My yoga journey is not a straight line.
It is something that unfolded slowly, often in ways I didn’t expect.
Here are a few parts of it.
Yoga was always somewhere in the background of my life.
I didn’t choose it. Not at first.
My parents were both deeply connected to it in their own ways, and my sister took it even further. For them, yoga wasn’t just exercise. It was part of how they lived, how they thought, how they understood the world.
I, on the other hand, resisted it.
Not actively, not aggressively, but quietly. I preferred movement in other forms. I was drawn to swimming, to skiing, to anything that involved motion, speed, and a sense of control. I enjoyed being active, but I didn’t see myself as someone who would sit still, breathe, and “slow down”.
Looking back, it was always there.
Just not yet visible to me.
Before yoga entered my life consciously, I had already experienced something close to it.
In swimming, there were moments where everything aligned. Breath, movement, rhythm. The noise disappeared, and there was only the repetition of motion and the awareness of the body in space.
Skiing had its own version of that. Speed, focus, precision. One wrong move and you fall. So your attention sharpens. You become fully present without trying to.
At the time, I didn’t call it meditation.
But that’s what it was.
A form of moving awareness.
A way of being completely engaged without distraction.
Still, something was missing.
Those moments came and went. They were dependent on the activity, the environment, the conditions. I couldn’t access that state when I needed it most.
Especially not during stressful periods.
After the pandemic, things changed.
Like for many people, it was a time of reflection, pressure, uncertainty. And I realized that being physically active was not enough anymore.
I needed something that could ground me. Something that I could rely on regardless of circumstances.
That’s when I turned to yoga.
This time, not as something in the background, but as a practice.
I started consistently. Four to five times a week. Not casually, but with intention.
At first, it was physical. Stretching, strength, flexibility.
But gradually, it became something else.
A space to slow down.
A space to observe.
A space to reset.
As I explored different styles, I started to understand what resonated with me.
Ashtanga challenged me. It was structured, disciplined, intense. I respected it, but it felt rigid at times.
Hatha gave me space. Slower, more controlled, more inward.
But Vinyasa was where things clicked.
The flow, the transitions, the continuous movement connected with the way I had always experienced presence through swimming and skiing.
It didn’t feel forced.
It felt natural.
At the same time, I found a deep appreciation for slower, more restorative practices. The kind of sessions that allow you to stretch, release, and surrender. The ones that counterbalance a fast-paced life.
Over time, I stopped trying to define myself within a single style.
Instead, I started to see yoga as something adaptable. Something that meets you where you are.
Long before I considered teaching yoga, I was already teaching.
I lectured at university. I spent years speaking, presenting, explaining complex ideas to different audiences. Through Toastmasters and public speaking, I refined how to communicate clearly, how to guide attention, how to create structure without rigidity.
Teaching, for me, was never just about transferring information.
It was about connection. Clarity. Presence.
So when yoga became a consistent part of my life, the transition wasn’t as large as it might seem.
It was more of a merging.
Movement and communication.
Practice and guidance.
At some point, it felt incomplete to continue without going deeper.
So I went to Rishikesh, India.
Not just to get certified, but to understand where all of this comes from. To experience it in its original context.
That experience changed how I see yoga.
It was no longer just classes, sequences, or styles.
It became something broader. A way of approaching life, attention, and awareness.
During my training, I was told more than once that I didn’t feel like a “new” teacher. That I already carried the ability to guide.
That was an interesting realization.
Because internally, I still saw myself as someone learning.
And I still do.
I don’t see myself as a finished product.
There is no fixed label for how I teach.
What I bring into my classes is a combination of things:
Movement that flows, without becoming repetitive
Structure, without becoming rigid
Clarity, without becoming mechanical
Sometimes it is dynamic.
Sometimes it is slow.
Sometimes it is simply about being present in the body.
Alongside this, my partner, who is also a yoga instructor, shares this path with me. Together, we explore not only structured classes but also more fluid practices. Free movement, partner work, and what some might call sacred movement.
Spaces where the body moves without strict instruction.
Spaces where awareness leads the motion.
I am still exploring.
Still learning what works, what resonates, what creates impact.
But one thing is clear.
Yoga, for me, is not about achieving a pose or following a perfect sequence.
It is about creating a moment.
A moment where you are fully there.
In your body.
In your breath.
Without distraction.
Everything else builds from that...