Flourishing

Beautiful & Wild

Choice. That’s what it all comes down to. The life you live is defined entirely by the choices you make.

But I haven’t always recognised this. For so long, I didn’t trust myself enough to make my own choices. I let others decide for me. I believed they knew better—people who seemed more accomplished, more worthy, or more certain. I built an inauthentic life without even realizing it, until my gut started tugging at me, telling me: this isn’t yours. That discomfort forced me to snap back, take control, and choose for me.

Since founding Flourish, I’ve wrestled with almost every decision I’ve made. In the early days, I had no idea what I was doing. I second-guessed myself constantly, terrified of getting it wrong. I’d stall until the very last minute, react instead of act, and let fear dictate my path. That wasn’t sustainable. I needed to find another way.

Now, when I’m struggling with a decision or feeling creatively stuck, I take a walk—a solitary, reflective walk. Many of you understand this: how the simple act of moving through nature can clear your head and reconnect you to yourself. For me, it’s essential. So many of my insights, my best ideas, come when I’m walking.

Of course, there are days when even walking doesn’t work. When I’m stuck in my head, stressing and unable to be present, it’s a signal: I’ve neglected my practice. Yoga has always been my anchor when I’m emotionally overwhelmed or mentally overstimulated. Since becoming a teacher, it has become even more essential. I've learned that we don’t just carry our own "stuff"—we often absorb the energy and emotions of others. Without the practice of presence, it’s easy to overlook the weight we’re holding that isn’t even ours. As Carl Jung once said, "Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens." Yoga helps me notice, release, and return to centre. Yoga is a holistic practice, a recognition that everything is energy. It’s not so different from modern quantum mechanics, which tells us, as Niels Bohr said, "Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real." Yoga teaches us to see beyond the illusion of separateness, to embrace the interconnected flow of everything.

When I teach, I read the room. I look at each person, their energy, and decide what’s needed in that moment. It’s a gift I’m grateful for, but it comes with a cost: if I’m not careful, I carry other people’s energy with me. Without a consistent physical yoga practice, I lose my ability to hear what’s mine—in meditation, in reflection, or in stillness. I’ve learned (the hard way) that I must tend to my own practice. Yoga is what grounds me, what clears the clutter, what brings me back to myself.

In today’s fast-paced, overstimulated world, we’re all influenced—by people, by media, by noise. Yoga creates space. It slows the mind, creating room between our thoughts to see them for what they are: just thoughts. Not reality. Through svadhyaya, or self-study, we learn to differentiate the ego’s demands—born of fear, insecurity, or the need to prove ourselves—from the quiet yearnings of the true self.

The ego is loud. The soul is quiet. But the soul will demand to be heard. If you ignore it, you’ll feel it—tension in your body, inner conflict, outer conflict. The key is balance: to be a master of two worlds. Tend to the soul, but still function in everyday life. A life ruled by one at the expense of the other will always lead to suffering.

Yoga is journey and there’s never a destination. I’ve been practicing for 12 years—on and off—and consistently for the last 5. Only recently did I realize how much of my life wasn’t actually mine. These moments of truth are what yoga offers. As the Yoga Sutras say, "When the mind becomes still, the self shines forth." Similarly, Psalm 46:10 reminds us, "Be still, and know that I am God." Stillness reveals truth.

When I told my husband I wanted to move house—to leave the town we’d lived in for 5 years, uproot our kids, with no real explanation or plan—he thought I was mad. By modern, rational standards, I was. But I knew I had to do it. I couldn’t explain why, but I trusted myself enough to listen.

That hasn’t always been the case. For so long, my choices came from fear, insecurity, or unworthiness. But yoga has taught me to slow down, to reflect, and to ask: Where is this coming from? Heart or ego? I don’t always get it right. But it’s always worth the effort.

Yoga stopped being about fitness for me a long time ago. It’s been a journey back to myself. After I had my first child, when my body felt alien and my mind unsettled, yoga became my lifeline. I stopped going to gyms—I’d spent too many years feeling judged, anxious, and exposed there. I found a yoga studio instead, and I went nearly every day. My life shifted rapidly. We moved house, I fell pregnant again, and my yoga practice ceased. And then, I got lost.

The arrival of my second child hit me like a ton of bricks. It felt as though every version of who I’d been, every label I’d once given myself, was suddenly stripped away. It was during the height of COVID—a time of isolation, exhaustion, and uncertainty—and I found myself completely overwhelmed, unsure how to move forward. To cope, I fell into destructive habits, masking my struggles and bottling it all inside, trying to hold everything together. But eventually, the cracks began to show.

When my husband finally confronted me, it brought everything to the surface. That moment triggered an emotional breakdown—but also became a pivotal turning point.

I’d always struggled to ask for help, held back by an unconscious belief that needing support was a sign of weakness. But when I finally shared my struggles, help came. My husband, concerned and unsure how to support me, made a suggestion that, in hindsight, showed how deeply he understood me he suggested for me to return to yoga. He could see something I couldn’t and its like that sometimes, when we bare our souls people don’t only see the broken pieces they see the whole of you all at once.

I started small, with gentle and restorative practices. as this felt like all I could muster at the time. Those first sessions felt like a home coming. Gradually, yoga became my daily ritual again. My mood improved, my relationships healed, and I began to see life through a new lens of gratitude and possibility.

And now, here we are. Flourish has grown beyond what I ever imagined. It’s a living, breathing community that continues to evolve. As we step into this next chapter—welcoming Pilates, Barre, and Yogalates into our space—I know this expansion will only deepen what we offer and strengthen our community.

For the yoga lovers among you, don’t worry. There will still be plenty of yoga on the timetable.

This week, I’m moving house, town, and city. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I’m open. I’m optimistic. As Rilke wrote, "Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."

Whatever your practice—yoga, Pilates, barre—your body, your breath, and your joy are doorways to the present moment. If you pay attention, they will always share their wisdom with you.

Stay present. Keep sharing. Always flourishing. ❤️