always given me a sense of purpose. I really like to set out on an adventure for an undetermined period of time with no set plans in place. The unknown has always given me that shot of adrenaline I so craved. So I went off on my next big adventure to a foreign land far far away from all my problems. Away from all of my mistakes. Away from all the shit I so desperately needed to face.
I jumped off that plane and ran as fast as I could through the terminal to get my luggage. I was pumped. I wanted to step outside that airport and breathe in whatever air they breathe in Bulgaria. I wanted to smell all the unique foods and smells and hear all the sounds and languages. I could not fucking wait. As soon as my body passed through the airports exit, we were directed to a taxi that would take us to our hotel where we would be staying for the next two weeks. I look out the window and see old buildings and everyone is smoking cigarettes. Our taxi driver whips out a cigarette and lites it while talking on the phone with his other hand. I wanted a cigarette so bad at that moment. I’ve always loved the smell of second-hand smoke. I’d purposely walk close to someone smoking so I could smell the smoke. I’d smoke a cigarette right after an hour and half Yoga class. Yeah, that’s the kind of Yogi I was. We reach our hotel and unload our stuff. I throw my bag into my room not wanting to miss a second of sunlight. I can hear the hotel staff speaking Bulgarian. I love it. They’re probably talking shit about something or someone but it sounds like music to my ears.
The next couple weeks are filled with waking up at 6am every morning, getting shuttled to the set where we are to film the Yoga DVD series, getting hair and make up done, shooting the actual Yoga, then lunch, then more Yoga, then being shuttled back to the hotel for dinner and rest. Our schedules were jam-packed. The sets we shot on were the very same sets used for the 300 movies. They looked like ancient ruins. It was very entertaining walking around the set. There was a lot to do and a lot to see. I hardly had any time to think about anything but practicing Yoga. It was tough though. We shot on sets with really bright lights and cameras everywhere. The lights made it extra hot and I felt really insecure about how I looked on camera. But I made it. We all did. It was such an amazing experience. It combined everything I loved. Yoga, travel and play.
Finally our days of shooting Yoga were coming to an end. I had made plans to spend an additional two weeks traveling to Paris, Germany and the Netherlands before returning home to California. I was feeling fueled by all the Yoga and feeling really connected to the people I had just spent two whole weeks with in a very intimate setting. We all bonded over our shared love of Yoga and the adventure we all took part in. I’d like to circle back to that tall, bearded Yoga teacher I had mentioned early on in this post. Let’s call him Vince. So Vince was on this trip as well. He was shooting his own Yoga DVD series. There were a few things about Vince that turned me off. He had this arrogance about him that annoyed me, yet sparked my curiosity. I also noticed he would only “adjust” and touch the pretty girls in his Yoga classes, which bothered me a little. He seemed overly cocky and had this “cool guy” attitude. Yet, I was intrigued by his demeanor and the fact that he always had beautiful women around him. And I loved attending his Yoga classes back in California. During our time in Bulgaria he made it a point to hit on me. I wasn’t interested, yet his persistent attempts to seduce me sparked my interest. He had plenty of women giving him attention. Why does he want attention from me? In a way it made me feel really special that he wanted me. I kept my distance until one of our last nights together. We had one last celebratory dinner at a local restaurant. We had an entire room reserved for all of us Yogis. The restaurant even put on a show and they danced for us in their traditional garb. You better believe the drinks were flowing. Finally everyone was able to let loose and not worry about getting up early the next morning. The girls wore nice dresses and the guys had their nice shirts and shorts on. We all looked amazing and felt amazing. When I’m feeling good in my skin and eating good food, I want to drink. I want to drink a lot. I wasn’t holding back. I was taking shots, drinking mixed beverages and beer. I didn't have a care in the world. I was surrounded by people I trust, therefore I was free to do whatever I wanted.
Halfway through dinner, Vince makes his way over to my end of the table and grabs a chair and props it next to mine. He’s getting really close and whispering compliments into my ear. This makes me feel special. I can’t help but be taken in by his sweet talk and perfect beard. After a few shots I can see why women think he is attractive. He knows what he wants and he goes out and gets it. Yeah, I’m totally into this. It’s amazing what alcohol can do. With a sober mind I can really hear what I want in my head, but as soon as alcohol enters my system, I'm a totally different person. All of my walls and hang ups get tossed to the wind.
Next thing I know, I’m outside the restaurant pushed up against a brick wall making out with Vince. He has my legs lifted off the ground and wrapped around his body. This is where my stomach starts to ache and I don’t want to continue writing this story. This is when the shame and the guilt start making an appearance and I’m this slutty drunk girl making out with a guy she thinks is an asshole. Even making out with him against the wall, I still don’t feel completely comfortable with him. Yet, I keep going. I have an urge to push him off of me and run back inside with the people I trust, yet I continue on with the kissing. I’m finally able to get a sentence out and let him know I want to go back inside because I’m feeling tired and I think I’ve had too much to drink. He says he’ll get us a cab and he’ll make sure I get back to the hotel safely. Earlier in the night I remember talking to one of my Yoga teachers and he specifically told me to not trust Vince. He noticed we were getting cozy and he felt the need to warn me about him. I brushed it off as him being like a father figure and looking out for one of his cubs. I felt like I was a big girl who could look out for herself. “I got this, I know what I’m doing,” I assured him. He gave me one of those looks your dad gives you when he knows you aren’t okay to be making rational decisions. You know the look.
Vince and I are now in a cab headed back to the hotel. He’s rubbing my legs and trying to kiss me. I keep pulling away and telling him I just want to rest my head on his shoulder. He finally backed down and let me lay my head down. I fell asleep for the remainder of the cab ride. Now I’m drunkenly wobbling down the hallway to Vinces room. Then the next flash I see is we are now getting undressed and we’re both naked. Then we’re kissing and holding each other close and then I’ve had it. I tell him, “Okay, I don’t want to do this. I just want to go back to my room and go to sleep.” I remember starting to put my underwear back on and Vince quickly coming over to me and convincing me to just stay so we could cuddle. “I’ll stay if we just cuddle, okay?” I ask him for reassurance. “Yes, we’ll just cuddle, “ he promises. I was thinking in the short term, because when he reassured me, I felt safe. I thought, “Okay cool, we’re just going to cuddle. I can go to sleep now.” In a perfect world we can trust someone to keep their word. In a perfect world I could have remembered my initial feelings about Vince which were that I wasn’t interested and I didn’t like his attitude. Now I’m in this very vulnerable situation, laying naked with this person I hardly know. Even after all the bullshit I’ve experienced with men in my life, I still felt safe.
I woke up in the middle of the night to someone having sex with me. I felt so disoriented and for a moment I had forgotten where I was and who I was with. I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t move. I thought maybe I was dreaming. So I started to wiggle around and the person who was having sex with me quickly rolled over on their side and pretended to be asleep. I was shocked. I couldn’t even get up and off the bed. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t yell for help. All I could do was just lay there and convince myself that it didn’t happen. I somehow managed to fall back asleep. Next thing I know it’s morning. Vince is laying next to me and smiling, “How’d you sleep?” I look at him confused. All I want to do is get dressed and get out of this rape dungeon. “I’m fine,” I replied. I roll off the bed and slowly gather my things. Vince was in a particularly chipper mood this morning. I’m guessing because he knows what he did was wrong and he wants to make sure to keep everything as light hearted as possible. I slowly made my way to the door and he ran over to me and kissed me on the cheek. I almost vomited right there. I felt so violated and alone, I could hardly stand. I look around the hotel hallway and realize I’m in a foreign country and I have no power here. This hotel is filled with people that look up to Vince and they all saw how drunk and cozied up to him I was the night before. “Who would believe me? Who would care? I got so drunk that I was unable to protect myself, again.”
I know I shouldn’t blame myself, but it happened to me. I stayed in this person's room when I knew I should just walk down the hallway to my room just a few feet away. I could’ve prevented all of this if I had just been sober enough to care. I know I shouldn’t blame myself, I know. I should be able to drink too much and not worry about someone having sex with my passed out body, but that’s not the world we live in unfortunately. I should’ve known this by now. This is not the first time something like this has happened to me but here I am, walking down a dark lonely hallway surrounded by ugly wall paper and closed doors wondering what to do next. Say something? I can’t. I don’t want to start any drama. I don’t want to ruin this amazing trip we all had together. So I cried myself back to sleep that morning in my own bed where I should’ve been all along. I ended up coping with the assault like I did with everything else. I was able to float above myself and watch it happen to someone else. I can just blame the alcohol. You see? My foolproof plan proves itself again. I never have to take responsibility for anything that happens to me or hold anyone else accountable for the things they do to me because it’s not actually truly me that it is happening to. I’m an ass kicking drunk machine, bulldozing through life with not a care in the world. This rape won’t break me. I have drugs and alcohol to help me through this.
I ended up back at Vince's house in Santa Monica when I returned home from the rest of my trip around Europe. I mustered up the courage to confront him about waking up in the middle of the night to him having sex with me. His answer: “You were moving your hips like you wanted to have sex.” For a moment I tried going back to that night and convincing myself that maybe I was moving my hips. Maybe he didn’t mean any harm and it was just one big misunderstanding. But why would he roll over and pretend like he was sleeping? His response was just all around manipulative and unwilling to take responsibility for his actions. I’m sure that’s what he told himself to feel better about what he did. I also play that game with myself when I do something I know is wrong. I make up excuses for why I did it and poof, I don’t have to feel bad about it anymore. And you want to know what’s even more fucked up and confusing? After the whole ordeal, I felt more attracted to Vince than I ever had before. It’s like him assaulting me made me want him more. I was very confused. During my confrontation he tried to sleep with me again and I said no. He ended up touching himself in front of me and I literally left his house feeling more violated than the night in question. Like why? What? What am I doing here? Who am I? What am I? Why would I do this to myself over and over again? Am I a masochist? Do I derive sexual gratification from my own pain and humiliation? Maybe? I have no fucking idea. Maybe there is something wrong with me and I need fixing. No, I’m normal. We all do weird shit that makes no sense. I wanted to somehow make sense of what happened that night but I went searching in the wrong place. I gotta pat myself on the back for at least searching and not floundering for once. Well here I am, still searching.
After this experience I quickly fell out of love with Yoga. Not only did this person take a part of me that night, he also took Yoga from me. I couldn’t walk into a Yoga class without being reminded of that ugly experience. It all felt fake. Why would a Yoga teacher, someone who is supposed to guide me and care for me, take advantage of me like that? My therapist walked me through a mediation where we revisited this experience. The feelings that arose were the exact same feelings I had when I was first assaulted when I was 14. The confusion and disorientation were almost identical. The staying quiet and not wanting to cause any drama were how I decided to handle both situations. Choosing to stay quiet brings on such an intense feeling of being completely alone and powerless over what happened to me.
This is me standing up for myself. This is what I did when I finally talked about the rape I experienced when I was 14. I had to revisit it and write it out so I can fully process what had happened. That was one of the most liberating things I have ever done in my life. I knew I had to do the same with this story. It feels good to have a laid out, tangible piece of evidence in front of me. I can read through this and acknowledge my experience and take a step back and see the bigger picture. I have felt out of control for so long that I want to gain some of that control back. Talking about it is a way for me to gain back those pieces of me that were taken. With each word I type, they’re all like a piece to the missing puzzle. The missing puzzle that has been my self love. All of these missing pieces have been scattered all around the world trying to find their way back to each other. Everytime I ran to the next drink of alcohol, the next country or the next random sexual encounter, the pieces just grew further and further apart. I can now feel them all coming back together, slowly but surely I’m being put back together.
I can’t lie awake anymore paralyzed with fear that someone is taking my life from me. I have to take it back. I have to keep moving and wiggling out of this pit of despair I’ve dug for myself. Yes, shitty things have happened to my body and my spirit. But these things do not define me. It’s what I decide to do now that matters most. Yes, I can look back and feel bad, disgusting and horrible about these stories. I’m allowed to feel these things. But there is nothing inherently wrong with me. I can come out of this with my head held high. I can move forward with my life and see these experiences as just that, experiences. I want so badly to forget everything that has happened but that’s what got me here in the first place. You don’t just forget. You can temporarily numb yourself from the things that are holding you down, but it is only temporary. It’ll find its way back to the surface and back into your life one way or another. So why not face it head on and shake hands with it? Why not love and accept all of the bad and the good things that have happened to you? Why not love yourself through it all? Why the fuck not?!