Devastation can lead to blessings
I remember the exact moment I was told I was being terminated from LifeTime. The meeting on December 9th began with a wild allegation of a rumor (yes, really) and it ended with the deafening silence of my life for the last 9 years ending. While the meeting itself was brief, clinical, and devoid of any genuine empathy, the only thing I could feel was emptiness dancing inside of me and the harrowing sound of my heart beating in my chest. There was shock, disgust, sadness and utter confusion. For someone who gave their life to LifeTime and wrote their Yoga Teacher Training manuals, facilitated trainings at both a club and corporate level— for someone who consistently had waitlisted classes and numerous accolades— to say I was blindsided is the understatement of 2024.
I spent the last 9 years of my life giving LifeTime my time and my life, all at the expense of my family, friends and my health. I had put all my eggs in one basket. I drank the “kool-aid”. I did all the things you’re told not to do professionally. And here I was. Left with nothing but faded accolades and titles, memories of a time past, and a life that was now devoid of meaning, purpose and identity.
As someone who has endured more trauma than I would like to admit, I’ve always tried to prepare myself for these kinds of things— the absolute worst case scenarios. Losing two of my siblings and my spiritual teacher, navigating an eating disorder and depression— among other things— has heightened my awareness and sensitivity to pain. Over the years I’ve concocted game plans and game plans for the game plan and alternate plans if all hell breaks loose. I’ve learned ways to numb, hide and distract myself so I don’t have to confront the very thing that could break me. I thought I had it all figured out. I planned for unlikely outcomes, I’d worry incessantly about what could go wrong. I was prepared (or so I thought) for anything that came my way.
But nothing prepares you for losing the very thing or person you love most. Nothing could have prepared me for that fateful day and losing my job. It’s like the lyrics from Baz Luhrmann’s song, “Wear Sunscreen”:
Don’t worry about the future, or worry, but know that worry is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind. The kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
The worst part about losing my job wasn’t just the financial security it provided— I wasn’t just losing a job. It was a job I deeply loved. More than that, I lost myself, my identity and my whole sense of the world along with the people in it.
In the days and weeks that followed, I laid crumpled on the floor, sobbing— tears that flowed for hours with no end in sight. My job gave me purpose. Purpose drives my life. Without that, what’s left?
Grappling with this loss of sense and purpose took me down some very dark roads (I’ll spare you the details) that I pray you never find yourself on. It’s a gut-wrenching decision to look at your own existence and decide it’s better to simply not exist.
Ironically, as life would have it, after my encounter with my own mortality, a glimmer of hope presented itself— an opportunity to speak with the CEO of LifeTime himself. So many members and team members had emailed the company about my departure and the desire for me to return, that it escalated to the highest degree.
From that fateful encounter, every hour from January until March was spent fighting to come back to LifeTime. Countless calls and emails. Apologies for things I didn’t do or simply have no recollection of. I jumped through hoop after hoop with the hope that my efforts would result in my return. On March 25th, I was told there would be no return, that I had not “owned” my mistakes, and that I was still “in denial” of what had led to my dismissal.
The glimmer of hope I had extinguished and with that, the wave of devastation consumed me once again.
My mind rang with What If’s:
What if I’ve lose my purpose entirely? How could life have meaning again?
What if I can’t pay the bills?
What if die and I haven’t made a positive, lasting impact in the world?
The road of What If is an evasive place. As soon as you try to answer one “What If?”, another takes its place.
Question after question. Fear after nagging fear. I had already wrestled with devastation and loss since December and I thought there was an end in sight. Now all I could do was stare down the road of There Will Be No Return and wonder if my pain and suffering would ever end.
I pleaded with the Universe/God/Source (whatever you want to call IT): “Please, I’ll do anything. Just make this pain stop.”
“Why me?” I asked over and over again.
Somewhere in between the Questions That Have No Answer, arose another question— one that my late spiritual teacher, Patricia Moreno would always ask:
“Why is this happening for me? What is this here to teach me?”
To be completely honest, it was the last question I wanted to hear. How could there be a blessing in the rubble of devastation? How could there be possibility or opportunity in so much loss?
No matter how many times I pushed the question, “Why is this happening for me?” away, it would return like a puppy dog eager for affection. And the more this question came up, the more I began to soften around it. I realized that unlike the razor-sharp What If’s and the woeful Why Me’s, this question, “Why is this happening for me?”, was a gentle, inviting inquiry. It had no pretenses or strings attached. It simply offered reflection, self-discovery and a shift in perspective.
Many spiritual teachers from the Buddha to Pema Chodron have taught the value of leaning into discomfort, sitting with our fear and breathing with our pain. This embracing— the very act of witnessing what is arising instead of being consumed by what is arising— is the portal to our healing and freedom from suffering. To be clear, this is not easy work and when you find yourself in a “life storm”, sitting with your suffering will feel near-impossible and this is where your yoga, the tools you have to navigate discomfort, therapy and your support system really come into play.
In what felt like the one step forward and multiple steps back dance, I waded through my grief, I sat and cried with my suffering, I embraced my anger and listened to what she had to say, and I did a lot…A LOT of therapy.
We often think fears are meant to be overcome, grief is meant to be healed and loss is meant to be filled. But, that’s like trying to put a Band-Aid on an arterial bleed. It doesn’t solve the problem and makes the healing take longer. But, if you’re able to settle with the storm and sit with your discomfort, there’s space and in that space other opportunities can present themselves.
And it was there, at that rock bottom raw moment of deep acceptance that I was presented with the opportunity to be part of a new venture— to teach and live my dharma (purpose) at a new yoga studio and to do it alongside two people I love dearly, Pyung and Grace.
I’m thrilled to announce that I will be teaching at Alchemy Yoga— a new yoga studio opening in early May in King of Prussia.
There’s a ton of work as we ready the space and genuine excitement around creating a haven where we can sweat, laugh and cry as a sangha (community). But, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have any fears. There’s still the fear of uncertainty. There’s still the worry about paying the bills. There’s still the nagging question of if I’ll ever find fulfillment or if I’ll find my purpose in this new venture, or life in general. But mostly there’s gratitude. Gratitude to the members and team members who emailed on my behalf. Gratitude for the people who checked in on me and took care of me. Gratitude for my in-laws who have helped shouldering the financial burden. Gratitude to my late teacher and all the teachers before her for the lessons I still carry with me to this day. Gratitude to Grace and Pyung. Gratitude for this new studio and space.
The energy of gratitude is a healing place. With gratitude we can create a container in our heart to hold our grief and our gratitude, our fears and our fortitude, our rage and our compassion.
I’m learning, perhaps more clearly, that life isn’t an all-or-nothing game. Seemingly opposite things can co-exist. Healing can happen from your deepest wounds. Devastation can lead to blessings. And each moment possesses its own value and teaching in a sort of kaleidoscope sort of way.
The life road you are currently on, or will step foot on some day, might be difficult to traverse. There will be days where giving up feels like the only way out. I won’t expect to know your path or the exactness of your pain, but what I will tell you is this: you are never alone and you are, truly, far more capable than you think you are. In the spaces between sobs or the tiny unassuming moments of your day, there are people in your corner and there is a path, beyond where you are right now, for you to travel…if you choose. Keep choosing my friend and never give up on you because the world needs your special light in it. Mine too. It needs all of us.
May you find your next breath and know that is enough. May each step you take remind you of your infinite power and potential. And may you be hopeful in your lows, resting assured— if for nothing else— that nothing in life lasts forever.
With so much love + gratitude
xo
Amy