There was a time when my practice looked a certain way.

Maybe you’ve known that version too.

The one where your body moves with rhythm…

flowing from down dog to cobra, breath steady, familiar, grounding.

The kind of practice that feels structured. Predictable. Like something you can return to again and again.

That’s what mine used to look like.

But these days… my practice looks different.

Right now, it looks like sitting on the couch, holding my baby, and breathing.

Not just any breath, but intentional breath.

Trying to reconnect my diaphragm and pelvic floor.

Finding steadiness in something so simple.

And maybe you’ve had moments like that too.

Where your practice becomes quieter.

Less visible.

But somehow just as meaningful.

My practice looks like walking.

Like gardening.

Like setting my phone down and choosing to be present.

My hands in the dirt, my feet on the ground.

Maybe yours has looked like that too.

Moments where you didn’t call it “practice”…

but something inside you slowed down anyway.

My meditation doesn’t always look like stillness anymore.

Sometimes it looks like being fully in the moment of what I’m doing.

And maybe most of all…

my practice looks like patience.

When sleep doesn’t come easily.

When the crying stretches longer than I expected.

When frustration rises and I have to choose again and again to soften instead of react.

You might know that edge too.

That moment where you could go one way… or another.

And your practice lives in that choice.

There are moments I deeply miss my old rhythm.

I miss the physical practice.

I miss moving, sweating, flowing.

I miss being in the room with all of you.

Maybe you’ve missed a version of your practice too.

A time when it felt easier to show up.

When life made more space for it.

And I’m starting to realize…

those versions of practice don’t disappear.

They wait for us.

Not in a way that asks us to jump back in all at once,

or pick up exactly where we left off.

But in a way that invites us back, gently.

One breath.

One class.

One moment of choosing to return.

Because yoga was never just about the poses.

It’s about how we show up.

It’s about awareness.

It’s about presence.

It’s about choosing to come back to ourselves no matter what season we’re in.

Even if it looks different than it used to.

Even if it’s quieter.

Slower.

Less defined.

Right now, this is my practice.

And when the time comes,

I know I’ll return to that physical practice too.

Not as the same version of me…

but as someone who understands it more deeply.

And maybe, in your own way…

you’re finding your way back too.