My favorite yoga pose is called “peaceful warrior.” In this pose, your front leg is bent and points aggressively forward, but your top hand is stretched back in a gesture of surrender. It is a difficult pose because of its contradictions: forward and backward, assertive and passive. Even the name, “peaceful warrior,” is a contradiction, one that I resonate with. My life has consisted, more than anything, in learning to balance these contrary concepts.

I was born a warrior, although sensitive. I grew up in a suburb that looked like many others, but to me it was a war zone. I was an only child, a super nerd who ended up skipping a grade, a non-athlete—actually, a klutz—and carried the secret of my mother’s alcoholism with me every day. The domineering kids in my neighborhood definitely saw me as some kind of minor freak, and hurtful words and threats were part of my “normal” life. I cried myself to sleep most times, for as long as I can remember. However, I insisted on succeeding. I wanted to be a teacher and nothing was going to stop me. My teachers were my heroes. They took care of me, respected me and included me. So I quietly continued to do well in school, allowed myself to be passionate about my extraneous interests (things like literature and spirituality), and waited for a lull in the battle, or a chance to escape, which for me came. in an envelope containing an acceptance letter to UC San Diego.

Peace at last! I studied hard, took advantage of every opportunity available to be in a classroom, and was hired as a full-time teacher in the fall of 1987. I loved the classroom from day one and knew I was born to teach. I got to know my students and their families, worked hard and enjoyed my busy life.

However, this respite was painfully short. My mother died suddenly in 1989, causing me great confusion, grief, anxiety, and restlessness. I felt, once again, that urge to escape, and as a result, I decided to go on a wild adventure, accepting a job at an American International School in Caracas, Venezuela, where, while having the most exciting and challenging three years of my life, I did the only thing I swore not to do: I fell in love with a handsome Venezuelan. We got married and returned to the United States in 1994.

Once again, I settled into the more “peaceful” part of myself, enjoying being a teacher, wife, and daughter to my widowed father. He was happy, if not wonderfully happy, but he still felt that restlessness. My continued search for inner peace eventually led me to the practice of yoga, which I began in 2008. I learned, grew, and finally began to feel stable and happy.

However, the battlefield was not finished with me. In early 2010, my beloved father was diagnosed with End-Stage Renal Disease. Then a few months later I found out my husband was having an affair and my marriage completely imploded in a matter of weeks.

Suddenly, I was a warrior again. And I knew: this battle could be the last. If he didn’t kill me outright, he certainly had the power to permanently cripple my happiness and sense of self. This time, however, as before, I discovered that he was not alone. Once again my teachers reached out to me, this time my yoga teachers. They advised me to feel my feelings and be present in the grievance while cherishing the time I had left with my father. Karson was a particular inspiration for me; he taught Positive Psychology workshops and I learned daily strategies to make every moment the best possible and move on. I started meditating and started working seriously to heal old wounds along with more recent ones.

After my father’s death in early 2012, things slowly began to calm down once more. In my meditation practice, I began to feel lighter, and as my days went by, I felt loved and supported by unseen forces. Through my continued exploration of the higher self, I began to recognize that I was, in fact, a manifestation of my favorite pose: a peaceful warrior. I started to see the world through loving eyes. I felt gratitude for everything, even for the past that had threatened me. My world was filled with wonder, and the sadness I felt became beautiful.

Once I surrendered to love, love flowed freely. Kind friends poured into my life. The students greeted me daily with hugs. And I met the man who became my true spiritual companion. My way of seeing the world and the practices I had learned became part of the way I related to my students, friends and colleagues. And I began to see clearly that we are all living in a state of battle, followed by periods of peace. And we can choose whether to fight or surrender at any time.

Today, I try to actively balance practicing forward movement and surrender. I have my goals and plans, but I also leave plenty of room for the Universe to turn to the right or to the left. I feel grateful every day, and I also strive to take bold steps, like the one I’m taking right now, as I write this.

Someone recently reminded me that my name, Louise, means “warrior.” I couldn’t help but smile.

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