Following the Way: How Taoism Shaped my Life
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.
Taoism, one of the ancient philosophical traditions of China, centres on the idea of the Tao—often translated as “the Way.” It’s not a path you follow, the way you might follow a set of rules or instructions. The Tao is more like an undercurrent, the natural order of the universe, the gentle intelligence behind all things.
The classic Taoist texts, like the Tao Te Ching and the Zhuangzi, remind us to soften, to yield, to trust, and to flow. They teach that life is cyclical, energies shift constantly, and that balance—especially between Yin and Yang—is not a fixed goal but a continuous dance.
I didn’t fully understand how deeply this philosophy could be lived until I stepped onto my mat for yin yoga.
Yin Yoga: The Embodiment of Taoist Wisdom
Yin yoga draws heavily from Taoist concepts. Instead of striving, pushing, and heating the body the way more yang-style practices do, yin invites stillness, surrender, and softness. It targets the deeper connective tissues, but more importantly, it encourages us to sit with ourselves without distraction.
In Taoism, yin represents receptivity, quietude, introspection, earth, water—those slow, nourishing energies that so many of us rarely allow ourselves to feel. Yin yoga is a physical gateway into this yin state.
When you stay in a posture for several minutes, breathing and listening, something inside begins to shift. The mind unclenches. The body whispers its stories. The heart finds room to open. This, I realiesd, is the Way. Not because I forced it but because I allowed it.
I began to understand all this more deeply during my yin teacher training travels in India and Bali.
In India, amidst the riot of color, sound, and life, I found myself discovering a new kind of quiet. Even in the chaos of the streets, the chanting temples, the sacred rivers, there was a pulse of stillness. Something ancient. Something like the Tao. I learned that stillness isn’t the absence of movement—it’s the presence of awareness. Even amid activity, the Way flows.
In Bali, the island’s gentle, spiritual energy wrapped itself around me like warm air. Balinese culture, Hindu influences, and nature’s lush presence created a space where yin practice opened me deeper. My teacher training there became not just about learning postures but learning myself. I remember long holds in poses where tears came—not from pain but from releasing old patterns, old identities I no longer needed to cling to. Taoism teaches that clinging is suffering; releasing is freedom. Yin yoga made that real for me.
Mindfulness isn’t just paying attention—it’s paying attention without resistance. Taoism echoes this beautifully. It encourages us to meet life as it is, not as we think it should be. To soften into each moment rather than wrestle with it.
Through Taoist philosophy, I learned:
to sit with discomfort instead of trying to escape it,
to appreciate the natural ebb and flow of my emotions,
to stop forcing answers and trust the wisdom of pause,
to move with life rather than against it.
Mindfulness became not a technique but a way of being—gentle, curious, open, and surrendered.
If I had to summarize what the Tao has given me, it’s this:
Grace in the unknown.
Comfort in the quiet.
Strength in softness.
Wisdom in letting go.
Taoism taught me that my path doesn’t need to be straight or clear or perfect. It just needs to be true. And truth is something felt, not forced.
My yin practice keeps teaching me these lessons every time I melt into the floor, every time I breathe through resistance, every time I realize that nothing in life needs to be pushed. Everything unfolds when the time is right.
Today, I carry all of this—Taoist wisdom, yin yoga, my travels, my teachers, the landscapes of India and Bali, into my everyday life. I am still learning how to soften. Still learning how to listen. Still learning how to trust the flow of things.
And perhaps that’s the real beauty of the Tao: you don’t master it. You just meet it, moment by moment, breath by breath.
This is my way, my Tao and I’m grateful to share this with you
Much love Sunshine xx