I tell you this story because everyone starts somewhere. And every journey ebbs and flows. My journey with yoga has not been perfect or linear—it's truly been all over the place and continues to evolve in the most beautiful, surprising of ways. Yours will too! I encourage you to keep a journal if this is the beginning of your yoga practice (or even if you've been practicing for years—anywhere works) so you can chronicle your story as well.
My personal yoga journey started when I was a teenager. Fifteen years old to be exact. Long story short, I was dragged to a yoga class by one of my best friends on a rainy December day in good old Sacramento, where I grew up. She had been raving and raving about this studio, Zuda Yoga, that was heated and blasted fun music and had all these good-looking teachers. I wasn't entirely convinced, given the fact that I had tried yoga before at my local gym and my core almost exploded because I found it to be so difficult!
Anyway, I signed up with her and wound up going, even though I almost died when my alarm went off that morning because it was super early. I was wearing an oversized tee, basketball shorts, and a sports bra. I had no idea what I was getting into, and these were long before the days of Alo Yoga, Lululemon, or any other trendy activewear.
I won't get too deep into this (although this story will be in my upcoming memoir), but my longtime boyfriend had just tried to commit suicide. I was shaken up, ridden with terrible anxiety, and my entire body hurt from the pain and deep shock that my heart was experiencing. I didn't know how to control my emotions or feel present in my body—at all.