Chapter 25 #2
She squeals with excitement. “Yes! Girls’ day! I have to take over for Rose at two, so that’s perfect. Meet me in an hour?”
“Perf—”
“WAIT,” Jo interrupts. There’s a pause as the wheels of her brain turn. “Why aren’t you at Harrison’s mom’s place right now?”
There’s something incredibly humbling about walking into a fitness class and being the least prepared person in the room.
But surely beginner yoga can’t be that hard.
I’ll be fine. Even if my eyes are burning from unshed tears and my body hurts from lack of sleep.
Even if I have to use this gross loaner yoga mat with indentations in the foam in the shape of fingerprints and a bleach stain in the corner.
“He did what with his tongue?!” Jo whispers. There’s a sudden hush among the other students.
I clear my throat. “I know, strep tests are the worst!”
Silence.
“But to clarify, I don’t have strep throat!”
A few of the people around me give me weird looks, then continue setting up.
I turn to Jo, my whisper barely audible. “Let’s talk about this during lunch instead, yeah?”
Jo cringes, mouthing the word sorry before unrolling her yoga mat.
To kick off the class, Lynn, who is way too bubbly for my fragile mental state, has us lie on our backs with our left hands on our chests and our right hands on our stomachs.
Taking deep breaths, we make a conscious effort to relax our muscles and meditate.
I feel my body rise and fall underneath my hands.
It’s the same technique Kay taught me in physical therapy—letting the mind and body go, relieving the muscles of tightness and anxiety.
Inhale. I relax my feet.
Exhale. I relax my legs.
Inhale. I relax my stomach.
Exhale. I relax my chest.
Inhale. I relax my arms.
Exhale. I relax my face.
With the final exhale, I feel some of the tension leave my pelvic floor.
“Now, keep your breathing slow and deep as you slooooowly guide your body upward into a sitting position,” Lynn says, her voice quiet and dreamy, matching the tone of the spa music playing in the background.
“Pay attention to how your body feels. What areas of your body need attention today? Where do you want to focus your energy?”
Excuse me, Lynn, is there such a thing as yoga for your vagina?
“And now we’ll be taking cobbler’s pose to gently open up those hips and stretch out those thighs as we ease into movement,” Lynn says.
“Now—watch me—you’ll want to sit up as tall as you can and press the balls of your feet together.
” She demonstrates, looking around the room to make sure we’re all replicating her motions.
“Now pull those feet in as close to your beautiful bodies as is comfortable, and make sure you’re letting your knees fall to your sides.
Avoid clenching any muscles. Yep, that’s it, and drop those shoulders! ”
As I fall into cobbler’s pose, I realize with a start that I’ve also done this for physical therapy. Kay had me do this at the beginning of our last appointment.
Looking around, everyone is gazing intently at Lynn and letting their bodies relax into the pose. Some even have their eyes closed, the expression on their faces so serene I wonder if I’m missing something.
Focusing inward, I take a deep breath—inhale, exhale—and close my eyes, centering my attention on my pelvic floor.
The pose gives my hips the same stretch it always has.
But when I let out another deep exhale, I give my body the same attention that these people around me are, and I feel some muscles unclench that I’ve never felt before.
I take another breath, and my muscles relax even more, allowing gravity to pull my body down toward the mat.
It’s not until the third move—cat-cow pose—that it really hits me. Maybe there’s no such thing as yoga for your vagina, but there is such a thing as yoga for your pelvic floor. Kay’s pelvic floor therapy stretches are apparently just yoga.
As I arch my back and inhale, taking cow pose, I look around at the room full of people doing the exact same pose that I, once upon a time (last week), had been utterly embarrassed to do for physical therapy.
I’ve been doing…yoga? I’ve been doing the same stretches millions of people around the world have been doing daily for thousands of years? And I’ve been ashamed?
Meanwhile, these people (me included, actually) are paying to do it?
Inhale.
On my hands and knees, my back curls toward the ceiling, and I empty out my lungs. A dozen people around me do the same.
This time, the pose makes me smile.
Exhale.
I arch my back inward, looking up toward the sky, and inhale.
Conquering my vaginismus was supposed to be a solo endeavor.
I wanted to do everything alone, which is so very Emma of me, just like my parents said.
I hate asking for help, but I think I’m finally learning that asking for help is one way of showing love.
Looking around the room, I’m having trouble remembering why I didn’t know that all along. I don’t have to fight my battles solo.
My eyes focus on the ceiling as my back curls downward. I feel my hips stretching and my pelvic floor muscles relaxing. I take cat pose again, releasing the air from my lungs.
Exhale.
And as I let that breath go and the people around me exhale in unison, I make a promise: I’m going to start giving myself more grace. And I’m going to start letting people in.
So what if my vagina is tight? It’s overprotective. It’s just choosy about what it lets inside.
Inhale.
Me, too, I suppose. Much like my vagina, I’ve always been picky about who I open up to.
Exhale.
Maybe if I’d told Harrison earlier, we could’ve stopped running in circles around each other and gotten together before it was too late.
But as I take another deep breath and shift back into child’s pose, I forgive myself.
And by the time class is over an hour later, I think I’m starting to forgive my vagina.
As our order number is called and Jo goes to the counter to pick up our sandwiches, I take a look at my buzzing phone.
Macy: Hey Emma! I’m trying to find a time to fly home and surprise Jo. You know her work schedule, right? Can you help me figure out logistics?
Macy: Please don’t tell her!!
I’m just barely able to hit send on my response (OH MY GOD YES) when Jo sits at our booth, sliding a Reuben toward me.
“You’re smiling,” she says. “That’s suspicious.”
“I’m just thinking about how much I love you,” I tell her, smiling sarcastically.
“Oh, shut up,” she says, laughing as she unwraps her Reuben. “Tell me why you’re not at the cabin.”
“Yeah, so, you were right.”
“About what?” She raises an eyebrow patiently as she takes a bite.
“Everything?”
Her response is muffled behind corned beef and rye. “I feel oddly unhappy to hear that.”
“Seriously, Jo. I am so, so sorry I was an asshole for not prioritizing you, but I was also an asshole for ignoring all of the advice you’ve given me,” I say.
Jo’s gaze is bright and sympathetic, even though I don’t deserve her sympathy or forgiveness.
“If I had listened to you, I’d be in a much better place right now.
And I hope it’s not too late for me to tell you I really value your opinions and advice. ”
“You’re forgiven, as long as you stop apologizing and get to the point about Harrison,” she demands.
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand, which she accepts with an eye roll and a hidden smile. I unwrap my sandwich and take a bite before diving in.
Jo looks at me grimly the entire time, barely reacting, even to the most dramatic parts of the story. Something definitely flashes in her eyes when I clarify what, exactly, he did with his tongue. But that’s it. No other reaction.
I guess it’s hard to be surprised when you’ve been expecting something for essentially forever.
She studies me when I finish talking, carefully considering her words. Then, seeming to give up on finding something smart to say, she shakes her head and says, “I cannot believe you two had nine years to prepare for this and still managed to screw it up.”
I let out a strained laugh. “You were right, I was hurting him by not being honest with him. I should have told him my feelings. I should have told him a lot more than that. But I was so mad at my body for hurting me, I never stopped to wonder if I was hurting Harrison. I learned to show myself grace over the last few years since I was so young when it happened, but this time I’m older, and I did the same thing. And I just sent us back to square one.”
“Maybe. But maybe it’s not too late,” Jo adds.
I look up, peering at her through burning eyes. “I have a plan.”
Jo squeezes my hand. “You always do.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“It’ll work.”
“You don’t know what the plan is.”
“No, but I know Harrison. And I know you.” She glances over at me, her lips pulled into a lopsided grin.
“What if he decides the physical aspect is too much to overcome?” I murmur.
Jo stares at me for a moment, and just when I think she isn’t going to respond, she opens her mouth. “Then it was never right to begin with.”
“I don’t like that answer.”
“Well, luckily, we both know it was right to begin with.”
I take another bite. “He told me I needed to want this for myself. I think I always did—want this for myself, I mean—but I wasn’t prioritizing myself. I was prioritizing him. Does that make sense?”
“…Sort of ?”
“Even with Harrison out of the picture, I know now I’d still want to date and figure out my vaginismus. I would still want to learn how to stop letting it hold me back.”
“Yeah, but also, you looooove that boy,” Jo says. Her laugh makes me smile, and I hide my embarrassed blush behind my sandwich.
“I love you, too, you know,” I say, a bite of food in my mouth. Jo snorts as a crumb drops from my lips onto my plate.
“I know you do. I love you, too, obviously. Now hurry up and eat that sandwich so I can get to work.”