My Life As A Monk In A Cult

I hadn’t planned on becoming a yogic monk and finding myself in a cult when I first entered an ashram in the south of Spain almost 20 years ago.

In fact, if someone had suggested “monk" as a prospective career choice, I would have done a few Exorcist style head spins in disbelief.

I did however, enter the ashram because I felt lost and directionless, and I thought the experience might provide some much needed purpose to my life.

I was living in Madrid at the time working in musical theatre. But after two years of listening to the same old show tunes, I started to feel a little restless. My gypsy spirit knew this sensation well. It meant I was ready to move on.

The majority of my life until then had been spent travelling around the world in search of something. What, I didn’t exactly know. Maybe it was community, a sense of belonging, inspiration or someone to see me for who I really was.

I stayed in some places longer than others, worked different jobs and remained open to opportunities. But nothing appeared that resonated with my spirit.

Then, a friend invited me to a weekend workshop with his yoga guru. I reluctantly agreed, because I wasn’t that interested in yoga. I’d never even been to a yoga class before.

But during the first day of the workshop, I was unexpectedly captivated by the teachings. This guru spoke of the psychology of the mind, ancient eastern scriptures and the philosophy of yoga. And there was something lovely about the camaraderie within the community that felt warm and intimate. It was something I‘d never experienced even within my own family.

The guru seemed welcoming and pleasant, so when he invited me to spend a summer at his ashram, I didn’t hesitate. This was obviously the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I quit my job, left my apartment and within weeks had installed myself in the ashram ready and eager to learn more.

Within a few months, I had completely fallen in love with yoga. And instead of staying just the summer like I originally intended, I ended up staying five years learning everything my mind could absorb around Vedic culture, Yoga asana, Ayurveda, Meditation and Vedanta.

In the hands of a sincere spiritual guide, becoming a yogic monk can be an incredible experience. One that allows you to really know yourself, meditate deeply, reflect on what makes you you, build resilience, renounce the pleasures of life for a time and discipline the senses.

But as time wore on, an uneasy sense that something wasn’t quite right started arising within me. I began witnessing dubious methods of teaching, erratic behaviour and emotionally abusive tendencies from the guru.

When I first entered the ashram, his charismatic personality made me feel special, seen and heard, and I became easily intoxicated by his attention.

But once he had my trust and I was a devoted disciple, what I thought, felt or believed no longer mattered. My opinions were dismissed, and if I disagreed with him in any way, I was labelled disloyal and humiliated in front of the entire sangha.

If I challenged his perspective, I was gaslit, sidelined and punished with silent treatment. And if at anytime I didn’t behave appropriately (according to his standards), I was verbally abused and shamed.

What I didn’t know at the time, was I had entered a cult and was being emotionally abused by its leader.

Instead of guiding us to greater heights of spiritual elevation, he metaphorically kneecapped us so we would never walk again without his blessing or support.

So how on earth did I not see this man for who he really was?

I didn't grow up with a strong sense of self or with an emotionally available father. So, inevitably, I went searching for someone who was capable of filling the huge void I felt from that absence as a child.

This groomer convinced me he knew what was in my best interest and he promised to help me become the best version of myself.

Excited for such guidance, I happily surrendered myself into his care. I handed over my sovereignty with the kind of ease some might consider alarming, and placed all my faith in someone I was convinced would “fix me”.

Since I had always been taught to be a “good little girl”, I blindly followed his advice. I did everything he told me to do even when it didn’t feel right, and ignored every instinct I had that was telling me to run for the hills. Soon enough, I’d become adept at self-abandoning and my soul was paying the ultimate price. It was slowly shattering into a million little pieces.

After five years of serving the colossal ego of a man obsessed with his own power, I finally began entertaining thoughts of leaving.