How yoga made me love myself more and others love me less

For the first 25 years of my life, it was easy to forget who I am. I tended to interfere with others, orbit around their realities, and as a result, completely lose my center. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to those who were outspoken, shining brightly, and taking up a lot of space – leaving little room for me.

Thinking that distance was the only way to “hear” myself, I made a big change in my life: I left the life I knew in California and moved across the country to New York City. And as my new career as a fashion editor took off, I didn’t know what to do with myself in the absence of these relationships.

To cope with my increasing loneliness, I started taking mile-long walks from Williamsburg to Greenpoint so I could attend rooftop yoga classes with views of the Manhattan skyline. Between poses I could hear myself again – starting with the beating of my heart, then the inhaling and exhaling of my breath. While I can’t tell you which specific poses had such an impact in those early days of yoga, I will never forget the embodied experience of self-acceptance I felt. I had finally found something to fill the gaping void in my heart while creating more space for me me.

The more I practiced, the more awareness I cultivated. I could finally feel the codependency that was hidden. I was able to see my people-pleasing patterns more clearly and was even able to recall early childhood memories that triggered unhealthy boundaries.

A few years later I returned to California. I admit that it was tempting to fall back into old patterns of putting everyone in my life first. But yoga kept me focused. I traded my corporate job for yoga teacher training and went on to earn certifications and a master’s degree in yoga studies.

Even though I was doing all of this for myself, deep down I still believed that the self-love I cultivated in my yoga practice would be reflected back to me in my relationships.

Instead, the opposite was true.

When I told old friends that I was dedicating more of my life to yoga, they asked when I would “grow up” and get a “real” job. Family members would mock my field and say things like, “What are you going to do with it, become one.” doctor of yoga?” Romantic partners rolled their eyes at topics that interested me, or worse, dismissed the things I learned. The turning point was when someone I was dating angrily rejected my invitation for a healthy bath, stating that he had no interest in my ‘voodoo black magic’ lifestyle or community. As difficult as these moments were, they also became opportunities for me to pause and respond rather than react.

Before I started practicing yoga, my goal was to avoid conflict at all costs. In the past, I would do anything to get other people accepted, usually by hiding my feelings altogether. But ten years into my yoga practice, I had a newfound tolerance for discomfort.

After these uncomfortable interactions with loved ones, I would often return to meditation, turning inward to tune into my emotions and needs. I would honor my experience by bringing curiosity, kindness, and acceptance to whatever feelings I may have. Through this practice of returning to myself, I was no longer afraid to stand in my truth – even if it meant coming into conflict with people who used to be my source of safety and security.

In the aftermath of that last conflict (and after a much-needed grounding meditation), I called the person I was dating and expressed how I was feeling, which ultimately led to a dissolution of the relationship. I went to bed that night with a heavy heart. But I woke up with an almost inexpressible feeling of warmth, as if I was being held in the arms of a divine, loving presence.

I now know that this is what it feels like to not let myself down, even when I am let down by someone else. I had learned to choose myself even when I wasn’t chosen by anyone else, and to love myself even when I wasn’t loved by anyone else.

Yoga removes all the survival strategies I thought I needed to be loved – the urge to crawl, to flee, to silence my voice or dim my light – and brings out the totality of myself that is worthy of love, just like she is.