The Healing

  “Saeeda Hafiz shows tremendous vulnerability as she shares the trials and triumphs of her life as a black woman coming into her own through food and yoga. This memoir will have you rooting for her success from start to finish.”

  —OLIVIA AFFUSO, Olivia Affuso, PhD, FACSM, physical activity epidemiologist and associate professor of epidemiology at the University of Alabama at Birmingham

  “Saeeda Hafiz has told a brave and very positive story about her own healing from family trauma. She uses it to inspire and teach others, including the youths she interacts with in San Francisco schools. This memoir is a must-read for anyone wishing to understand how adverse childhoods impact us both physically and emotionally, and how to rise from them to lead an inspiring life.”

  —ANJA MANUEL, author of This Brave New World

  “What a gift it is to read The Healing. Saeeda Hafiz’s story teaches us that we have the power to alter our circumstances and habits in order to discover our own version of health and happiness. Through the baring of her soul, our souls in turn feel nourished. This is a must-read for anyone seeking the inspiration to start on a more holistic path to health and wellness. The Healing is a required reading in our annual 200-hour Yoga Teacher Training Program.”

  —CHRISTINA BEER, founder, Ocean Beach Yoga in San Francisco

  “The Healing is a powerfully written inspirational memoir that will help the reader on their journey toward optimal health.”

  —CANDACE MOORE, author of Namaslay: Rock Your Yoga Practice, Tap Into Your Greatness, and Defy Your Limits

  “Saeeda Hafiz’s memoir is inspirational for anyone anywhere who wants to break free from the ways people and environments attempt to limit us from reaching our fullest potential. The Healing helped me see how integrating positive regard for my mind, my body, and my spirit altogether, is a birthright and also a project that only I can undertake. We are all worthy of living a life of wholeness, and Saeeda’s memoir reminds us of that truth.”

  —PAMELA AYO YETUNDE, ThD, pastoral counselor and assistant professor of pastoral care and counseling at the United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities, and director of the Interreligious Chaplaincy program

  “The experiences of home, work, family, and self-exploration that Saeeda Hafiz presents in The Healing are both personal to her and universal to the reader. Her honest and forthright style of writing made me ever eager to pick up the book again to return to and share in her tribulations and triumphs. I suffered and rejoiced with Saeeda from the first page to the last.”

  —JACKIE DAVIS MARTIN, author of Surviving Susan

  “Saeeda Hafiz tells a story of transformation with honesty and courage. Few authors have managed to write about family and cultural trauma with such compassion. The Healing makes a compelling—and eminently readable—case for wellness as a tool for transcending the wounds of the past.”

  —JANIS COOKE NEWMAN, author of A Master Plan for Rescue

  “The Healing is an honest, funny, and compelling story of how hard it can be, and how important it is, for us to connect with our own bodies. Hafiz tells her story of how she was transformed by simple foods and simple movements, and at the same time brings the reader along on a journey of her own—toward self-love, embodiment, and spiritual growth.”

  —MARCY COBURN, executive director of CUESA (Center for Urban Education about Sustainable Agriculture) and the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmers Market

  “The Healing does more than provide valuable strategies for living a healthier and more balanced life. It is also a great read. Saeeda Hafiz’s life hasn’t been an easy walk. But it has been an incredible journey! This book is a gift.”

  —APRIL SINCLAIR, author of Coffee Will Make You Black

  “A strength of this memoir lies in Hafiz’s refusal to soft-pedal the hard work of healing. Always honest and never discouraging, her book is as brave as its author in confronting outside expectations and family legacy while listening to that small quiet voice. It never presents healing as facile self-transformation but instead embraces the messy work of growing into an authentic—and generous—life of integrity.”

  —LINDSEY CRITTENDEN, author of The Water Will Hold You and The View from Below

  Parallax Press

  P.O. Box 7355

  Berkeley, California

  94707

  www.parallax.org

  Parallax Press is the publishing division of Plum Village Community of Engaged Buddhism, Inc.

  Copyright © 2018 by Saeeda Hafiz

  All rights reserved.

  Cover and text design by Joshua Michels

  Cover photo, “Houses on hill in Pittsburgh,” by Nivek Neslo/The Image Bank/Getty Images

  Author cover photo © Susan Beallor, susanbeallorsnyder.com

  Author photo © Joshua Michels

  Lyrics from “It’s Such a Good Feeling” appear by permission of the publisher.

  DISCLAIMER: The advice in this book is intended for general information purposes only. Any application of the material set forth in the following pages is at the reader’s discretion and is their sole responsibility.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hafiz, Saeeda, author.

  Title: The healing : one woman’s journey from poverty to inner riches / Saeeda Hafiz.

  Description: Berkeley, California : Parallax Press, 2018.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018008293 | ISBN 9781946764041 (paperback)

  Subjects: LCSH: Hafiz, Saeeda. | Yoga teachers–Biography. | African American women–Biography. | Sivananda Yoga Vedanta Center (New York, N.Y.)–Biography. | Hatha yoga. | Macrobiotic diet. | Mind and body therapies. | Self-care, Health. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Women. | HEALTH & FITNESS / Yoga. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Ethnic Studies / African American Studies.

  Classification: LCC RA781.67 .H34 2018 | DDC 613.7/046092 [B] –dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2018008293

  Ebook ISBN 9781946764058

  v5.3.1

  a

  To my family as an inspiration and an acknowledgment of our struggles and how important it is to heal; to my nieces and nephews and their children who might wish to understand some of the details behind our family story

  She lives at the edge of life as a creative act, continuous and evolving, not infrequently terrified of her own godliness; not infrequently enraptured by the joy and fun of it all; always grappling with her own humanity.

  —THEODORE ROETHKE

  Friendship is the most underrated relationship in our lives….It remains the one relation not bound by law, blood, or money—but an unspoken agreement of love.

  —HANYA YANAGIHARA

  Peace in yourself

  Peace in the world.

  —THICH NHAT HANH

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Introduction

  1 Pittsburgh, Winter 1990

  2 Cooking with Gia

  3 Sivananda Yoga Ashram, Grass Valley

  4 Ben and Frederick and the Shadow Side

  5 Rahima

  6 Ted and The Bank

  7 Grandfather

  8 Yoga, Upstate New York

  9 Hot-lanta

  10 Abundance and Its Opposite

  11 Istanbul, Budapest, Cyprus

  12 Mother

  13 Friendship

  14 Daniel and Aaliyah

  15 Expanding the Circle

  16 Samir

  17 Pittsburgh, Late Summer 1999

 
18 I Love You

  19 Oakland and San Francisco

  20 Sahyadri Mountain, Kerala, India

  Epilogue

  Yin & Yang Charts

  Healing Recipes

  References

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Related Titles

  Introduction

  I SIT IN THE KITCHEN of one of my yoga students, looking at the “before” pictures of her newly renovated house. Nancy, a petite, determined woman, is an art gallery assistant making hardly any money. When I ask her what made her think that she could buy and renovate a dilapidated house on a salary of only $15,000 a year, she replies, “One paycheck at a time, and I can do most of the work myself.”

  Nancy was the first person to show me, in a really concrete way, the successful outcome of setting one big goal, breaking it down into weekly goals based on what her paycheck would allow, and then breaking those down into daily steps. Those tasks that she could do each day would ultimately lead to the main goal, her vision of a fully renovated home. In my childhood, I had never observed anyone living like this. Contrary to whatever the American Dream is supposed to look like, I was surrounded by people who pretty much stayed where they were when it came to building wealth or to moving up the social scale. Some of the youth I went to college with did climb the ladder of education toward a materially comfortable life as professionals or executives, often under conditions of tremendous stress and effort. But few people I knew, no matter their class or color, could stick to a one-step-at-a-time approach like Nancy did and build something beautiful within their means—and on their own.

  This concept of slowly and realistically moving toward goals helps me with my yoga instruction, because once every few days, a student asks me something like: “What can I do to improve my yoga practice?” or “How can I decrease my anxiety?” and I find myself giving yoga and nutrition advice that fits with Nancy’s one-at-a-time approach and traditional Asian concepts of natural healing.

  But the overarching challenge for me has been to apply Nancy’s method to renovating my own dilapidated life. Nancy’s vision and commitment to live a rich life outside the framework of corporate America inspired me to write this book. It’s an illustration of how healthy food and yoga, two very fundamental tools, became the guide-posts for my journey out of poverty and the trauma that goes with it. That’s why I call it The Healing.

  This book that you hold in your hands (or perhaps are reading as an eBook or hearing as an audiobook) is my offering to you, with my story of how I came to discover simple recipes and yoga practices that have helped to keep me grounded and stopped me from falling into drug and alcohol abuse or situations of domestic violence. At the back of the book I’ve shared whole-foods, macrobiotic recipes that I found helpful on my path to healing. I’ve written them down to encourage you to participate fully in your own self-care, though I know my remedies might not be for everyone.

  It wasn’t an easy story to tell, but in my mother’s words, “Well, it all happened.” And once I acknowledged that “it all happened,” I was free to choose how to share how it has affected me. I’ve been able to see how all of my experiences, even the most agonizing ones, have created a wealth of inner riches that sustain me. I, like my mother, hope this book will help others in similar situations to find their way to their own healing.

  This book is not meant to treat, diagnose, or prescribe any healing remedies for any specific ailments. It only outlines my journey toward health and healing and how I chose food and yoga as mindfulness bells to help me listen to my own internal wisdom. It details how I became more aware of my mind, body, and spirit and is meant to inspire you to be wholly involved in your own life and well-being. Please consult your medical professionals for any conditions or symptoms that need attention. My own team included, but was not limited to, a medical doctor, a holistic health practitioner, a homeopathic doctor, a massage therapist, and a licensed psychologist. Having a sangha of people to help me understand the process of healing empowered me to become an active agent in creating my own good health from the inside out.

  Even though I’ve kept a journal since September 1981, recalling all of the exact information regarding dates, places, people, and conversations was a challenge. That being said, I still render each story as truthfully and compassionately as I’ve been able to remember it. I’ve changed names and identities in order to respect the privacy of those involved. I apologize in advance to anyone I might have inadvertently misrepresented, offended, or hurt. My story is interconnected with your story; it is always my intention to follow the guiding principle of the Sanskrit word ahimsa, to cause no harm. Ahimsa! May you find your own healing.

  Saeeda Hafiz

  San Francisco, January 2018

  CHAPTER 1

  Pittsburgh, Winter 1990

  PITTSBURGH SEEMED CLOSE to freezing as I waited for the bus, the 71A Negley. It was late winter 1990, and I just wanted to be at home in my new apartment. Warm, comfortable, and safe. When the bus arrived, I quickly got on. Tucking my long, black wool coat around me, I nestled myself between two other passengers. I didn’t have a car yet, so I rode the bus back and forth to work at the bank. I removed my burgundy leather gloves, placed them inside my matching Coach purse and looked down at my wet mahogany boots. In this outfit, I felt like someone from Essence magazine, a fine example of an African American career girl. As a twenty-three-year-old corporate marketing database manager, I was That Girl from the 1970s TV show, a woman who chooses to have a career first instead of getting married and starting a family. So between That Girl and Essence magazine, I had grown up to be That Black Girl.

  As the bus drove to the next stop, I wiped the steam from my glasses, and suddenly tears crowded into my eyes. The “ding” from the stop-requested bell transported me back to a scene from my past.

  I am five years old. My father comes home from being out late. The door slams shut, and just like the “ding” that started the Ali-Frazier fight that I’d watched on TV, I’d hear a ding inside my head, signaling that the fight in my house was about to begin. All night I listen to my father beating my mother. The next day I see her black eye peeking out from behind her dark sunglasses.

  Even though I was looking down, I knew that we were passing the Kaufmann department store building with its spring fashion collection in the window, an image I saw twice daily as I rode the bus back and forth to work. Again, I heard a “ding.”

  I am eleven and sitting beside my paternal grandmother. She pulls bright shiny brass knuckles from a brown paper bag. Drunk, she whispers “your grandfather uses these on me. Don’t ev-ver let a man hit you.”

  I looked toward the bus driver, then out of his partially defogged window. The round dormitory buildings of the University of Pittsburgh. “Ding.”

  I am thirteen and my mother has just thrown a sewing box filled with sharp needles, scissors, thimbles, and thread at my younger brother. It misses him.

  Head hung low, teeth grinding, hands shaking, I pulled the cord, hard. “Ding!” Inside my head, I yell, “Stop! I want to get off.”

  At Negley and Ellsworth, I staggered off the bus, overwhelmed and desperately wondering why I was suddenly having these horrifying memories for the first time. My legs shook as I walked across the street toward my apartment. Blinded by my tear-speckled eyeglasses, I fumbled for my keys.

  Emotionally exhausted, the small flight of stairs left me winded. I opened the door to my apartment, took off my coat, and sank to the floor, back against the wall. I looked around at the empty rooms, bare walls, and curtain-less windows, seeing only a futon mattress for sleeping, an expensive All-Clad cooking pot, a professional chef’s knife, and a secondhand four-piece Mikasa fine china dish set.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford to begin furnishing my place. The truth was that I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I didn’t want to fill it up with the shou
ld-haves from the latest TV commercials. It was my first place, and I wanted to decide what furnishings best represented me. Part of me liked not having furniture. It gave me the feeling of building a new life from the ground up.

  I started to cry again, and my salty tears came down like a monsoon with snot hanging from my nose. I sat on the floor like a four-year-old, hugging my knees. Then I heard the voice of my mother inside my head: “What are you crying for? I was the one who suffered all those beatings.

  “Girl, you’d better go on and be happy. You got a ‘good’ job. You make almost three times more than I do. It’s hard raising four kids on less than $10,000 a year.” She paused. “You have a college degree, and your own apartment. You are not one of those single, black mothers raising babies. Just go on and be happy. You made it.”

  I cried even harder.

  Had I made it? Did I want for me what society, Black America, and my mother, wanted for me?

  I continued to sit on the floor, and more violent images appeared in my mind’s eye. My body flinched each time I remembered a scream or loud thump from my childhood. But it was the memories of the long periods of silence from childhood that were the scariest. I never knew if the fight for the night was over. So my eyes would shift back and forth in the darkness of my bedroom, waiting.

  Even though Pittsburgh was freezing that day, the memories of my past were just beginning to thaw out.

  * * *

  I didn’t realize it then, but the day I sat in my empty apartment on the floor, crying, something significant was starting to happen.

  Although the memories seemed like they came out of the blue, certain pivotal events had led up to that day. For three days in late winter 1990, I had made all of my meals from scratch. I didn’t consume any processed food or eat anything with refined sugar. I was only eating whole foods—grains, beans, tofu, seeds, and fresh fruits and vegetables—as instructed by my cooking teacher.