ABOUT me
My name is Nancy Siy and this is my story of embracing wholeness.
I've been teaching Jivamukti Yoga since 2012, and I absolutely love it. The graceful movements of yoga poses are one thing, but it is the lived philosophy that takes it to another level altogether. Because this is what resonates with me, this is what I teach. There are students who come to my class and find an emotional release. There are students who come to my class and become ethical vegans. There are students who come to my class and find that they transcend their perceived physical limitations. These are gifts I never take for granted. I love Jivamukti in such a devoted way that I have put my focus entirely on it, but lately I've been feeling a pull to bring the pieces together, to talk about my past and how it led me here. I want to shatter even my own illusion that I have always been this strong independent woman, this unapologetic animal rights activist, this self-inquiring yogi. I have not always been that.
I was a textbook codependent.
I was in the throes of addiction and domestic violence from 2005 to 2008. I was a textbook codependent. Although it was my boyfriend at that time who abused alcohol, I was as much of an addict as he was. That meant that my drug of choice was the relationship. An addiction is a compulsive habit you go back to, even though it is clear that it is destroying your life. That relationship was my addiction. When I was name-called and my self-esteem was shattered, I found excuses as to why he would be angry with me and I blamed myself. When he accused me of things I did not do, I apologized and defended myself to his satisfaction. When I had bruises from a very bad fight, I covered them up with several layers of makeup. To be clear, I have also said and done terrible things in that relationship that would constitute psychological abuse. I think it is important that I own that. I hit rock bottom in 2008. We were in a long-distance relationship then, and we were talking via chat. He started to enumerate all my supposed mistakes, and I could see from the dots appearing on the screen that he wasn't done. But something clicked in me, and I was. I decided right then and there that I was going to do whatever it takes to end this cycle of pain. I left the conversation and the relationship without saying goodbye.
I made my recovery a full-time job.
I found recovery around August 2008. I went to the Monday and Friday meetings of a 12-step program called Codependents Anonymous (CODA), I had consultations with an insightful psychologist named Sophie Sim-Bate, I participated heavily in a Yahoo group for codependent women moderated by Susan Elliott, and I read self-help books by Melody Beattie, Robin Norwood, Pia Mellody, Beverly Engel, Susan Forward, and Howard Halpern. I made my recovery a full-time job. During a CODA meeting, I was asked to read affirmations, and when I saw the words "I am enough", I felt a lump on my throat and I cried. I couldn't read it because I didn't believe in it. It made me confront how inadequate and unlovable I felt at that time. Not long after, I started wearing a heart pendant necklace to represent that I am whole, that I will no longer allow anyone to treat me badly, that I am going to take charge and give myself the kind of love I deserve. I resolved not to date for at least 6 months as it was early in my recovery. I focused on myself, and things did turn around. I became curious about the world and filled my time with new things I haven't tried. I traveled to Europe by myself for three weeks, I moved out of my parents' house and lived on my own, and in the midst of that, I also found yoga.
I had to learn to reparent myself.
I learned in recovery that the abusive relationship didn't seek me. I sought it out. It was an unconscious decision that I made from the programming I was familiar with. I grew up being exposed to violence, and my parents constantly fighting and staying together inadvertently made it the kind of relationship I gravitated towards. My nervous system was not familiar with calm, so I mistook signs of invalidation or dismissal of my emotions as excitement. I equated instability and toxic behaviors with love against all odds. The trauma that I experienced in childhood and throughout my adolescence did not just manifest in relationships though, it pervaded every aspect of my life. My inner critic, this judgmental voice measuring myself against impossibly perfect standards, was not just mine. I inherited it from my dad. My inability to ask for what I want, and the consequent expectation that people around me would be able to guess, was not solely mine either. I inherited it from my mom. It was through the works of John Bradshaw and Charles Whitfield that I discovered that my inner child needed healing, and that I had to reparent myself. I acknowledged that my parents had their own pain, and their failure to give me what I needed and deserved was not a reflection of me, it was a reflection of that pain. Knowing this and acting on this were two different things though, and I got to experience it one fateful day. My dad was in the hospital for a surgery, and when I was on my shift to stay with him, he was already in a bad mood. Things escalated and he said some horrible things that led me to walk out. My decision then was that I was cutting off my ties with him completely. As far as I was concerned, I did not need that in my life. It felt like I was back to square one. The pattern was still there, the anger was still there, the blaming was still there.
I forgave when I was ready.
I did not speak to my dad for months. I did not think about him and I did not ask about him. My life felt light for that period of time. I had no drama because I did not allow anyone to dump their drama. I was earning well, I had a successful career, I practiced yoga regularly, and I discovered veganism as a social justice issue I cared deeply about. Because of veganism, I got acquainted with the practice of Jivamukti Yoga. I admired the work that co-founders Sharon Gannon and David Life put into the world. The philosophy spoke to me, so I bought several of their DVDs and online classes. One afternoon, I practiced to the Chakra Balancing class, and Sharon said something that was so simple and yet so profound: "People were just doing the best that they can at that time. If they could do better, they would do better". I thought of my dad, and while the class was going on, I made the decision to forgive him. When I saw him again, his health had deteriorated and he had lost his memory. In a way, it was a gift because he also lost his anger and resentment. And while he lived out his days confused and disoriented, I'd like to believe he also experienced peace. I was the one with him in the Intensive Care Unit when he flatlined on November 28, 2011. I cried as he transitioned from life to death. I cried because I love him, because he was my father, because I understood that he did the best that he could at that time. When I was alone with him at the wake, I played the song Stronger Hand by Paul McMahon. The song captured what I wanted to say to him: "Walk with me, take my hand. Trade love for fear. You don't have to be perfect. That's not why you're here."
Yoga helped me feel things.
Codependency is tricky. Whereas a relapse in substance abuse can be visibly seen, a codependent relapse can go undetected. It can appear like a relationship issue. The phrase "volunteer, not victim" served as my constant reminder. If I ignored red flags to go on and entangle myself to an unrewarding situation, then I know I am volunteering, and I'm on the verge of a relapse. And although I was never involved with anyone else who showed that level of abuse as the one that led me to recovery, for some time, I was still acting out aspects of my codependency. It came in the form of spending my energy on people who would show affection too fast too soon only to withdraw them, who would leave emotional bread crumbs that I would desperately pick up, who would make me question myself and my choices, who would make me feel insecure in the exact same way that was familiar to me for so many years. Yoga helped me feel things. It showed me how to distinguish discomfort from pain in an experiential way. It taught me that progress is not a straight path, and I can always choose to start again when I unconsciously make a detour, whether it's from a pose on the mat or a life decision I strayed from. It made me at ease with my own thoughts, my own inner space, my own body, my own life. I learned to appreciate my own company. It gave me the kind of joy that is not tethered to outside circumstances. It gifted me with the wisdom that that the only approval I need is my own. I came to see that I am enough, that I am complete, that I am whole.
I have arrived.
I was walking to teach a Jivamukti Yoga class one very ordinary day, and I paused for a moment because I realized I was truly happy. In Thich Nhat Hanh's words: I have arrived. I was no longer waiting for someone or something to make me happy. I just was. In many ways, I appeared to have less. I didn't have a lot of money and my future was one big blank. I was happy because there was no reason for me not to be, and it became as simple as that. It didn't mean that my life was perfect, it just meant that my life felt whole. Over the years of my yoga teaching career, I taught yoga retreats and found them particularly fulfilling. Looking back, the themes I chose often reflected my recovery journey: I Complete Me, Believe, Serenity, Happy for No Reason, and-- the one that did not happen because of the pandemic-- Wholeheartedness. While I may have largely healed the trauma of my childhood and codependency, I had for years swept it under the rug because I felt ashamed to talk about it. But I now think it's important that I do. This time last year, the Jivamukti focus of the month was about The Secrets We Keep Inside. Recently, I dreamt that I received a phone call that was a cry for help for domestic abuse. I took these as signs and completed the training for Yoga of 12-Step Recovery conducted by the founder Nikki Myers as soon as I can. It feels right, and I want to do this. There is a gap in the yoga practice that needs to be addressed, especially in this part of the world where addictions are misunderstood and being victimized by abuse is stigmatized. For those who are still in the thick of their addiction, please know that there is a way out. For those who are just starting their recovery, I am here to hold up a light so the path does not look as dark. Recovery has no shortcuts, but its rewards are priceless. I am here to hold the space for you if you are willing to pick up yoga as one more tool in your recovery. I hope you do, and I hope you realize you are worth it.
Opposite sides of the same coin
Jivamukti is such a special and beautiful practice, one that empowers individuals around the world to stop the violence inflicted on others, and I will continue to teach it for as long as I am able to. It is a practice that weaves spirituality and activism together, one that touches on difficult subjects as it believes yogis are agents of positive change. But I also realize that we have to fill our own cup to be in a position to give. It is just as important that we heal from our traumas. It is crucial that we address our addictions and other compulsive tendencies, and this is the role of Yoga of 12-Step Recovery. In some ways, these two very specialized branches of yoga are opposite sides of the same coin. We learn wholeness through healing ourselves, and we reinforce this wholeness by healing the world. So this is it. This is me. I am Nancy Siy and this is my story of embracing wholeness. I am a codependent, a survivor of childhood trauma, a survivor of domestic violence. I am also a Jivamukti Yoga teacher, a Yoga of 12-Steps Recovery space holder, an animal rights activist, a human rights activist, and a guardian of rescue cats. In embracing wholeness, I accept all that I am. I am the sum of all of these parts. I am enough, I am complete, and I am whole.
Jivamukti is such a special and beautiful practice, one that empowers individuals around the world to stop the violence inflicted on others, and I will continue to teach it for as long as I am able to. It is a practice that weaves spirituality and activism together, one that touches on difficult subjects as it believes yogis are agents of positive change. But I also realize that we have to fill our own cup to be in a position to give. It is just as important that we heal from our traumas. It is crucial that we address our addictions and other compulsive tendencies, and this is the role of Yoga of 12-Step Recovery. In some ways, these two very specialized branches of yoga are opposite sides of the same coin. We learn wholeness through healing ourselves, and we reinforce this wholeness by healing the world. So this is it. This is me. I am Nancy Siy and this is my story of embracing wholeness. I am a codependent, a survivor of childhood trauma, a survivor of domestic violence. I am also a Jivamukti Yoga teacher, a Yoga of 12-Steps Recovery space holder, an animal rights activist, a human rights activist, and a guardian of rescue cats. In embracing wholeness, I accept all that I am. I am the sum of all of these parts. I am enough, I am complete, and I am whole.
