Life with Fran

The afterlife of a failed yoga teacher

Goodbye Flow with Fran, hello Life with Fran

I raffle through my purse to look for a long lost voucher. I have the ability to think really hard about remembering where I put things. Then just remember that I thought really hard about remembering where I’ve put things. No clue in my head to the whereabouts of this said voucher. As I investigate every nook and corner of my purse, I find a little secret zip that seems to contain a card-shaped item. All excited I reach and pull out a bunch of unused business cards. In disbelief, I wonder how the hell I am still carrying my old business cards with me. Did I ever think I would just randomly need to give a Flow with Fran card to a stranger, especially now that I don’t trade anymore? It’s like serving a takeaway menu based off of an empty fridge. Here’s my specialty dish: spoilt expectations with a sprinkle of tired.

It seems like a life time ago that I decided to venture off the trodden path for what it felt like a career of spirituality and freedom. As a graduate expat, the prospect of working my way up through a hierarchy of roles in Events Management seemed extremely daunting and didn’t favour my extremely anxious and impatient mind.

On one hand, I could see the recipe for disaster unfold in front of my eyes: an extremely competitive and addictive personality, a need of proving to myself that moving abroad was for a good reason and stressful working hours. (Oh did I mention, I wrote a whole book about how bad my eating disorder was, and how bad not having a routine was for me back then?) On the other hand I could imagine glowing sun bleached hair being caressed by the wind and beautifully curated flows that everyone was going to instantly understand. In a very small part of my brain, I am sure I was also convinced I would become as fit as those Yoga influencers you see pop up everywhere on the feed, with gorgeous long hair and perfectly soft skinned bums.

In hindsight, all of these promises were merely subliminal and were never really part of the job offer of being self employed in the well being industry, but that is apparently what good marketing does to you, it convinces you that whatever you’re seeing, you can also be and experience. So, who was I to turn away a £3000 pounds round trip to India, if that was going to buy me the freedom and the peace I had been searching all along? What fool would turn down investing their savings in an adventurous change? Some people with some solid roots and calm minds may find appropriate saving for a house instead, but I just never understood this need, until I did. All my life I have been chasing sunsets in obscure parts of the world, in the hope to find my own treasure somewhere hidden under a rock. And this time, it was leading me to break all of the personal and professional ties and pack my belongings in a very uncomfortable duffle bag. Whoever said that duffle bags are good for backpacking had a paid sponsorship.

What followed was the beginning of my burn out. Four years and a pandemic that led me to crawl back to employed life. Just as I was finding my feet in the most savage and unregulated industry that is supposed to promote well-being and yet demands underpaid, overworked and taken-for-granted teachers to be always available for the next best trend pivot, I left. Despite having found a place in a niche of my job, I just did not have the mental capacity to continue it all by myself. I was so desperate for some real human connection that wasn’t dictated by how good my yoga classes were or whether I was discounting the monthly membership. My soul was crying out loud for some stability and comfort, the two things I have always despised the most. I knew I needed a shift, when I realised the only person I was seeing on a regular basis was my partner. It was like my extremely easy-going and extroverted personality had been slowly sucked out of my body. All of the giving and none of the taking had left me dry like a lifeless succulent. I had been dripping energy right, left and centre, just in order to make enough money to cover the bills and be able to go visit my family every 4/6 months.

Leaving my business was the heaviest yet easiest decision I have ever made. It was like I was closing a door on a project that was half done. I was clipping the wings of a creature that had barely learnt how to fly, knowing it was never going to be able to try again. Yet I was truly and well ready to close my laptop in the evening and be able to go to bed without my head churning of what was going to come next, waking up in anxiety and dread of what the day entailed. At the end of the four years, teaching yoga felt so far off what I imagined it to be. I partially blame it to my very romantic and naive mind, but I somewhat felt cheated and lied to. Like the universe has been dangling a sparkly fun toy in front of my eyes and I was chasing it with all of my strength, only to find myself running into a glass door at full speed. I kept telling myself that by enduring of all of the different shitshows I have endured, would have made me a better person but really I think it did quite the opposite effect. I was becoming a bitter, jealous bundle of nerves, with chronic anxiety attacks and a depleted immune system. I was spending my hours on social media secretly despising every other yoga teacher who was getting well paying jobs, or slots at fancy studios in town, wondering whether it was my not-so-blonde and not-so-thin body the reason behind it all. Really though, was it? Looking into the mirror and feeling lost each day it passed. My identity slowly becoming one with how good of a yoga teacher I was, my mood solely dictated by how many people I had attending class that day.

There was days where I wanted so bad to just crawl into bed and never get up again. (As I am editing this, I realise that should have been a red flag enough to not continue with this life). I was so tired during the week I had no time or energy for anything else and it became clear that I was not cut for living comfortably as a self employed, at least not in that way.

As I write this, I realise my negative thoughts have taken control of the ship, and it has become really hard to navigate this break up with a positive lense. Teaching Yoga. Two loves combined. As someone who has always been clumsy, uncoordinated and generally not really body-aware, yoga has been the kindest and most empowering tool for me to use in this rediscovery. I went from being a shy body-user (yes, new term!) to feeling strong and solid enough to try and flip upside down and balance on one leg even through complex transitions. Allowing space for people in my classes to feel confident and playful, calm and secure on their on two feet, that has been the true highlight of it. Secondly, meeting so many lovely people of all ages, genders and groups, whom I would have otherwise unlikely met. When I decided to take a risk, and begin teaching a meditation class at a really early hour of Saturday, to find myself met with a room full of people ready to explore the realms of their mind. The incredible retreats I have taught at, and the ones failed too. A lot of my heart and lust for life has gone into them, and it certainly has helped me coming back to what I value as a human being. The days in which my head was just a dark stormy cloud and ended up coming away from class, light and relieved, as if a burden has just been lifted off my shoulders. Learning to use my breath, and lean into it in difficult moments. Teaching Yoga has been good and it has been bad and it has also been all of the in-between. I suppose just like anything else in life. I don’t blame the system for what it is, I just wish I saw it earlier for what it was and not put all my hopes and dreams into it, thinking it was going to change my life for the better. It certainly changed it. I just haven’t been able to understand how exactly yet. And for better or for worse, I wouldn’t be doing the job I am doing now if it wasn’t for the experience I gained.

One thing I know for sure, is that I have finally started to feel like more like my true self recently. Untied from the yoga teacher I wanted to be, or the persona I was trying to constantly portray through my social media (how hard is it to show up authentically in such high frequency?!), I am starting to feel like I am returning to my own entity, living life as Fran again.

So I guess this is where Flow with Fran ends, but for those of you still supportive of my writing, this is also where Life with Fran begins. A place where I am going to be unapologetically me. A space filled with my dark humour for me to express the deepest and darkest thoughts, as well as the brightest moments, and the dull ones too.

Here’s to being me.

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