01/08/2026
I teach yoga, and yet every single day, I remain a student.
Of breath.
Of bodies.
Of presence.
Of the quiet intelligence that moves through a room when we soften enough to listen.
There is something deeply intimate about holding space—about feeling a class breathe together, sweat together, unravel together. I don’t arrive as the one who knows more; I arrive as the one willing to feel more. To learn from every inhale, every hesitation, every moment someone chooses to stay instead of leave themselves.
Behind every strong class is an instructor who gives her heart out.
(Author unknown)
And maybe that’s the truth of it—strength doesn’t come from choreography or cues. It comes from devotion. From showing up open, porous, human. From offering my own practice—my own curiosity, discipline, tenderness—again and again.
Teaching yoga isn’t about leading from the front.
It’s about listening from within.
Letting the body speak.
Letting the room teach me back.
I will always be a student first.
And that, to me, is the most sacred role of all.
