There is something about this month—this whole season—that evokes a sense of rush. A sense of go, go, go. It makes us feel like we’re never doing enough, never being enough. Whether that comes from capitalism, ego, or simply a deep desire to show love, it can become overwhelming. In my body, overwhelm often leads to burnout. I tend to think: Well, if I can’t do it all, I won’t do any of it. If I can’t make everyone happy, I won’t make anyone happy. And guess what? That’s not true. I’ve gone back and forth about this site at least a million times—is it worth it? Do people hate it? Am I trying to be something I’m simply not? And I’ve decided to stop. Not stop the site—stop that thought spiral. Instead, I’m just going to do it. I’m going to let it be what it is and not worry about numbers. Not worry about whether anyone shows up. Not worry about what people think—or if they think about it at all—because it has been so necessary for me. Having something I can dive into has been so special. A place to pour my passions—books, writing, yoga—into one space feels like a gift. This season of my life has been one of the most absolutely beautiful—stunning, really—better than anything I ever imagined. And also the most brutally hard. I’ve never been in a worse place with my body. My reflection felt like a stranger; even placing my hand on my body felt like touching someone else. These arms aren’t my arms. This cheek isn’t my cheek. Movement felt awkward. My strength felt gone. (reading back through this- and noticing this shift in verb is driving my ELA brain wild- but I think, metaphorically- it's accurate) And I know, inherently, that the only way out is through, so I stayed on my mat. I kept teaching. But as a leader of a practice built on LOVE YOUR BODY, NURTURE YOUR BODY, I often felt like I was lying. Then—because babies are cute and expensive—I started this little experiment with online yoga. What a great idea, I thought. Yoga at home while Van sleeps. A way to move my body and make a little extra cash.