When the Teachers Becomes the Student (A reflection on fear, faith, and surrender)

I’m scared.

Not the kind of scared that a few deep breaths can soften, or that teaching a class can help me move through. This fear feels deeper - the kind that sits in the stomach and hums quietly through every thought.

On Friday, I’m having an operation and the truth is, I don’t know what the outcome will be.

I don’t know how it will affect my health, my body, or - perhaps most dauntingly - my business.

Yogi Sanctuary has become my heart’s work, a dream that has taken every ounce of faith, courage, and resilience I could gather. I’ve built it from the ground up, and it’s growing into something I am so deeply proud of. But right now, I’m being reminded that even the most dedicated among us are still human.

The uncomfortable truth of not being in control

For someone who’s used to managing, creating and keeping all the moving pieces together, it’s uncomfortable to realise just how little control I actually have.

I’ve already had two unplanned weeks away from the studio after my fall on the studio stairs - two weeks that tested my ability to let go and trust that everything wouldn’t crumble without me. I learned then that I have an incredible team - people who care, who step up, who hold space not only for our students but for me too.

And now, as I face another week away, I feel the weight of the practical realities - the financial strain, the worry of momentum slowing, the creeping fear that my absence might somehow undo what I’ve built.

But beneath all that noise, a quieter truth is emerging: perhaps this is the practice.

Living the teachings, not just speaking them

All month, my theme at the studio has been Ishvara Pranidhana - surrender and trust.

It’s almost poetic, really. I’ve been guiding students to soften, to let go of control, to trust in the unfolding of life. And now, life has presented me with the most potent opportunity to do exactly that.

Surrender doesn’t mean giving up - it means loosening our grip on how we think things should be. It means meeting what is, with as much grace and faith as we can muster. Right now, I’m trying to trust that my body knows what it needs, that my team will hold the space beautifully, and that this pause has its own purpose.

It’s humbling to realise how attached I’ve been to being “the strong one” - the one who keeps going, who works through pain, who shows up no matter what. That version of me has served me well. But there comes a point where pushing becomes another form of resistance.

For the first time in a long time, I’m choosing to stop. To rest. To heal.

Compassion, courage, and the human side of yoga

Yoga isn’t always graceful shapes or deep breaths that melt away the day. Sometimes, it’s lying awake at night with racing thoughts and choosing - however imperfectly - to meet them with compassion.

It’s the practice of Ahimsa - non-harming, kindness, turned inward.It’s Svadhyaya - self-study, when you realise your identity as “the one who copes” might not serve you anymore. And it’s Aparigraha - non-grasping, when you start letting go of the version of yourself that always had to be in control.

I think we all meet moments like this in our lives - times when the rug is pulled and we’re asked to trust without guarantees. The practice doesn’t make us immune to fear or worry; it just gives us a way to move through it more consciously.

Being held

As teachers, business owners, caregivers - we often hold space for others. But it’s a strange and beautiful thing to realise that sometimes, we are meant to be the ones being held.

These past few weeks, I’ve been shown such kindness by my family, my team, my students, and this community. Your messages, your patience, your understanding - they’ve reminded me that Yogi Sanctuary isn’t just my dream anymore. It belongs to all of us.

And while I can’t control what happens on Friday, I can trust this: that I’m surrounded by good people, that healing takes the time it takes, and that the practice doesn’t stop when the body does. It simply shifts inward.

Learning to trust the process

So I’m doing what I ask of you so often - breathing, softening, trusting.

Faith, I’m learning, isn’t about knowing everything will be okay. It’s about believing that whatever happens, I’ll find a way to meet it with love and presence. That the ground will still hold me, even when it feels like it’s shifting.

This coming week, yoga looks like resting. Like waiting. Like trusting that life is still moving in the right direction, even while I’m still.

Maybe this is what surrender really is - not giving up, but giving over, not in fear - but in courage. Not having certainty, but having faith.