Late 2012 was the bleakest time I had ever known. Over weeks that became months, I waited for my divorce to be finalised and meanwhile my mind unravelled. I found it hard to write, think, eat or take pleasure in anything; I could not imagine what it would be like to feel happy again; I could not find any hope or purpose.
I struggle now to remember why one Monday morning around that time I decided to head to a hot yoga studio in east London and sign up for a 30-day trial. I do not remember the class, how much I sweated nor how terrible I was. But I do know that I began going to hot yoga every day. Sometimes, when my head felt as if it might collapse, I went twice. I skipped parties, left social events and got up hideously early to attend. There was something about the hot room that held me together, that stopped all the dark thoughts tangling around my insides.
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