🧘♀️ Creating Ritual Around Movement: My Relationship With Yoga Now
I didn’t start practicing yoga for spiritual growth, healing, or flexibility. I took my first class in college because I was one unit short of being a full-time student—and I needed to keep my financial aid.
I picked yoga because it fit in my schedule and seemed low-effort. I wasn’t looking to better myself. I wasn’t chasing peace or presence. I just needed the credit.
But what I got from that one class changed my life.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that semester marked the beginning of a shift in how I lived in my body. It wasn’t a dramatic transformation—just a subtle awareness, a new softness, a different way of paying attention. I didn’t become a “yoga person” overnight. But something stayed with me. Something kept calling me back.
Now, years later—and as a certified yoga teacher—my relationship with movement, breath, and mindfulness continues to evolve. It’s not perfect. It’s not always consistent. But it’s mine. And these days, I’m more interested in building ritual than routine. Something sacred. Something soft. Something I can return to again and again.
☁️ What Yoga Used to Be to Me
At first, I didn’t really get it.
Yoga seemed like decent enough exercise—probably ideal for someone more slow-paced than me—but I never expected to actually enjoy it. I was convinced it would be boring, repetitive, and honestly kind of a waste of time.
Basically, like a lot of people, I had no idea what the practice of yoga really was.
At first, I noticed the physical changes. My bad shoulder stopped hurting. My tension headaches became less frequent. The tightness in my slowly-deteriorating knee (shoutout to marching band, bartending, and years of punishing my joints) started to ease. I was regaining mobility I thought I’d lost for good.
Then it went deeper. I started sleeping better. My anxiety attacks became less frequent—and less intense. I found myself reacting less to little things throughout the day. Most unexpectedly, I began to reconnect with my creativity. Something long buried under deadlines and burnout started to stir. I was writing again for the first time in years.
For a long time, yoga only existed for me in group classes. I didn’t feel confident enough to practice at home—not just because of discipline, but because I was genuinely afraid of doing something wrong, especially in asana practice. Being in a room with others helped ground me. There’s a special kind of energy that comes from moving in sync with people, even if you never say a word to each other. For a loud, buzzy brain like mine, sharing space made a difference.
I didn’t start practicing at home until the pandemic. Even then, it felt detached. I followed videos and livestreams, but something was missing. The connection felt thin. The energy wasn’t there.
Everything shifted when I decided to do my 200-hour yoga teacher training.
Suddenly, I understood the poses—not just how to do them, but how to feel them. I learned how to modify, how to listen to my body, how to create a practice that was my own. I studied meditation. I learned how to guide others in it. And more importantly, I started trusting myself.
That changed everything.
I no longer needed someone to guide me. I could move intuitively. I could breathe, pause, shift, adapt. I could build my own practice—not just the movement, but the mindfulness and the internal awareness, too.
And for the first time, practicing alone didn’t feel lonely.
It felt like coming home.
🌱 Where I Am With It Now
I don’t practice as much as I’d like to. And I definitely don’t practice as much as I know I’d benefit from.
Life moves fast. Yoga asks me to slow down. That’s part of its beauty—but also part of what makes it hard to fit in. Slowing down with intention is powerful, but sometimes it feels impossible.
Sometimes I genuinely need the extra sleep.
Sometimes I’m stuck at the office too late.
Sometimes the dishes and the pet fur and the laundry piles just have to come first.
But when I do make time for yoga? Ugh. Chef’s kiss.
Even ten minutes on the mat, a few mindful stretches, a breath between to-do list items—those small moments make a difference. It’s not about doing it all. It’s about remembering what feels good, and choosing it when I can.
And when I make it to class? That hour of movement with my neighbors feels like a full-brain rest. It doesn’t always remind me why I started. But it does remind me why I keep coming back.
Right now, yoga lives in the in-between spaces. And that’s enough.
🔄 Reclaiming Movement as Ritual, Not Obligation
Yoga is one of the few spaces in my life where I mindfully, intentionally refuse to “should” on myself.
I spend 40 hours a week sitting in a moderately uncomfortable chair, where productivity is the priority and downtime doesn’t really exist. I used to think “time to lean, time to clean” was the worst work mindset—until I experienced the corporate demand for eight hours of emotionally disconnected efficiency.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m incredibly grateful for my job. But it takes a lot out of me.
Yoga helps me remember who I am underneath all of it.
It reminds me that I’m not my email tone. Not my Slack messages. Not my professional voice or my polite nods. I am the pond, not the fish. The screen, not the projection. The burnout, the pressure, the forced smiles—they’re there, but they’re not me.
In yoga, I can listen to what hurts—physically, emotionally—and choose what to do with it. I can move to release it, or I can simply acknowledge it and move on. I have a tendency to latch onto things and grind them into the ground. Yoga reminds me I don’t have to. I can just… let that shit go.
And the physical part? It’s damage control. A slow, intentional counterbalance to a life spent sitting far too much. Who knew a desk chair could wreck you like this?
Yoga brings me back to my body.
Back to presence.
Back to myself.
🕊 A Note on Spirituality and Lineage
Yoga is more than just movement or stress relief—it’s a deep, spiritual tradition with roots in South Asia.
Through my practice and teacher training, I’ve come to understand yoga through the lens of the 8 limbs, which include ethical principles (yamas and niyamas), breath (pranayama), posture (asana), sense withdrawal (pratyahara), concentration (dharana), meditation (dhyana), and connection to something beyond the self (samadhi).
I don’t practice all 8 limbs perfectly. I’m not a guru or a guide. But I do honor yoga as a spiritual practice—and I connect with it in a way that feels both personal and respectful.
This is my path. Yours may look different. And that’s okay.
🌙 Letting Practice Be Practice
These days, yoga isn’t something I’m trying to get right.
It’s something I return to when I need to remember who I am.
Sometimes that looks like a full class.
Sometimes it’s just stretching on the floor.
Sometimes it’s one breath before I answer another email.
It’s not always consistent.
It’s definitely not curated or aesthetic.
But it’s mine.
I don’t practice to perform. I practice to return.
To my breath.
To my body.
To the part of me that doesn’t need to be productive.
The part that doesn’t need to be perfect.
The part that just is.
Yoga is still teaching me how to be soft with myself. How to move without pressure. How to stay open, even when I want to shut down.
✨ This Week’s Mantra
I am allowed to go slow. I am allowed to come back to myself.
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