Coming Home to My Yoga Practice

 

There was a time when yoga felt like my second language — the way I breathed, moved, and made sense of the world. I studied Rasa Yoga, a practice in depth, devotion, and the art of remembering who we really are. It is a fusion of alignment, tantra, and creative expression — it’s yoga with soul. It taught me that every posture is a story, every breath a prayer, and that showing up fully — messy, joyful, tender — is the practice.

And then, life happened. Like a lot of life. A pandemic. A remodel. Pregnancy. Birth. Postpartum. Another move. Another remodel.

 

The beautiful, chaotic unraveling and rebuilding of becoming “mom.”

For a long time, my mat collected dust. My body didn’t feel like mine. My energy was poured into keeping a tiny human alive, often forgetting that I, too, needed to be nurtured. Breath became something I held without realizing, somewhere between sleepless nights and endless nursing sessions.

But slowly, something started to shift.

In the quiet moments — nap times, walks outside, slow stretches on the living room floor — I began to remember. My body, softer and stronger all at once, started whispering: come back.

So, I did.

Not to chase flexibility or strength, but to find myself again.

Not to perform, but to listen.

Not to “get back” to where I was, but to honor where I am.

Postpartum yoga has humbled me in the most beautiful way. It’s slower, quieter, more real. Some days it’s breath work while my toddler climbs on me. Other days it’s just a few moments in child’s pose, tears pooling quietly on my mat. But this — this is yoga, too.

And somewhere in that softness, I felt the call to teach again.

It’s been years since I’ve stood at the front of a room, guiding others through movement and meaning. But I feel ready — ready in a way I never was before. Because now I understand what it means to start over. To meet yourself exactly where you are. To hold space for imperfection, exhaustion, and deep gratitude all at once.

Teaching again feels like reclaiming a part of myself I didn’t lose — just one that had been patiently waiting. I’m excited to share from this new place — one shaped by motherhood, healing, and radical self-compassion.

Here’s to the next chapter — the messy, sacred return.

Here’s to breath, body, and beginning again.