The Demon Wears Yoga Pants

September 2025

The Demon Wears Yoga Pants

‘Hello Jaime. Miss me?”

“Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

She slithers in, claws in her voice, sugar in her tone, “Oh please, I will always come back.”

I yank on my yoga pants like armor, twist my hair into a warrior’s knot. “No! You are not going to take over again.”

“Of course not,” She grins sarcastically. “You’re fine.”

My voice is strong. The voice of a warrior. Sure. But she is already pushing.

I unroll my mat. Ten minutes of morning salutations. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe in peace.

“A waste of time.” Sitting in the lotus position, she beckons. “Climb back in bed, you deserve a day all to yourself. Maybe two.” She yawns.” Call your useless husband tell him he’s on parent duty today.

Temptation nips at me, sharp and familiar. But I remember what happens when I let her in: wreckage, tears, apologies.

Not today. Today, I hold the line.

I swipe on foundation and try to cover the weariness.

“Oh, Jaime… is that a new line? You look…ragged today.” Her shadow flickers over my face. “But don’t worry, no one will notice. Except for me... Maybe your monster- in- law. She loves to judge you.”

“Stop.”

My ears pick up the ritual morning argument about who gets the blue bowl. With a deep sigh, I pick up my phone to add ‘bowls’ to my list.

Look at the list, Jaime. Everyone needs Jaime -for everything. Cookies for PTA, buy a gift for hubby’s admin. Pickup your monster- in- law’s groceries. Nothing on the list for you. About you.”

Maybe some bronzer will help.

“Why do you have to do everything for everybody? Don’t they know we have a life? Just give me the day, Jaime. Let me control it. I will make them think twice before dumping on you again.”

“No, I can take care of everything. I always do.”

Deep breath.

“Yes, in through the nose and out of the mouth.” She breaths. “Like it’s going to help you.” Her voice is velvet. “Perfect little Jaime. Everybody’s puppet.”

“No!”

I shut the bathroom door with the force of someone who is –definitely fine!

Despite my inner war, the morning is going well. Breakfast, eaten. Kayla’s clothes approved without a morning tribunal. Lunches, packed. And surprisingly, we are on time. It is – dare I say peaceful.

I forgot about her. I forgot she devours chaos. And with one simple line I fed her.

I look at the empty hook. “Where are my keys?”

“Mommy, mommy, where are you? Mommy!”

Head under the bed, bottom in the air, I pop up like a prairie dog. “What?What’s wrong, Caleb?”

“I forgot.”

”Forgot what? – Harry stop barking.”

“I forgot I need something yellow for show and tell.”

She lounged on the bed, “Didn’t you ask him about show and tell last night?”

Ignore her. Maybe the keys are in the kitchen.

“Grab a banana-or a lemon.”

“I don’t want fruit. That’s dumb.”

“What do you want to take?”

“My dump truck.”

“Then get your truck.”

“He must get his smarts from you.”

Knowing each step pulls me from my perfect timing, I move my search to the foyer.

Then I see her. Smirking in the mirror.

“Wow, running late again.” Her eyes glisten with amusement. “You know this is your husband’s fault. If only he cared about his family as much as his abs, you’d have some help.” She mimicked Jaime’s voice, “Go to the gym, honey, it’s fine. I have it under control.” She wiped at a smudge in the mirror. “Too bad they don’t hand out martyr medals in the car line.”

“Stop it,” I hiss.

“Come on over to my side,” she chuckled. “We have sweatpants, hateful remarks and the thrill of snapping at the unsuspecting.”

“Mommy, I can’t find my truck.”

“And I can’t find my keys…oh, wait, here they are.” On the floor. Of course.

“We have to go. Forget about the truck, Caleb, grab a banana. Kayla come on.”

She walks beside me, “Let go Jaime, I can snap everybody into shape.”

“Mommy…”

“Kayla, go help your brother find his stup… his truck.” I choke on the word. We don’t say stupid in our house.

Kayla huffs but she goes.

I ignore the squabbling and the frenzy barking as Harry joins the hunt.

Using supermom skills, I lock the back door, grab my smoothie, three lunch bags, two backpacks and pray for sanity.

“Here is your stupid truck!” Kayla shouts.

“Mommy!” comes the tattletale echo.

“Stop it. We are so late.”

“Jamie, I can help,” She whispers in my ear. “Let me take over.”

No, you hurt people.

“I know. I love the look of shock. The power.” She swirls around my mind.

She’s not going to win.

With great effort and noise, everyone makes it to the porch. I turn to shut the door then freeze. Harry isn’t in his crate.

Our eyes meet.

“No, Harry!” Too late. Like a furry linebacker, he barrels through the doorway.

He plows into Kayla.

Kayla falls into Caleb.

Caleb slams into me.

For a second, I wobble like some tragic juggler, arms full of burdens I can’t keep in the air.

Then

My smoothie tumbler slips out my hand...and hits the porch like a missile.

It detonates on the porch. Green goo splatters on everyone, even Harry.

She dances in the chaos, “Way to go Harry!” Her laughter fills my head.

Shock splinsters my wall.

Kayla cries over her ruined pink sweater. Harry zooms around the yard, dragging debris in his sticky fur like a trophy. Caleb is chasing the dog, whooping with laughter.

And she – my demon cackles with glee.

My wall crumbles, and peaceful Jaime is shoved aside.

She takes over- completely.

I stop in the middle of the porch and scream.

“CRAAAPPP!!! Kayla –stop crying. Caleb- stop chasing the stupid dog.”

I throw the bags to the ground.

“I can’t handle this today!”

My children freeze. Wide eyed.

I feel her. The temper. It feels good.

And like a bronco buster, I ride the rage.

“GET INTO THE HOUSE. LAUNDRY ROOM. NOW! AND DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING.”

I grab the dog by the collar. He thinks it’s a game – until he senses the fury. Harry drops his head.

I drag him to the back door and whisper through my teeth, “And you’re going to the pound.” I shove him through the sliding door like bouncer ejecting an unwelcome guest.

My chest is heaving. My red face rests against the cool glass. The door is smeared in green goo, like a demented Jackson Pollock painting.

In camaraderie, she throws an arm across my shoulders, “Finally, there she is, the true Jaime. Let’s embrace this moment.”

I lift my head. And let it in.

Bitterness and resentment flood in. Self-pity engulfs me.

Why can’t it be my time? Why doesn’t anyone see me? Why doesn’t anyone help me?

Why? Why? Why?

She turns me towards the laundry room, “Let’s go yell at the kids. Nothing like some fear to top off a perfect moment.”

Sourness coats each footstep as I trudge to the laundry room.

My kids are giggling but silence swoops in when I enter. Their gleeful faces shift quickly-into matching reflections of apprehension.

My ‘demon’ is pleased. For a second- just a second- I’m pleased.

It startles me. Then-it shames me.

I reach for a damp cloth and squat to wipe goo off Caleb. He touches my face – fingers sticky with smoothie and love.

Pain hits the demon. She loosens her grip.“No. Don’t.” Tenderness is her kryptonite.

Kayla holds up her sweater like a casualty of war. “Is it ruined?” She raises tearfilled eyes- afraid to know, afraid to ask me. I am humiliated.

The silence fills the room and I make a choice. I lock my demon away.

I grin, “Only emotionally. I can wash it.” I am relieved to hear my childrens' laughter. Harry’s woof of approval steadies me.

She retreats. In the corner of my mind, she curls up in a blanket of hormonal rage, binging on imaginary chocolate and muttering how no one cares.

I stand, green goo slashed across my chest. In the window, I see my reflection. A warrior. A tired, sticky, sometimes emotionally unstable warrior.

My kids wait for me. They are wide-eyed, goo-splattered- precious. Love shines.I look at my phone. Our schedule is ruined. Who cares? This memory – will be repeated and laughed over for years.

I smile. A real one. Full of tenderness and humor.

With a wink, I ask, “Who wants a smoothie?”

The dog reeks of kale, the kids are still sticky, and the demon is sulking—but for now, I win.