Part II in A Series about Relationships and Yoga
In case you question whether or not I have any conscience at all, let me assure you that yes, it occurred to me on multiple occasions that I probably should tell you about the affair.
That I should come clean and confess everything—about how it all transpired, why, where and with whom. It crossed my mind hundreds of times. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue just waiting to spill out, yet I just couldn’t fathom having to stop going back there. I couldn’t stomach the idea of not being able to go to that place where I found comfort, peace, acceptance and love.
Love. Lots of love.
It’s something I never thought I would do. I know every cheater says that, but with every breath of my being I swear I never thought myself capable of being a cheat. I know this will be even more difficult for you to believe, but it wasn’t about lust or the thrill of secrecy.
It was about me. Every time.
His name, you ask? Mat. And we’ve been seeing each other regularly for over a year and a half now. You know those Saturday mornings when I sneak away while you are still snug under the sheets, secure in your blissful dreamland? The mornings when you wake up and reach for me but I’m not there. I have been with Mat.
And every Tuesday and Thursday night after work. At 6:30 pm sharp. Mat and I meet for another sultry ninety minutes.
And that trip to Colorado last summer when you demanded at the last minute to tag along and you promised me you’d stay out of my way and that you’d do your own thing while I was at the conference. I was with Mat there, too. Right under your nose. For three whole days I dedicated every hour to being with Mat while you hiked and pretended to be a woodsman.
It was right there for you to see, but you were blind. You and I – we didn’t have the connection like I had quickly established with Mat.
You can’t support me like Mat can, nor allow me to melt into your arms like Mat does.
When I can’t still my mind or find peace in my heart I turn to Mat. With him I can always find my center again.
With Mat I am able to breathe deeply and express my true emotions. If I stumble or have an unsteady day, Mat is still the same Mat.
Mat sticks with me through it all. And these things are the things you can’t give me. Something you don’t fulfill for me.
And the energy. Oh, the energy that is produced when Mat and I are together. It is simply intoxicating.
I need it.
I thirst for it.
And it is pure and sweet and innocent. Yes, even innocent though oblivious to you.
Yet still, I don’t know how you didn’t smell Mat all over me when I would return home from our adventures together. I was practically soaked in the essence of Mat and the energy of our meetings. I mean, how did you not notice my euphoric condition after my ninety minute get-a-ways with Mat?
It’s all so clear now, isn’t it?
Or perhaps you are still in denial of what was really taking shape between you and me. The distance that was growing as I found my true self in my journey with Mat. Perhaps you didn’t see me slipping further and further away each time I returned home with a clear head, and a heart full of love and warmth. Maybe you just couldn’t imagine how something so rolled up and tucked away in the closet could lay down with your girlfriend and sweep her heart away. But you were away a lot, too. Even when you were there.
Yes. I’m sorry to inform you, but you and I are over. You’ve lost me and I’ve found my new self. My true self where I am loved and honored; I’m at peace with myself and the world around me. I’ve found a place where I matter and things don’t. Where love is real and my spirit can soar.
You’ve lost me. You lost me to my yoga Mat.
Brittnee Henry hails from a fourth generation Iowa farm family. After graduating from the University of Iowa with a double major in Journalism and Psychology, (can’t beat that Midwest work ethic) Brittnee headed south down I-35 to the Lone Star State where she fell head over cowboy boots for Texas Country music and yoga pants. What gets the heart of this farmer’s daughter pumping? Anything Irish, soy candles and natarajasana (dancer’s pose). When she’s not writing, reading, tending to her collection of orchids or loading her Mini Cooper with recyclables, Brittnee wages war against cancer—raising funds for research and patient programs at The University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center. Got a bit of wit or wisdom to share with Brittnee? Like what you read? You can contact Brittnee at firstname.lastname@example.org
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