Back on the Mat

A quiet re-beginning after the courage to stop.

Sometimes we need to step away from the practices we love. Sometimes we find our way back. And we begin again.

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A pause

This past week I returned to my yoga mat after three years away.

Not because I had turned away from yoga. Not because I no longer believed in its value. But because, for a time, the practice I had known for so long was no longer supporting me.

For more than fifteen years, I’ve practised with David Keil, a teacher who holds space with steadiness and care and someone whose presence has shaped my understanding of what a sustainable, nourishing practice can be. But three years ago, something shifted. What had once grounded and energised me began to feel like a physical strain and mentally noisy. I was bracing against the practice instead of leaning into it.

A quiet decision

I’m not someone who stops easily.

I’m consistent. Reliable. The kind of person who shows up, again and again. That’s partly why the practice had held me for so long - the rhythm, the repetition and intention, the sense of discipline paired with breath and movement. But that same quality was also what made it hard to pause, to acknowledge that what had once been resourcing, was now depleting.

…I did stop.

Not in a dramatic way. Not as a rejection. Just a quiet decision made with care and honesty.

And that, in its own way, became the deeper practice.

Listening. Trusting. Letting go. Adjusting. Exploring.

Returning

This week, I stepped back onto the mat with curiosity. Not to return to who I was, or to try and recapture an old version of practice. But to meet the practice anew, afresh and to see what might be possible.

I loved it, in all its messy wobbles and imperfections.

I don’t quite know what my practice will look like moving forward. But I know that I can maintain a version that is physically, mentally and spiritually resourcing and supportive. Even in small, tentative ways, it’s enough.

Re-beginning

There’s something powerful about choosing to return, not out of habit or obligation, but from a place of curiosity and care.

This hasn’t been about going back.

It’s about re-beginning.

A quiet, wholehearted beginning again - one breath, one movement at a time.

An invitation

We all carry practices, routines or ways of being that once held us. Sometimes letting go is the most honest next step.

And when the time is right, we can return. Not to what was, but to what is waiting to begin again.

What might you be ready to re-begin?

If you're looking for a companion to support you in noticing, pausing and re-beginning through the seasons, you might like Your Woven Year.

This week, I sent the first copies out in the world and it’s been so lovely to see them land (thanks to some surprisingly speedy post). Your Woven Year is a hybrid journal-planner-notebook offering thoughtful questions and gentle invitations that support reflection in your own way - through words, doodles, lists or photos.

It’s been described as

“A safe companion, a thread to keep hold of...”
“Something that helps me sit more comfortably with not knowing and explore what’s next with greater clarity.”
“Cleverly put together... a good thing to look back on.”

It’s a scaffold for noticing, for pausing, and, perhaps most importantly, for re-beginning, again and again.

With just 15 copies left, this summer batch is nearly all spoken for. I’m exploring the idea of a second print run as we move towards autumn, so if the timing’s not quite right just now, there may be another window to order as the seasons turn. But if this feels like the right moment for a companion then one of these last copies might be yours.

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Guiding you through the wood, the trees and the spaces in between. Join me each month as I dive into a theme inspired by my work and the conversations I have.

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