Palms pressed together, I bow my head in gratitude for the practice. After closing the yoga class with this gesture, I smile at the students I just taught through my laptop screen. This is how it’s been for the past three months since the pandemic readjusted the way my business partner and I run our yoga studio. Once or twice a day we offer a live broadcasted class through our new virtual studio space. I teach three times a week, after my regular full-time job as a communications manager at a charity that aims to improve the well-being of people and the planet.
Being a yoga instructor and a communications manager doesn’t mean I always bring these level-headed roles home with me.
Once the yoga class finished, I felt the energy of being ‘on’ all day melt away. I’m relaxed, but drained. This week, of all weeks, I decided to take a break from caffeine, mainly coffee, to reset my dependency on the drug. COVID-19 made the matters worse with the kitchen next to my home office. Did you know that less than three cups of coffee can reduce blood flow to the brain by as much as 27 per cent? Quitting cold turkey has reopened my blood vessels allowing all that blood to pump back into my head at full force, at least that’s how it felt.
Despite the throbbing head, I still have to teach and work. Life carries on. It’s June and we’re holding the 30 Class Challenge at our virtual yoga studio. When I see the students online in my classes I give them a participation sticker after, then I email my business partner to let her who was there, and that we need more paper towels in the bathroom when we reopen. Absent mindedly, I scroll through my inbox.
I see the subject line “Grocery bag pick up” and I know immediately what that means. Steve didn’t pick up the organic veggie bag today like I had asked. I read the email to confirm my anger, and embarrassment. “Your bag is still at the store. You can pick it up tomorrow 12-6.” I’m enraged. Those poor vegetables were left out all day, what a waste.
I immediately call Steve. “Hello darling. Did you forget something today?” My tone is condescending and heartless. My chill yoga voice is gone, it’s only my angry-mother-scolding-a-child voice. I don’t have kids, and my partner is 11 years my senior. This isn’t how I should be speaking to him. But I go off. I’m disappointed, why can’t I rely on him? He tries to sound upbeat, which annoys me more, and he apologizes but I don’t hear it. Then we hang up.
For a moment I pause. In yoga, we call this the ‘sacred pause’ when you let everything settle and you process what you just experienced. Why didn’t I honour the sacred pause before I made that call? I feel awful. The shame I feel makes me afraid to go home to face him.
For a while, I sit in the yoga studio, alone. I call my Mum. She laughs. “All men are like that hon,” with my Dad in the background, not disagreeing, trying to explain why he often forgets. They know that I unleashed my infamous wrath on Steve, and we talk about other subjects for a while, books, the pandemic, Dad falling off a ladder and being winded while Mum laughed nervously. Now I’m laughing. I’m ready to move on from the wilted vegetables and fix the hurt I’ve rained down on the man I love most.
I text Steve. “I’m sorry I upset you. Is there any way to make things better?”
He responds. “I just want to be treated with respect. If you can’t do that consistently then please don’t come home!”
I can fix this, I sigh. I leave the studio, hop on my bike in the rain, and slowly make my way back to him.
When we see each other, I apologize for speaking to him as I did. No excuses, no justifications. Just an authentic apology, followed by a big hug. I know there’s only so many times we can treat our loved ones this way before the relationship weathers, and the love fades to hurt. I used to be worse at recognizing my faults, but since the pandemic, I’ve realized there’s no one else I’d rather be in quarantine with. I can’t lose that, even if he does forget picking up the groceries up from time to time.