Among the ethical principles in yoga, the hardest one for me to understand is brahmacharya.
Decades ago, as a young and enthusiastic yoga practitioner, I first came across the term, and my knee-jerk reaction was, How odd! In yoga philosophy, brahmacharya is often translated as restraint or the right use of energy. But in Western contexts, brahmacharya is most often associated with celibacy. Something important got lost in translation.
For me, brahmacharya means orienting my life toward my Highest Self (Self in the Jungian sense). Jordan B. Peterson explains this idea well when he talks about the Noble Aim in Rule Number 7 of his book 12 Rules for Life. He defines it as: “Pursue what is meaningful, not what is expedient.”
My Highest Self—your best self, if that feels more accessible—is who I am when I am actively trying to leave a legacy for the community and for the people who matter dearly to me.
Aside from brahmacharya, I’ve also been thinking a lot about another yogic value: aparigraha, or non-hoarding. The holidays gave me a chance to practice intentional shopping versus bargain shopping or impulse shopping.
Yesterday, I saw a client in her forties like me, except she is battling a chronic illness and I am not. We shook our heads together in sad unison at an ugly truth: we’ve likely already lived half our lives. Time is short. Whatever we need to say or pass on to the next generation, we should probably start now. I’m grateful not to be in her medical predicament, but as a middle-aged person, I have friends dying or living on maintenance medications left and right. Time is running out.
I used to love shopping, but not intentionally. I don’t judge myself too harshly now, about this. Human beings are goal-oriented. When we shop, there is a goal—it’s like hunting. But when we spend too much time chasing shallow attainments—video games, accumulating stuff—we harm ourselves.
In moderation and with intentionality, shopping and gaming can be fine. But chasing superficial goals is not what life is about. Which brings me back to brahmacharya, the path towards the Noble Aim.
As Jordan B. Peterson writes, we all need this Nobel Aim. It’s something worth working toward, something that leaves a positive mark on the world. Will my shopping habits leave the world a better place for my children and the generations after me?
In Hindu philosophy, there is a life stage called the householder phase, where the focus is on family. After this stage, one gradually detaches from family roles and devotes more time to spiritual life—or in my case, since I am an atheist, to philosophical practice.
Coming from an Asian, family-oriented background, this framework makes sense to me. As a Chinoy, I was raised—conditioned, if you will—to finish my education, get married, then start a family, in that order. At this point in my life, the householder stage is nearing its final phase. The next stage prescribed in Hindu thought involves less focus on family obligations and a turning inward.
What has sex (or the lack of) got to do with this?
In my clinical practice, I encounter clients who struggle with pornography use and masturbation to manage sexual urges. They are fulfilling natural urges—some might call them trivial—but I don’t nix that. On the contrary.
These cases stay with me because I am uncomfortable with my own sexuality. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever liked sex in the first place. I’m still trying to understand my sexuality in its totality. I know I have sexual desires. I may even like sex in theory, but not in lived reality.
These days, all the talk about asexuality is invigorating. It has made me bolder in pursuing brahmacharya—where one accepted expression, or requirement if you’re law-centric, is sexual abstinence.
I don’t think I’m asexual in the Gen Z sense.
But You say poh-ta-to, I say poh-tay-to.
I’m more comfortable expreessing I’m am a yogi practicing brahmacharya. That makes more sense to me than labeling myself asexual or demisexual romantic. (Sorry na! Makunat na Gen Xer here.)
Sex is a physical drive, like hunger or thirst. But the thought of release through “doing it solo” makes me uneasy and queasy. It feels wrong to me, so I don’t do it. When sexual urges arise, I let them pass—like a hot flash.
For my clients who struggle with masturbation, I often advise their partners to accept it if they don’t want to meet their partner’s sexual needs—and not let that become a reason for infidelity. I’d rather encourage masturbation and moderate porn use as a way of releasing sexual tension.
Years ago, when I was a relatively new wife, I felt rejected when my spouse commented that he was very picky about physical appearance and implied—without saying it outright—that my thinness turned him off. Perhaps I was conditioned by my environment to believe that indulging sexual urges was necessary to be an acceptable spouse. I no longer buy into that. I’m done with the messages telling me I must enjoy sex. I’ve given birth to two children with my spouse. Sexual function fulfilled—tapos na ko.
Now I’m in perimenopause, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be done with the Red Curse in about five years. (Good riddance!) Along with the pads, I will chuck out sexual obligations.
Sex is tied to life force—Freud coined the term libido from it. I’ve had many experiences in my life, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to deal in absolutes about what I can or cannot do. So there’s no hard line of never having sex ever, ever, ever.
In that vein, I’ve been hitting on my husband these past weeks—not sexually, but by expressing gratitude that he is not like my sexually problematic clients. He shrugs me off. I try different variations of affection; he segues into his values instead. Sometimes I feel unheard, and sometimes rejected.
I confess that in this long-term relationship, I’m often starved of reassurance, affection, and soft words. But I can live with it. If this is the price, then I open my wallet and willingly pay. Distress tolerance, I tell myself, is part of marital maturity.
The yogic ethos of brahmacharya emphasizes self-restraint and faithfulness in romantic relationships. Aparigraha emphasizes moderation. Taking on both brahmacharya and aparigraha at this stage of my life feels right.
All I want is to feel safe within my family and my marriage. In midlife, we assess what is a waste of time and what we would rather give our precious energy to.
How about you—are you recognizing your holistic needs? Your body and psyche’s clamor are central to your well-being.
The featured image on this blog was AI-generated by me using free tools, namely ChatGPT, Canva, and Leonardo AI. I use these images to support my written content creatively and cost-effectively.
