How Bikram yoga nearly broke us up (and what it taught us about balance)

Can yoga really come between two people?

Most people think yoga brings people closer together.

In many ways, it did for us.

But there was also a period—one that still makes us laugh today—when one particular style of yoga almost drove us in opposite directions.

This happened years before hot yoga had become as mainstream as it is today. Back then, Bikram Yoga was growing rapidly, studios were opening everywhere, and people spoke about it with almost evangelical enthusiasm. Some found healing, others discovered a practice they couldn’t imagine living without.

One of those people was my husband.

What began as curiosity slowly became an obsession. Not an unhealthy obsession in the dramatic Hollywood sense—but enough that our daily lives, our conversations, and even our time together started revolving around the next class.

At the time, I honestly thought Bikram Yoga was the problem.

Looking back, I see things differently.

The real issue wasn’t yoga at all. It was what can happen when any passion—even a healthy one—begins to crowd out the people we love.

This is that story.

To protect the innocent (or perhaps the guilty), I’ll simply call my husband by the nickname he’s had for years:

Bubba.

At a glance

What happened?
One partner fell in love with Bikram Yoga. The other started feeling like a yoga widow.

The real issue
It wasn’t Bikram Yoga. It was losing balance between a personal passion and a relationship.

What you’ll find in this story
A funny, honest look at how a yoga practice unexpectedly tested our relationship—and what it ultimately taught us.

Who this article is for
Anyone curious about Bikram Yoga, hot yoga culture, or wondering whether a healthy habit can sometimes become too much of a good thing.

It all started with a pair of running shoes

Continue reading

If this story brought you here because you’re curious about hot yoga, you may also enjoy our honest follow-up after practicing hot yoga every day for an entire week.

→ I Practiced Hot Yoga Every Day for One Week. Here’s What Happened.

My favorite date with Bubba had nothing to do with yoga.

It was an afternoon spent sprinting around Lake Hollywood.

He arrived wearing one of those black plastic thermal sweat suits that boxers use before weigh-ins. The kind designed to make you sweat before you’ve even started exercising.

“It burns extra fat,” he explained proudly. “Best workout ever.”

I remember thinking he looked completely ridiculous.

After our run, we stopped at Big 5 Sporting Goods. Somewhere between the racks of tennis balls and hiking socks, I casually suggested we try a Hatha yoga class together.

He laughed.

“Yoga really isn’t my thing.”

That was the end of the conversation.

Or so I thought.

A few minutes later, Bubba walked back carrying a bright new pair of New Balance running shoes. He handed me the box, smiled, and then completely caught me off guard.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Looking back, I probably should have realized then that this was a man who expressed love through movement. Running. Lifting weights. Football. Anything that left him exhausted felt worthwhile.

Yoga, on the other hand, didn’t stand a chance.

At least, not yet.

Yoga wasn’t his thing

For the next seven years, I tried every approach I could think of.

I’d invite Bubba to classes.

I’d suggest we practice together at home.

I’d even promise we’d only do the relaxing stretches.

Nothing worked.

He wasn’t interested.

At the time, years of football and weight training had left him with stiff shoulders, a tight back, and the flexibility of a two-by-four. I was convinced yoga would help. The more I encouraged him, the more determined he became to stay away.

His reasoning was always the same.

“There’s no P.O.E.”

P.O.E. stood for Point of Exhaustion, a phrase only Bubba could have invented.

According to his philosophy, if you hadn’t pushed yourself to the point where every muscle was screaming, you hadn’t really exercised.

I tried explaining that yoga wasn’t trying to exhaust you.

It was about awareness.

About breathing.

About learning to pay attention to your body instead of constantly trying to overpower it.

He listened politely.

Then he’d head back to the gym.

In his world, workouts were supposed to be measured in sweat, heavy breathing, and sore muscles the next morning.

Yoga simply didn’t fit the picture.

At least, that’s what we both believed.

Neither of us could have guessed that a heated yoga studio would eventually succeed where seven years of gentle persuasion had completely failed.

Then everything changed

Eventually, I stopped trying to convince him.

After hearing “no” for seven years, I accepted that yoga simply wasn’t going to become part of Bubba’s life.

So I went without him.

Around that time, I started practicing Bikram Yoga.

Every evening I’d come home completely drenched. My clothes would be hanging over the shower door to dry, my cheeks would still be bright red from the heat, and I felt lighter, calmer, and strangely energized.

Bubba noticed.

He noticed I seemed happier.

He noticed my skin looked healthier.

He noticed that I actually looked forward to going back the next day.

At first, he simply asked questions.

“How hot is it?”

“Do people really stay in there for ninety minutes?”

“You actually enjoy sweating that much?”

The skepticism slowly turned into curiosity.

Then one day, completely out of nowhere, he said something I’d been waiting nearly seven years to hear.

“I’ll come with you.”

I tried not to look too excited.

Experience had taught me not to celebrate too early.

But inside, I was already imagining all the yoga classes we’d finally get to share together.

I had absolutely no idea what I was about to unleash.

The quiet man who had spent years insisting yoga “wasn’t his thing” was about to discover a practice that suited him almost perfectly.

And, as it turned out, perhaps a little too perfectly.

Bubba found his yoga

The strange part was that Bubba didn’t just enjoy Bikram Yoga.

He fell in love with it.

Almost overnight.

While I found myself missing the slower pace of the Hatha classes I’d practiced for years—the longer holds, gentle inversions, and quiet moments between postures—Bubba had finally found a style that spoke his language.

Bikram was structured.

Predictable.

Demanding.

The room was over 100°F (38°C), everyone practiced the same sequence, and there was a clear sense of discipline from beginning to end. For someone who had always measured a workout by how hard it pushed him, it felt less like a yoga class and more like athletic training.

He loved every minute of it.

Within a couple of months, the changes were impossible to ignore.

For the first time in his life, he could comfortably touch his toes.

His shoulders, which had always been tight from years of lifting weights and playing football, began to open. He could finally clasp his hands behind his back. He was drinking water by the gallon, eating healthier without anyone reminding him, and walking around with the unmistakable enthusiasm of someone who had discovered something that genuinely made him feel good.

Watching that transformation was wonderful.

At first.

I’d spent seven years trying to convince him to give yoga a chance, and now it had become part of his identity almost overnight.

I remember thinking, Finally… we can practice together.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I created a yoga monster

Before long, Bikram Yoga wasn’t just something Bubba did.

It became what he planned his day around.

Then his week.

Then, if I’m being completely honest, it started feeling like our entire lives revolved around class schedules.

The studio announced a 60-Day Challenge.

Practice every day for sixty consecutive days.

Miss one class?

You had to make it up by attending two classes the next day.

To me, it sounded intense.

To Bubba, it sounded glorious.

His alarm began going off before sunrise so he could make the early morning class before work. If he couldn’t fit one in before work, he’d go after work. Occasionally he’d manage both.

I started joking that I needed to check the Bikram schedule before asking him to make dinner plans.

The joke wasn’t entirely a joke.

Then there was Fernando.

Fernando was seventy-eight years old and also taking part in the challenge.

For reasons only Bubba could explain, Fernando became “the guy to beat.”

Not in a malicious way.

Just… competitively.

Every evening I’d hear an update.

“Fernando was there today.”

“I think I caught up.”

“I don’t think Fernando has missed a class.”

Apparently yoga had become a competitive sport.

The local studio put Bubba’s photograph on one of their achievement boards.

He stopped wandering around sporting goods stores and started browsing yoga catalogues instead.

There were yoga mats.

Yoga towels.

Yoga clothes.

Special water bottles.

I’d spent years trying to convince him that yoga wasn’t about competition.

Now I was living with a man who somehow managed to turn yoga into one.

And that’s when I realised something I hadn’t expected.

I wasn’t losing Bubba to another person.

I was losing him to a yoga studio.

For the first time since he’d discovered Bikram Yoga, I found myself wishing he’d skip a class.

Just one.

The day I gave him an ultimatum

Eventually, I reached my limit.

One morning, after yet another conversation about class schedules, hydration, and whether Fernando had shown up, I snapped.

I told Bubba I couldn’t do it anymore.

It was either Bikram Yoga…

or me.

Looking back, it sounds dramatic.

At the time, it didn’t feel dramatic at all.

It felt lonely.

I wasn’t upset because he had found something he loved. I was genuinely happy that yoga had eased years of stiffness and helped him feel stronger than ever.

What hurt was feeling as though I’d quietly slipped down the list of priorities.

I remember saying things I’m not particularly proud of.

I accused him of being obsessed.

I insisted Bikram wasn’t “real yoga.”

I may even have used the word cult.

None of those comments came from careful reflection.

They came from frustration.

Bubba looked genuinely confused.

“But don’t you want me to be healthier?” he asked.

“Don’t you want me to feel good?”

Of course I did.

That was never the problem.

The problem was that somewhere along the way, our relationship had started competing with his class schedule.

Finally, in one last burst of exasperation, I blurted out something that still makes us laugh today.

“I didn’t sign up to become a Bikram widow.”

There was a long silence.

Then Bubba quietly picked up his yoga bag.

Pulled on his UGG boots.

Looked at me.

And walked out the door.

The house suddenly felt much quieter.

For the first time since this whole Bikram adventure had begun, I wasn’t angry anymore.

I was just sad.

And, if I was being completely honest with myself…

I was beginning to wonder whether yoga had really been the problem at all.

What I realized that evening

After Bubba left, the house felt strangely empty.

I rolled out my mat in the living room and began practicing on my own.

At first, I was still replaying the argument in my head. Every sentence. Every accusation. Every sarcastic comment that had sounded perfectly reasonable a few hours earlier suddenly felt a little unfair.

Somewhere between Downward Dog and a rather stiff Forward Fold, my perspective started to shift.

Bikram Yoga wasn’t making Bubba a worse person.

Quite the opposite.

He was healthier than he’d been in years.

His back bothered him less. His shoulders moved more freely. He drank more water, ate better, and seemed genuinely excited to get up in the morning.

How could I criticize something that had given him so much?

The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I became.

I’d convinced myself that yoga was pulling us apart.

But perhaps the real issue wasn’t yoga at all.

Perhaps we had simply forgotten to make space for each other while making space for everything else.

That distinction mattered.

Because if yoga had been replaced by golf, cycling, marathon training, or any other passion, we might have ended up having exactly the same argument.

The practice wasn’t our enemy.

We had simply lost our balance.

Just as I was settling into another Downward Dog, I heard the front door open.

I looked up.

There stood Bubba.

Still wearing his black plastic thermal sweat suit.

Still carrying his washable yoga mat.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, almost at exactly the same time, we both smiled.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too,” he replied.

I glanced at the clock.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at class?”

He looked at me through his arms, settled into his own Downward Dog beside me, and grinned.

“Welcome to Bubba Bikram.”

It remains one of my favourite yoga memories.

Not because Bikram Yoga nearly broke us up.

But because it reminded us that the purpose of any yoga practice isn’t to pull us away from the people we love.

It’s to help us become more present when we’re with them.

What this experience taught us

It’s been many years since “Bubba Bikram.”

We still laugh about Fernando, the 60-Day Challenge, and the period when our calendar seemed to revolve around hot yoga classes. The story has become part of our family history.

But what has stayed with me isn’t the argument.

It’s the lesson.

Every meaningful passion has the potential to enrich our lives. Yoga. Running. Surfing. Meditation. Even work we genuinely love. The problem rarely lies in the activity itself. It begins when we stop noticing what else needs our attention.

Ironically, yoga teaches the opposite.

It asks us to become more aware.

More present.

More connected.

Not only with ourselves, but with the people around us.

Today, our practice looks very different. Sometimes we practice together. Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes one of us is inspired while the other takes a walk instead.

And that’s perfectly fine.

We’ve learned that sharing a life doesn’t mean sharing every interest. It means supporting each other’s passions while remembering to make time for the relationship that exists outside the yoga studio.

If there’s one thing this story taught me, it’s that balance isn’t only something we practice on a yoga mat.

It’s something we practice every day, with the people we love.

Perhaps that’s the real lesson Bikram Yoga gave us.

Not greater flexibility.

Not better posture.

But a gentle reminder that the healthiest practice is one that leaves room for life beyond the studio.

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