I’ve been a passionate Ashtanga yoga practitioner for the past 20 years.
Over the past four years, my practice has changed.

It started, in part, with a move to a new country. A change in life’s rhythm, a new environment, and what some might describe as a very different vibe. I’d probably describe it as a different energetic field. [Don’t run away 😉 It’s a very grounded post.]

Slowly, I started moving away from the way I had practiced before, both in terms of intensity and the types of sequences that worked for me.

A small injury, the realisation that my body is aging, and a “small” war that my home country and people were battling, with all its emotional implications for an immigrant living in Europe, all became part of this process.

Without really having the words for it at the time, I started looking for a way to continue a daily practice that felt meaningful and dynamic, yet soft. Not soft as in easy, but soft as in not aggressive. Something that could be sustainable.

One part of me didn’t want to let go of the intensity and flow I had always loved. Another part was simply aching, resisting, and at times even afraid of the pain that often came with the type of practice I was used to.

Letting curiosity lead

Teaching became an important part of this process.

When I started leading teacher trainings, I realised that even as the teacher, the training process was an incubator for my own growth. It created an environment that nurtured curiosity and deep observation, allowing my personal practice to evolve naturally alongside my students.

I also had the privilege of attending two retreats with Kia Naddermier, who showed me that with certain changes to my practice, I could still practice Ashtanga yoga.

It was a source of relief and joy, and re-sparked my curiosity about the practice.

Yet at home, I would quite quickly find myself drawn back to sequences that were different from Ashtanga. Some were my own, while others were created and led by Ty Landrum, who I’ve been practicing and learning with for the past decade.

I would still practice Ashtanga, especially when teaching Ashtanga trainings, but it slowly became a smaller part of my personal practice.

Over the past year and a half, the majority of my practice has become Black Lotus Yoga, a beautiful method developed by Ty.

And in it, I found something I had been looking for.

Finding something new without leaving everything behind

A welcoming space for curiosity and a focus on the subtle body.

A practice that can be intense or gentle, depending on the day and the sequence I choose.

An introduction to new forms that my body and mind are eager to explore.

And a sense of respect and proximity to the type of practice I am familiar with.

Familiar enough not to raise resistance, yet different enough to allow me to approach even familiar forms with a new perspective.

A structured practice that is not rigid.

One that emphasises and welcomes creativity and inclusivity.

An invitation to evolve my practice in a way that nourishes me, challenges me, and is sustainable.

It reignited my joy of practice.

And it recharged my passion for teaching.

Looking back, I don’t really see this as a story about leaving one practice and finding another.

It feels more like a story about allowing my practice to change as I changed.

About listening when something that had served me so deeply no longer felt quite right.

About not throwing away what came before, but carrying it with me while making space for something new.

I am ever so grateful for this part of the journey, as I am for everything that preceded it and for the unknown that is still to come.

I feel incredibly privileged and blessed for all the teachings I’ve received over the years from such passionate and curious teachers. Those I’ve mentioned in this post, and the many others who are always in my heart, no matter what.

Perhaps this is one of the gifts of practice.

Not that it stays the same.

But that it sharpens our sensitivity and clarifies our seeing, so we can recognise change and allow it to unfold.

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