I’ve been in a relationship with yoga for almost forty years. We started off casually, and it took years before we became serious. There have been honeymoon periods where I couldn’t get enough, and slumps when even rolling out my mat felt like a chore. But through it all, we’ve stayed together.

They are the ones that hold steady through the ecstasy, the misery, the excitement, the boredom—and grow stronger because of it. It’s not that we never falter, it’s the choice to return, again and again.

Love is like that too. I’m now in my third decade with Layne, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that love isn’t about grand gestures or always getting it right. It’s about showing up, fully and honestly, especially when it’s hard. It’s about understanding that the moments of resistance—the days when it feels easier to turn away than to lean in—are often where the real magic happens.

In both yoga and marriage, there have been times when I’ve felt distant, uninspired, unmotivated. But just as my mat waits without judgment, so does Layne. He doesn’t demand perfection; he simply stands beside me, offering quiet understanding and unwavering support. In the same way, yoga doesn’t demand perfection or even consistency; it simply invites me back. And when I return, there’s no resentment, no tally of days missed—just the knowing that what matters is that I’ve come back.

When my breath syncs with my movement and my mind begins to settle, my mat becomes a haven—not for perfect poses, but for the simple act of being present. In love, as in yoga, the depth of the practice isn’t measured in mastery or perfection, but in the willingness to show up, to return, and to honour each step of the journey.

So on days when it’s hard to step onto the mat, or when love whispers instead of shouts, I remind myself that this too, is part of the rhythm. It’s about my willingness to keep coming back to the things that matter most. Because in the end, love—whether on the mat or in life—isn’t about never losing your way.

It’s about always finding your way back.

 

© Julie Smerdon 2025