What if you do belong?
I don’t think I’ve ever been on a yoga teacher training where I’ve felt like I belonged. Not once.
And it has nothing to do with the people around me. They have always been kind, welcoming, and generous. It has everything to do with me.
Every single time, without fail, I second-guess myself. I question whether I’m good enough, smart enough, experienced enough. I shrink. I hesitate. I feel like an imposter. And then I go back to my room and sob—primally.
I first noticed the pattern in Byron Bay recently, but in truth, this has happened at every in-person training I’ve ever done—including my very first 350-hour training back in 2014, where I flew to Brisbane once a month for a year. Even at my six-day silent retreat, where you’d think the lack of conversation might have spared me from my own inner turmoil. Nope. There I was, drowning in self-doubt, questioning every moment of my being.
And the wildest part?
Nobody would know. From the outside, I probably looked fine. I showed up, I participated, I learned. But inside? A full-blown war.
I haven’t yet figured out exactly why I’m wired this way. Maybe childhood trauma. Maybe something else. Maybe just being a human who feels things deeply. But this realisation—the understanding that it’s not about where I am or who I’m with—has shifted something inside me.
Because if this is how I feel in these spaces, how many of you feel like this in my studio?
How many of you walk in and think:
💭 I’m not flexible enough.
💭 I don’t belong here.
💭 Everyone else has this figured out except me.
If that’s you—I see you.
And I want you to know that just because you feel like you don’t belong doesn’t mean it’s true.
Yoga isn’t about fitting in. It isn’t about proving anything. It isn’t about achieving some perfect pose or erasing the voice in your head that tells you that you’re not enough.
It’s about showing up anyway.
That’s what I do. I show up—messy, anxious, uncertain—because something in me knows that this practice has more to offer me than just the struggle.
And it has more to offer you, too.
So if you ever find yourself walking into my studio, feeling out of place, I hope you remember this:
You are not alone.
You are not the only one who feels this way.
And most importantly—you do belong.
Maybe, just maybe, belonging has nothing to do with feeling comfortable. Maybe belonging is just the act of staying, even when you feel like running.
I’ll be here. Just as I am. And you’re welcome here—just as you are.
