And how yoga, coaching and the seasons are guiding me to build resilience in both

I do care a lot, that’s for sure. Caring means genuinely wanting to share what I love, cherish, and believe is incredibly powerful about the yogic life—and about living a life in alignment with your truth. It means wanting others to experience their own versions of wellbeing through movement, words, and deep listening. It also means caring deeply about how I do that: the words I use, the sequences I create, and how I organise everything behind the scenes. Caring, for me, is wrapped up in integrity—and that much I know.

Caring can also bring worry and uncertainty. About the wellbeing of others. About doing things well. About staying ‘on side’, being understood, being liked. It can spiral into self-doubt, perfectionism, and insecurity—replaying conversations, questioning what was said, rushing to course-correct. I’m learning that the antidote to this lives somewhere between holding onto the love that fuels this care, and cultivating trust.

I have an on-and-off relationship with trust. As a trained thinker—I say trained because my essence is to feel and to create, though I was educated to rely heavily on my mind—it’s easy for me to know certain things: that things will be OK, that healing is possible, that I’ll see my family again soon. Trusting these things is different altogether. Trust is visceral, deep, and a little sneaky. It comes and goes. I feel it most when my energy is expansive, when I’m around nourishing people, and when I close my eyes and return to my heart.

The question I keep asking myself is: can we live in a constant state of trust—so steady that it becomes a knowing? The honest answer is that I don’t know. Yoga philosophy speaks to a fine tension between abhyāsa (steady practice) and vairāgya (non-attachment). One asks us to show up again and again with sincerity. The other invites us to loosen our grip on outcomes, timelines, and certainty. The coming and going of trust suggests to me that it lives somewhere in between—not in certainty, but in the steady return to it.

Health coaching mirrors this beautifully. People often arrive wanting clarity, answers, a plan—something to rely on. And while structure and knowledge are supportive (and important), real breakthroughs tend to happen when the head and the heart begin to align. Through noticing patterns, listening to the body, honouring limits, and observing what repeats itself over time, trust starts to form. Trust grounds knowing—and makes it sustainable.

This is why people say “trust the process.” It’s also why there are no quick fixes. Habits, values, and the quiet becoming of who you are as a caring, integrated human being need time. This is why I keep dancing with trust, losing it, returning to it, and practising it again. And this is why I continue to resist the push more, do more mentality—my wish for you is that your trust in yourself is so powerful that you live life from a place of complete self-ownership.

And when all else fails and I need inspiration, I turn to nature—especially at this time of year. Winter doesn’t rush or demand clarity. Seeds don’t need certainty to grow; they need the right conditions. Stillness. Warmth. Time. Nature knows itself. Watching the natural world reminds me that trust isn’t something to force—it’s something to tend. And we know we can tend to ourself, and trust our own becoming.

and the Online Winter series of Restorative Yoga has an extra session this month

One my recent mentees had the words below about his experience in coaching and mentoring. One of the beautiful things I extracted from it was the importance of human connection in a time of so much information being quickly and automatically generated by AI. We know this already, I’m not saying anything new, but I do hope they inspire you to continue to find real outlets for connection.

Until next time,

Supporting individuals and businesses towards authentic freedom and wellbeing