Practicing yoga is to practice falling in love – and to fall in love is to experience every pitfall, every up and down; every scathing detail the human condition has to offer. After a while, sweat and all that love tends to seep into yoga pants, refuses to leave. And it stinks.
But, let’s back up a moment.
When I first started my exploration into yoga and homeopathic wellness, I was the most brand-new to it you could be: raised on farm-town activities like archery and hiking, I didn’t know the first thing about camel pose, or when to say Namaste. I fancied myself a bit of a tomboy provacateur, a mix of industrialized city upbringing with Alabama southern charm. Yoga couldn’t touch me. Homeopathy wasn’t a word in my vocabulary. Health and wellness, then, weren’t exactly at the top of my list of priorities.
Fast-forward to my new found life in West Hollywood, where progressive health and wellness absolutely thrived. Alien delicacies like kale and kombucha were suddenly normal for me while I dabbled in pilates, distance running, and the occasional push-up (ahem – very occasional). Yoga loomed over me as the next logical step in my path to wellness but it terrified me; bending into the shape of an incomplete fraction didn’t seem like very much fun at all. And yet, I forced myself into that first yoga class, nervous and fumbling, comforted to see my best friend Angie by my side. I bent and twisted under the watchful eye of true LA yogis – sharp-shooters with dense muscle. Ligaments burned. Muscles twitched as I tried to sit deeper into insane positions.
And it felt… incredible.
Remember what I said about love? It’s like that. It’s a euphoric gut-punch.
And then remember what I said about the smell?
Oh god, the smell.
Here’s the thing about sweating into your favorite yoga pants – it creates problems. Like, of the yeast variety. We aren’t talking about the fun, bread-baking kind, either.
Before this phase of my life, my black yoga pants from Victoria’s Secret never got much use save for the couple days off I’d use them to peruse Trader Joe’s. Now? They were getting the most use. And you could tell. I had a choice, then, to either stop seeing the new love of my life – yoga – to save myself some aromatic dignity, or to fix this bizarre new problem. This is when I discovered the magic of homeopathic remedies – rather, when Angie introduced me to the magic she herself had discovered. Because that’s what best friends are for, right? To fix yoga-sweat-stink. Right?
You don’t have to answer that.
Angie was clearly more educated on feminine wellness than me, so we had many little talks over the course of our blossoming friendship about the disadvantages of using harsh medicines to simply mask a problem, which then created subsidiary problems on top of that. Not to mention the huge costs of seeing a doctor for recurring infections caused by pH imbalances. Broke and feeling gross, I asked Angie for answers. And her answer was homeopathic.
My life changed. Seriously.
As women, we often find ourselves at physiological crossroads forcing us to choose between bad and worse: Do we accept unknown chemicals into our bodies and hope for the best? Do we follow messy wives’ tales solutions that feel more like silly spells than actual remedies?
Neither. Not anymore.
Homeopathy is the study of alternative medicine, an actual, albeit small, science with actual, albeit huge, results. When Angie showed me her homeopathic product VagMagic, a concentrated boric acid suppository system, it was after years of honing her own formula and proving that it worked on herself, and others, with incredible success. She didn’t use frozen-garlic-yogurt tampons, and she didn’t buy some overpriced chemical bomb that would leave her in tears. She simply created the alternative – the better way to fix one of the world’s most common female problems.
The first time I tried it, it became an addiction. Which is ironic since I actually haven’t needed it since then for any kind of irritation – I simply use it at my discretion to maintain pH balance and general freshness.
After that first life-changing round of VagMagic, I was unbelievably grateful to her, as were my yogi friends during class.
More importantly, my yoga pants are fresher than ever, thanks for asking.
Contributor: Lauren Jefferson
This may be a hard to discuss subject but it can become a health issue. Leave your thoughts below. Namaste.