Taking Chances on Myself

Dear Reader,

Lately, I’ve been noticing a quiet shift within me.

A growing pull to take chances on myself — to lean a little further into sharing yoga, even when it feels uncertain, even when doubt still whispers in the background. Not in a loud or dramatic way, but gently, intentionally, with trust.

For a long time, I’ve approached this path cautiously. Balancing practicality with passion, safety with curiosity. But yoga has never asked me to be fearless — only honest. And honesty, I’m learning, sometimes means admitting that I want more space to share this practice, more room to explore what it could become.

When I reflect through the lens of yoga, I see how deeply this process is already woven into the practice itself.

There is svadhyaya — self-study — in noticing my fears, my resistance, and the stories I tell myself about what is or isn’t possible. There is tapas in continuing anyway; in showing up, teaching, planning, offering, even when it would be easier to stay small or familiar. And there is santosha, learning to be content with where I am now, while still allowing myself to grow.

On the mat, we practise asana — not to perfect shapes, but to meet ourselves where we are. Off the mat, it feels much the same. Sharing yoga more fully asks me to stay steady in discomfort, to breathe through uncertainty, to trust that balance will come with time. Pranayama reminds me that when things feel overwhelming, I can always return to the breath — simple, grounding, available.

And then there is dharana — focus. Choosing, again and again, to place my energy where it feels meaningful. To invest in connection, in presence, in offering something real to those who choose to practise with me.

Taking chances on myself doesn’t mean having everything figured out. It doesn’t mean knowing exactly where this path will lead. It simply means listening — to my body, my breath, my purpose — and allowing that to guide my next step.

Sharing yoga has never been about ambition. It has always been about offering something honest, supportive, and human. And perhaps taking this chance is just another way of honouring that.

So I move forward slowly. With intention. With trust. And with a willingness to see what unfolds when I stop holding back.

With quiet courage,
Charmaine