Yoga is not a religion. It’s a practice. A path of presence.
It didn’t replace my faith, it deepened it.
It brought me into communion with the divine in a way that wasn’t about performance or perfection, but about stillness, breath, and the sacredness of embodiment.

Our marriage felt heavy, distant, and fragile.

We were no longer on the same team.

There was a trench between us, deepened by years of unspoken pain, unmet needs, and sheer exhaustion.

We came close to walking away.

Really close.

And sometimes, it’s in the darkest trench that the light finds its way in.

I remember:

I’m not being left behind.

I’m being carried forward.

Woven into the next chapter.

Part of the root system that will hold them.

This letter isn’t just mine, it’s ours.
Within you live many versions: the one who rose, the one who hid, the one who hoped, the one who hurt.
They all deserve to be seen. To be heard. To be loved.

“I don’t chase perfection anymore. I chase wholeness.”

It has always been mine.

I let the messy and the magnificent mingle.

I let the past inform me, not perform me.

I no longer dance for approval, I move from my soul.

And if you’ve ever found yourself dressed to be seen,

while quietly aching to be known,

if you’ve ever shaped yourself to fit in

when your soul was screaming for freedom,

then you’re not alone.

Integration is the work of a lifetime.

But it’s also the most beautiful homecoming.

You get to forgive yourself for what you didn’t know.

You get to soften into your own becoming and remembering.

You get to choose women who can walk with you now.

You can mother yourself with the love you never received

and offer it to others in a way that heals in both directions.

We get to decide whether we allow it all to define who we are or to broadcast a light that each of us was craft-fully designed to radiate. A light that is like no other. Dim at times covered by the ugliness of darkness yet always still glowing.

But here’s the reframe that changed everything for me:
Wearing a protective sheath doesn’t mean you’re disconnected from your truth. It means your truth has been honored—quietly, inwardly—until it feels safe to unfold again.

What I’ve learned most of all:

I don’t need to be perfect.
I just need to be present.
Because life isn’t waiting for me to get it all figured out,
it’s unfolding in every moment I choose to stay.

So here I am, 51.
A little softer.
A little stronger.
A lot more me.

Because the more you honor your own needs, the more authentic your relationships become.
And that’s the shift: from pleasing… to truly connecting.

Here’s to softening without shrinking.
To boundaries that don’t block love, but protect your radiance.
To the kind of connection that begins with you.

Because there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do things well.
It only becomes heavy when we believe we have to do them perfectly to be loved, to be enough, to be safe.

This is where the shift happens. From perfectionism to presence. From pressure to purpose. From fear to love.

It’s been one of the most beautiful and brave journeys I’ve ever walked…full of sacred joy, deep exhaustion, unexpected grief, and overwhelming love. To mother is to constantly shape-shift. To pour out and reach in. To lose yourself and slowly remember who you are—again and again.

Ever just wake up and feel… off?