Welcome to part two of my interview with Bridgett Ane Goddard. We'll learn about the practices that enable Bridgett Ane to work through life's challenges, where she finds stillness in nature and her take on how wild women are viewed in our society.
I admire how she harnesses a deep resilience through her practices which enable her to look within and work through challenges head on. I feel we can all benefit wholeheartedly by reading her words and consider how these practices may fit into our lives.
Are there any particular experiences that you've had with yoga that stands out?
There are so many. As you say that, I get these flashes—so many classes, so many teachers. It’s been almost 30 years that I’ve been training now.
To name a few: my first class with Diane in Ithaca, New York; my first original hot yoga class with Jimmy Barkan in New York City; the first class I had with Mary Jarvis in 2003, San Francisco; and the class Mary Jarvis taught in Chicago that my sister Eileen was in. That one was particularly special because I had met Mary before, I think it was in 2004. I was in a vulnerable place, on the edge of divorce, but I also wanted to be seen at my best. I thought, I know Mary. I’ve met her before. I’m bringing my sister in. She had just had a baby, so this was her first class after a few months had passed, and she was terrified.
So the class goes on, and Mary is like, “Eileen, wonderful! Eileen, beautiful!” She kept singing her praises, and I was thinking, “Oh, why is she not saying my name? Eileen is getting all the attention.” She didn’t say anything to me until we got to Camel.
My heart was not in a good place, but I felt mind over matter—I wanted to show Mary that I could do full Camel. So I went into the advanced version of Camel, and Mary was like, “Everyone, come out of the pose.” She guided everybody out of the posture except me. She said, “BA, that is a fucked-up way of doing that pose.” And I was like, “What?” Then she talked me through how to do it properly. That was a big lesson in terms of posture of ego versus posture of consciousness. I was pretty much forcing myself into a position because I wanted to show her what I could do.
But it wasn’t what I needed. It wasn’t good for my body, heart, soul, or head. Without getting into all the details, Mary just kept it very physical and showed me the proper way to do it so that I would feel better. But I think that was also a real realisation about intuition as a teacher and knowing your students—who needs to be encouraged, supported, and honoured, and who is better off not having their name mentioned. Sometimes saying someone’s name lifts them up, and sometimes it triggers them or brings them down. And because I am a yoga teacher as well, it’s important to know when to ask someone, “Are you okay?” and when to just say, “Nice to see you. I’m so glad you’re here,” and then leave it—or not say anything at all, potentially.
That class in Chicago was really a big learning curve. And because Mary knows I respond well to tough criticism—since that’s what I had as a kid—I remember one class, not yoga-related, but another big learning curve. I came back from a ballet class crying, and my parents asked, “What’s going on, BA?”
"Why are you so upset?" I said, "Because Judith, my ballet teacher, didn't say anything to me the whole time. She said nothing. She must not believe in me. She must not think I'm worthy of even being a ballet dancer." And my heart was broken. I still have a wonderful relationship with this woman, my ballet teacher.
I think my parents learned a lot about me that day. I learned about myself too, although it's only in my more adult years that I've come to understand that experience better.
How does your practice help you during challenging times?
I have a pooja at home, an area where I meditate, pray, do my yoga practice, or just sit. I have a lot of stones and photos. It’s very important for me to have photographs of the people I've lost and the people I love—my ancestors, and even people I don't know. Some of them are teachers, like St. Bernadette, whom I have on one of my altars. During those times, I sit and just breathe, light a candle, or burn some sage to clear the energy. But when I've been taken away, I think that's the hardest thing. Sometimes, when we're going through the most difficult times in life, everything is taken away from us.
Also, just having a stone is pretty easy to find, or a flower, something simple—realising you don't really need much, just to be able to create that little space. Normally, when I travel, I bring crystals with me and create a little pooja wherever I'm staying, in my room. That's very important for me to have.
Another practice, which Mary Jarvis shared with me in 2003, is called The Five Tibetans, the ancient secret of the fountain of youth. Along with the 26 and 2 original hot yoga sequence, it's very important to me—life-changing, game-changing. They're adaptogens, so they literally coordinate with your hormones.
When you're doing any exercise, it affects your hormones, but specific exercises in a specific order, for a specific duration, with precision of intent, are far more powerful in terms of organising your hormones. If you have an imbalance in your brain chemistry, which we all do as humans, and you're taking medication for that, it’s interesting to learn about these specific postures and sequences, and then check in with your hormone balance. You can then check in with your doctor to see if you can get off those meds.
It’s been very empowering for me. I can do three reps of each of The Five Tibetans when I have no time. I do 22 reps when I have all the time I need.
I was out of Brighton for three months in the summer of 2016, sleeping on a barn floor—literally for months on end—and also not having the discipline to eat the right food or drink the right water. Sometimes when we're in pain and suffering, it's a lot harder to have that discipline, right? So, The Five Tibetans got me through in terms of my spiritual and psychological self, but I ended up in the hospital at the end of that summer. I was very sick, and I couldn't deny that my body wasn't going to be well if I was living on cake, coffee, and ale—at least not for me. It's okay for a time, but depending on your constitution, we are fragile beings, and our bodies will respond to whatever we put in them.
For me, I find it's easier to be disciplined when I have no choice. As I've gotten older and have more respect for the frailty of my human body—although I don't see myself as frail; I see myself as a very strong individual woman—I also recognise that I need to keep a balance. I've gone to extremes when I've been very sick. I've had an extreme clean diet for months and years on end without any caffeine, sugar, or alcohol, and then I've disconnected from the human realm.
I went so far into the spiritual side that I didn't know if I was going to stick around much longer because I was meditating, practicing yoga, drinking all green juice—all of this. I was pure light. My husband said I started to become translucent, and I didn't feel like I needed anything material anymore.
So, I really need that balance. I like to feel happy and proud that I can recognise that in myself these days and for years now. I can have one foot in the more material, normal eating—without having to be super strict—and the other side where, yes, I'm disciplined and maintain a healthy practice and lifestyle.
I wanted to speak about nature and wildness, and how nature connects with the wildness in you. Where do you most feel alive in nature? Is there a location you have an affinity with that you would visit time and time again?
Absolutely. I grew up on Riverside Drive, so I had this creek—or what you might call a stream in England—that was my playground. And because I'm one of six kids, my parents really didn't want us in the house, so we were really outside, come rain, snow, or shine, and extremely wild from a very young age, to the point where I'd get in trouble, like being in the treetops or being in the mud to the point where we needed adults to help us get out.
We were building forts, climbing through tunnels, digging holes, really being in branches, in dirt, in water, picking up stones, and looking underneath them. This was all my childhood, but I think over time, it grew into something more. I became president of the Earth Club as a young teenager, doing lots of work for our community—saving and re-wilding certain lands and protecting areas where wildlife is vibrant.
If I had to picture one natural feature, it would be a waterfall. The idea of receiving and letting go in a moment—it's so fast. You're there, and it's just coming, and then you're there, and it's going. My favourite place is behind the waterfall, where you can see it and also feel its force. I used to sit on this little rock, like a chair behind the waterfall, and do leg lifts.
I loved the strength of it. I would jump off from above—it took courage. The terror I would feel the moment before, followed by the elation of falling, was incredible. It's a huge leap of faith. I trusted others because I’d never go first. Usually, a number of people would go before me, and I’d look at exactly where they were jumping and think, "Okay, that's the safe place to go." There’s also the balance of darkness and light—the white from the foam of the water, and the light when you're in the water looking up at the sky.
Now that I'm in Brighton, it's the sea, of course. But I had to change my relationship with the cold because in my first eight years in Brighton, I’d been in the sea maybe three times. Then I did cold water training and ice bath training, like Wim Hof training, and I changed my relationship with the cold, using it as meditation.
I'm not a swimmer, but for me, it's a spiritual, wild experience, seeing those waves coming with respect for Mother Nature, and then going in with a lot of calm, faith, and connection to the ground. A gratitude practice keeps me grounded, but then the ability to take my feet off the seabed and float—that surrender.
Nowadays, I'm not opening my eyes because of the quality of the water, but I used to love opening my eyes underwater and seeing what the sky and sun looked like.
At our yoga school, Yoga in the Lanes in Brighton, we have an outdoor courtyard. I love being there, just looking up at the sky, and I love connecting with the pigeons. I'm so grateful for that little area—the few plants that are growing there and the sky. It’s just this little haven in the centre of town. It’s nice to have that if I'm not at home or don’t have time to get to the beach.
So, are you an earth or a water sign?
I'm fire. I think because my fire is so big, I need to really connect with both earth and water for cooling. Air as well—wind and air help me, but it takes a lot of self-control with breathing. I practice a lot of pranayama and breathing exercises, but that's more of a mental discipline. Whereas with earth, I literally feel the coolness when I touch it. Also, with my autoimmune disorder, it’s fire—it’s massive inflammation inside.
So, the whole meditation practice is about being thankful. I would say "thank you, thank you," while also picturing that red, hot tissue in my bladder becoming a very healthy pink colour. In my mind, I was literally reducing that fiery, inflamed tissue to bring it to a healthy state, and I also pictured ice in the hot room, changing my relationship with the heat because I didn't like the heat—I was already so hot. Then I heard a teacher say, "Imagine you're in an ice bath." I would never have actually gone in an ice bath in those years, but I liked picturing that I was in one.
How do you feel women who don't play by the rules—wild women—are viewed in our modern society?
Of course, there are different views depending on who's looking, but we live in Brighton, so generally, who's looking is doing so with a wonderful perspective. That's what first came to mind—that I'm so happy to be living in this world right now, at this time, when being wild is actually embraced, respected, and inspiring. It's not for everybody yet, but more and more women are having that conversation, speaking to me, and saying, "Wow, you're so free in your body. You're so connected. I wish I could have that." I recognise it because those conversations weren't happening before.
And I still get in trouble a lot, especially in America. When I go home, it's hard. And even when I was in Egypt recently, one of my best friends, who's Chilean, said to me, "Be careful, BA. You cannot be your wild self. You’ve got to be careful. You could end up in jail."
At a certain time, in a certain place, yes, it is important to play by the rules so that we don't end up in jail. But I think it's also our responsibility—it's our time. Things are changing big time. Our relationship with everything—with light, with dark, with time, with space, certainly with ourselves, our communities, our spirit—is changing right now. Rapidly. So exciting. To the point of that solar flare that happened just a couple of weeks ago. It's giving people an opportunity to both expand and also retract, creating this protective seal around knowing, as Mary would say—and I know it's not Mary who said it, but—knowing when to hold and knowing when to fold. "Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em."
Right? So, I'm not sure. Is that John Denver? Maybe. But that's really important—having the intuition or wisdom to not speak, because the audience isn't going to hear you. As sad as that can be sometimes, I've had to admit, just this last year, that's been a huge realisation for me. To the point where I've had to say, "No, I'm not going to speak right now. I'm going to be silent. I'm going to be still." And I was very grateful in my heart, very happy for that person to do that because when they started speaking, I looked at the audience and they all lit up. Their spines straightened, they looked, they connected, and they heard him.
Yes, it was a white male. I'm sorry to say. And I'm not sorry to say, but that's the world. If in fact we're bridging from the patriarchy to the divine feminine, then as a divine feminine with a very strong masculine, this is also coming into balance right now. Having the divine feminine is wonderful, but if you need some of that divine masculine to say, "I am going to speak right now. I am going to stand up and do it," then you should.
Ultimately, I'm very happy to be living in a world that's changing and also very aware that in some places it's very dangerous and is seen as being crazy. I think I saw it on the last full moon—somebody had posted, "Make sure you do something today as a woman that we would have been burned at the stake for." By far. I was like, "Yes, because we can."
I think that's an excellent note to end on. Thank you so much.