Day 52: A Journey Home

Healing, Faith and Transformation in the Heart of the Middle East

Today marked the first day of my Al Ain Yoga Retreat in the United Arab Emirates, and I can’t help but feel that this is exactly the healing I needed.

This afternoon, I returned to the Al Ain Rotana for my retreat, a place that holds significant meaning for me. For those who haven’t read my book, Sober Yoga Girl, it might seem like a random place for a Canadian yoga teacher living in Bali to host a retreat. And, in a way, it is. Located about two hours from both Abu Dhabi and Dubai, Al Ain is deep in the desert. Yet, I come here every year because I lived in the Middle East for seven years, from ages 23 to 30. For me, returning here feels like coming home.

When I first moved to the region at 23, I began my journey in Kuwait, where I experienced the traditional and ancient aspects of Arabia. At 25, I transitioned to Abu Dhabi, a city that is more cosmopolitan and modern.

Back then, I was an international school teacher—teaching third grade in Kuwait and first grade in Abu Dhabi. The Middle East is a complex place, both challenging and deeply beautiful. I understand why some people might not enjoy visiting, as its surface often showcases opulence—luxurious buildings, expensive cars, and Rolls-Royces. And while the culture and religion, can be hard to understand, beneath the surface is an overwhelming presence of love, faith, and community.

I had signed a two-year contract in Kuwait, and while that time both broke and transformed me, it also opened my heart and mind to new perspectives. Once you fall in love with the Middle East, it’s a difficult place to leave, at least for me.

But how did I end up hosting yoga retreats at the Al Ain Rotana?

A year after I got sober from alcohol, I realized that I no longer wanted to be a schoolteacher. I wanted to teach yoga full-time. This decision came in 2019, right before the pandemic hit. I created my company, The Mindful Life Practice, and built an Instagram presence. Soon after, the world was turned upside down with Covid-19, but my online community started to grow quickly, particularly my sober yoga community. No one else in the Middle East was addressing sobriety—an incredibly taboo subject in this region. As I started to speak openly about it, I was featured on Dubai Eye Radio, in The National Newspaper, and on several local podcasts.

I realized that while addiction was not openly discussed in the Middle East, it was definitely present. I broke through the stigma and began to build an alternative community of women choosing a different path for their lives, and Sober Girls Yoga was born.

After running Sober Girls Yoga online for about a year, I decided to take a weekend getaway to Al Ain. At the time, I was teaching Zoom yoga classes and running online teacher trainings, but hosting yoga retreats seemed like an impossible dream. I didn’t believe anyone would want to pay money to spend a weekend or week with me doing yoga, so I hadn’t yet tried to make it a reality.

I chose Al Ain because it was still during the pandemic, and I didn’t want to cross borders between Abu Dhabi and Dubai. It was there, by the pool, that I met the general manager of the Al Ain Rotana. We struck up a conversation, and over time, I learned that his son was in third-grade when I taught third grade at the American School of Kuwait. That connection sparked an incredible conversation, and I shared with him my dream of hosting yoga retreats. His response was, “Let’s make it happen here.”

Though terrified, I took a leap of faith, and we hosted my very first retreat at the Al Ain Rotana. It was a small group—about five or six women—but it was the start of a beautiful new chapter. I lost money, and the hotel probably didn’t profit either, but that weekend was transformative. Because of that retreat, I gained the confidence to host more, and soon after, I ran retreats in Bali and Mexico. Today, I teach yoga full-time and travel the world. I head to India in March and Arizona in May. Between that I have numerous retreats in Bali over the next year.

Returning to Abu Dhabi has been incredibly healing—it’s like medicine for my soul. The calmness of this city fills me with peace.

In the midst of my journey, I’ve had moments of losing faith, something that’s normal when experiencing the immediate aftermath of trauma. Today, I asked my friend Carolyn to take me to the Sheikh Zayed Mosque, and she said, “I can feel it’s something you really needed.” I’ve probably been to the mosque about ten times in my life. It’s my favorite tourist site in the world. But I hadn’t been since 2020. I marveled at the new mall beneath it. After I walked through the whole thing, I sat outside and meditated. I have so many memories here. On my way out, I had a custom gold necklace made with my name in Arabic (I’ve had three of these made and lost them over time!) Due to an error, they made it in silver instead. They offered to redo it, but I accepted it as it was. “Khalas” I said which means “enough in Arabic.” This made them smile, and in gratitude, they gave me a free bracelet. They were also going to engrave it with the word “Alexandra” but I asked if they could do “Inshallah” instead.

Inshallah, meaning “God willing,” is a word that often becomes a gentle way to say “no” in the Middle East. Sometimes it is even used to humorously imply that something will never happen. I’ve always wanted an Inshallah tattoo to represent the humor and depth of this word, especially after living here for seven years. Today, I got it on my bracelet.

But it means more to me than just the informal usage in common conversation. Inshallah reflects a deep cultural and religious belief in the will and plan of a higher power, recognizing that, ultimately, events unfold according to a God of your understanding’s design, not human control. It’s often used when speaking about future events, expressing hope or intention, but with an acknowledgment that the outcome is in God’s hands. This faith allows me to understand that what’s unfolding in my life, even when it doesn’t make sense, is happening for a reason.

This was the first yoga retreat where I carried my harmonium internationally. Tonight when I taught the opening yoga class, I chanted for my retreat participants. For the first time since last Sunday night, I felt the shivers of something deep within my soul—a spiritual presence reawakening inside me. My body might feel disconnected from the light I once carried, but I know it will return, moment by moment.

My God is real, and I feel him in my soul.