How I Got Here (The Origin Story)

My introduction to yoga started like many students I see today—curious, nervous, excited to switch up my workout routine. This was 2005, before yoga became yoga-with-weights, dog yoga, goat yoga, beer yoga, Instagram yoga, Lululemon-leggings yoga. If goats standing on your ass in downdog introduces you to this practice and sparks your interest, great. My experience was different.

My first class was community, breathing like I'd never breathed before, new sensations and ways to move my body that somehow made me feel better and changed how I moved through the world. I still wanted to learn crow pose and eventually touch my toes—but the reasons shifted as I practiced.

I didn't know what was happening, but yoga started working quickly. I felt more connected with the people around me, with nature, and most importantly myself. I looked forward to class every day—not just to learn more about the practice but to explore self-awareness, these strange ways of moving that left me feeling grounded, centered, more at ease. That's what led me to want to teach.

I can still remember the moment. I stepped out of class—the grass looked greener, the air smelled better, the sun was brighter, I felt amazing—and I thought, "I wish I could share this feeling." Two years later I enrolled in teacher training. I've been sharing the practice ever since. There's no better compliment than when a student says, "That is exactly what I needed."

Fast forward to COVID. Locked in my one-bedroom apartment, craving yoga. I wanted to take a class without having to guide myself through it. I wanted to just listen—no screen, no confusing cues forcing me to keep looking up. I couldn't find anything that didn't leave me slightly annoyed. So I created it, hoping other people were looking for the same thing. The Yoga Podclass was born.

When studios reopened, I thought maybe people wouldn't want this anymore and paused creating classes. Turns out, people still wanted a home practice. Audio-only yoga had staying power.

I knew for a long time I wanted to relaunch but couldn't see the path forward—how I wanted it to look and feel. After a brief but intense mental health struggle, the insight finally came at a rave with my friend and fellow teacher David Stevens. A partnership with someone I admire would bring the pieces together in a way that felt right. The relaunch took flight, and I couldn't be more excited about where this will take us.

What I Actually Believe About Yoga

People assume yoga changes your body first. That it mades you calmer, more flexible, more centered. The truth is less photogenic. Yoga showed me how restless I am. How quickly I grip, brace, perform, and check out when things get uncomfortable. The poses didn’t soothe me at the beginning—they exposed me. Standing still with my breath felt harder than most “hard” workouts I’d done, because there was nowhere to hide. No productivity. No applause. Just patterns I usually outran.

What I actually think yoga is, is a confrontation with reality—your own. Not the curated version, not the aspirational one. It’s a system that slows things down enough for you to notice how you respond to effort, confusion, boredom, and vulnerability. Do you push? Do you numb? Do you judge yourself for not being better already? Yoga isn’t teaching calm as much as it’s teaching literacy—learning to read the signals of your body, your thoughts, your emotions without immediately trying to correct them.

This is where yoga gets misrepresented. It’s often sold as an escape hatch from stress, when in practice it does the opposite. It invites you to stay present when your nervous system wants to flee. To soften when control feels safer. To breathe when your instinct is to brace. That’s not relaxing work—it’s honest work. And honesty, done consistently, changes how you show up everywhere else: in leadership, in relationships, in the moments when you don’t get what you want.

So if you ask me what I really think about yoga, I don’t think it’s about peace. I think it’s about truth, practiced gently. It’s about building the capacity to stay with yourself when things are messy, unclear, or unfinished. Over time, that kind of staying does create steadiness—but it’s earned, not imposed. Yoga doesn’t fix you. It shows you that you were never broken, just disconnected. And reconnection, while quiet, is one of the most radical things you can practice.

What Drives Me (The Why Behind The Work)

My work is driven by a quiet frustration with unnecessary struggle. Not the kind that shapes you or humbles you, but the kind that lingers simply because no one ever showed you how to notice what’s actually happening inside. I’ve watched capable, thoughtful people spin their wheels—at work, in relationships, in their own heads—not because they lack intelligence or discipline, but because they’re reacting on autopilot. I’m motivated by the moment when that autopilot clicks off, even briefly, and someone realizes they have more choice than they thought.

At the core of what I do is pattern recognition. I see how often we confuse effort with effectiveness, control with safety, productivity with worth. I’ve lived those patterns myself. Yoga, leadership development, facilitation—none of it is about fixing people or elevating them to some ideal state. It’s about helping them slow things down enough to see their habits clearly: how they meet discomfort, how they avoid, how they grip. When people can name those patterns without shame, something shifts. Clarity replaces self-criticism. Agency replaces reactivity.

My why, ultimately, is about availability. I want people to be more available to their own experience—to stay present when things are uncomfortable, uncertain, or unfinished. Not to bypass difficulty, but to meet it with honesty and skill. When someone feels less alone inside themselves, they lead better, relate better, and choose more cleanly. That’s the work. Everything else is just the format.