My nervous system is always listening.
Even on the days when I pretend I’m fine, when I rush from one task to the next, when I pour myself into work and everyday responsibilities — it’s listening.
To my breath.
To my pace.
To my posture.
To the quiet stories my thoughts whisper beneath everything else.

There are moments in life when the world becomes quiet enough for us to hear something deeper, something older than any language, yet familiar in a way that feels like home. For me, that “something” was the Tao.

What began as curiosity — a simple desire for self-healing — has become my calling.

My Yin Yoga Teacher Training has been a journey far beyond what I could have ever imagined. From the chaotic yet deeply present energy of India to the soft surrender and healing embrace of Bali, every step has been both a challenge and a gift — breaking me open, healing me, and reminding me of who I truly am.

My sweet Bailey has this incredible way of reminding me to pause.

When the world feels fast — when I’m caught up in to-do lists, classes, and constant motion — he’ll just sit in the sun, close his eyes, and breathe. Fully present. Fully content. Watching him is my cue to slow down, to be instead of always doing.

As the air grows crisp and the light softens, autumn whispers a gentle truth:
it’s time to let go.

This is the season of the Metal element in the Taoist Philosophy— the energy of clarity, breath, and release.
It’s nature’s invitation to pause, exhale, and trust the cycles of change.

You’ve probably heard of Yin and Yang — the ancient Taoist concept of two opposite but complementary forces that govern life, nature, and even our own bodies. But beyond being a familiar black-and-white symbol, Yin and Yang are a powerful lens through which we can understand harmony, balance, and healing — both on and off the yoga mat.

When you come into a yin yoga class, you might notice right away that it feels different from other styles of yoga. Instead of moving quickly from one posture to the next, yin invites us to slow down, pause, and stay. We linger in each pose for several minutes, giving our bodies and minds a chance to truly settle. And this is where mindfulness becomes such an important part of the practice.

In a world that glorifies movement, productivity, and constant connection, stillness can feel radical—almost uncomfortable. Yet, it is in stillness where we often find the deepest healing. This is the heart of Yin yoga: a practice rooted in receptivity, surrender, and the quiet art of listening.

Stepping into the role of a Yin Yoga teacher has been one of the most beautiful, yet most vulnerable, experiences of my life. When I first began to put myself out there—not only as a teacher, but also in starting my own Yin Yoga business—I was confronted with all the quiet fears that live within me.

Yin Yoga is a slow and peaceful practice—a chance to pause, breathe deeply, and connect with your body in a new way. One way to support this process is by adding something called acupressure. Think of it like a gentle, loving touch on certain points of the body that help you relax, feel more balanced, and even connect to your emotions.