I stumbled upon yoga in 2004, almost by accident. It was at a gym in London, and I joined a class out of sheer curiosity. Soon after, I left London with a round-the-world ticket in hand, embarking on an adventure that would unexpectedly intertwine with yoga. From the bustling streets of Cape Town to the quiet canals of Amsterdam, I found myself seeking out yoga studios in the most obscure corners of the world. It seemed yoga was everywhere, waiting for me to discover it.
As life moved forward, so did I - through cities, countries, and countless yoga styles. I dabbled in Yin, Ashtanga, Hatha, Iyengar, Rocket, and even Hot Yoga. But it wasn’t until 2012, back in London, that I found my true yoga love. At The Power Yoga Company in Parsons Green, amidst the fast-paced energy and packed classes, I fell head over heels for Vinyasa yoga. It was a chaotic time for me—two young children, a full-time job, a husband battling depression and alcohol misuse. My days were a blur of commuting, cooking, cleaning, and trying to be everything to everyone. I felt guilty even imagining taking time for myself. Yet I craved it.
At 39, I was worn out, desperate, and quietly yearning for an escape. That’s when the Saturday morning yoga class became my lifeline. Each week, I’d slip out at 6:30 a.m., driving through the dark winter streets for 45 minutes just to get one hour of peace. That class, that £14 a week, became sacred. It wasn’t just exercise; it was survival. It was the one thing I could control when everything else felt like it was spinning out of reach.
Yoga became my sanctuary. As I stretched, breathed, and moved, I felt more alive. Slowly, the physical strength I built on the mat began to seep into my life off the mat. The chaos didn’t go away, but I became stronger in facing it. And for a while, that was enough. But life, as it does, kept changing. We moved to the Cotswolds in 2014, and my precious Saturday morning classes disappeared. There were no studios in sight. Yoga, however, didn’t abandon me. I bought a DVD by my favourite teacher, Julie Montagu, and began a home practice. It was then I realised yoga wasn’t just an escape anymore. It had become something far more profound.
My marriage ended in 2016, a painful time that might’ve shattered me if not for yoga. It was then I truly understood that yoga wasn’t about the poses or the stretching—it was meditation in motion. It was the only thing that could still my frantic mind and help me trust that, somehow, I would be okay. In 2017, I found Tass, a brilliant teacher in Chipping Norton, and my Saturday morning utopia returned. Her classes reshaped my understanding of yoga. I corrected my poses, learned to practice safely, and discovered that yoga wasn’t something with a "spiritual side"—it was, in itself, spiritual. It was a connection to something greater, a thread of peace woven into the fabric of my chaotic life.
By 2019, I felt the call to deepen my practice. I enrolled in a 200-hour teacher training with Whole Self Yoga in London, and it transformed my life. Teaching yoga became a natural extension of my journey, a way to share what had saved me time and time again. Every class I teach reminds me that I’m still learning, still growing, and still on the path.
Through all the changes—moves, heartbreaks, victories, and losses—one thing has remained constant: yoga. It has been the thread that ties my erratic, unpredictable life together. And for that, I will always be grateful.
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