POSE OF THE SAGE MARICHI IMy eating disorders got out of hand in law
school. I was newly married, living far away from
home, and trying to perform academically. I was
twenty-two and in way over my head.
I began massive binge episodes. A couple of
times a day, I would microwave a big bowl of
sugar, flour, butter, and water, like soupy cake
mix, and eat it with a spoon. Then I would purge.
It was exhausting. I had swelling in my face
and broken blood vessels around my eyes. I felt
horrible and hated myself. My husband had no
idea what to do.
I was raised in a time, place, and family in
which mental illness was considered a character
defect, not a medical issue. I believed if I sought
out treatment, I would be perceived as weak. I
knew I needed help, though, and finally called my
mom. It was the hardest call I’ve ever made, but
my parents were supportive. I do believe there is
a genetic component to mental illness that has
manifested itself in my family in different ways:
obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, depres-
sion, self-harm, and, of course, eating disor-
ders. I began seeing a therapist, started to get
better, and am still in therapy today.
My eating disorder isn’t something I focus on
anymore. I manage it. But it never really goes
away. I can still look in the mirror and find fault.
And the hypercritical impulse doesn’t limit itself
to my physical body. I judge everything I do—
who I show up as, as a mother, a spouse, a friend,
and a yoga teacher. Am I good enough? Am I
simply enough?
I have no illusions that my yoga students think
I have it all together. In my classes I talk about
my experiences and want my students to know,
with me, they have permission to be imperfect.
Yoga doesn’t just encourage us to be unapol-
ogetically ourselves; it practically mandates it as
our responsibility. Yoga also helps me uncover
what or who “myself” is. The more I discover and
share what I learn, the more I begin to embody
myself unapologetically, warts—or cellulite—
and all.