In hosted on , we left off with a big question: how, as teachers, can we foster inclusive yoga spaces, both virtual and in-person? In this article, we’ll explore ideas on how you can actively commit to inclusion in your teaching practice. Keep in mind that inclusion is an ongoing process that requires a commitment to continual learning. No yoga space will be perfect, but if you strive to foster an inclusive environment, you and your students will reap the rewards.

An illustration of eight people of different genders, ethnicities, and body types doing different yoga postures.

1. Physical space

It all starts with setting up a…


During this seemingly endless twilight zone of the COVID-19 pandemic, yoga spaces have become more important than ever. Whether virtual or in-person, a yoga class can offer a much-needed pause, a moment to be with breath and body, a way to structure days that seem to meld into each other. For those who have a regular yoga practice, we may take the experience of taking a class — from finding the schedule, signing up, and paying, to entering the space, setting up your mat and props, and doing the practice — for granted. …


During a year when structures have unraveled, routines become untethered, and normalcy redefined, I have found myself wondering how to reestablish structure.

I’ve always been a creature of habit, thriving off of careful plans, bookending my days with rituals, satisfied in checking things off an ever-growing list before I went to bed. Last March, as I realized many of my habits — biking to the office, community centre fitness class, swimming laps, going to the library, volunteering at a food coop — were off the table, I floated uncertainly between the space of thinking and doing.

Breath as structure

A regular asana practice…


In January 2020, I resolved to write about yoga every day. I’ve always enjoyed writing but struggled to make my January habit stick. Last year, mid-way through a yoga teacher training, I realized I needed a way to harness my curiosity, to document my learning — and so journalling became a way for me to mark the transformation I was witnessing in myself through the practice of yoga.

Yes, the asana practice was coming more easily: I was learning how to craft thoughtful sequences, to cue movement from breath, to offer physical adjustments to my peers. But the larger changes…


During my weekend walks under evergreens, roots woven into ground, bark mottled with lichen, trunks standing up to perpetual rain, I think about how time passes, free of judgment, outside of our constructs. I remark at the patience of stream water as it carves around rocks, the slow receding of puddles when the sun bursts free from heavy clouds, the joyful sounds of fat raindrops landing on the last of autumn’s foliage, sitting for a beat before sinking into soft earth.

Time passes in unpredictable ways right now, seeming to oscillate between the slow drip of a leaky faucet and…


I never thought I would pursue slowness. As a (mostly) high-energy Gemini prone to chasing curiosity, my appetite for novelty can feel insatiable. In the ‘before’ times, the prospect of an empty afternoon, let alone an entire weekend, would knot my stomach. I would feel, acutely, time passing, and the guilt of not having anything to show for it.

Stillness is precious! (Trout Lake, East Vn

I am realizing that this is a form of grasping (what the Niyama of aparigraha, or non-attachment, cautions us against). …


My morning runs always end in cresting a gentle hill (which feels positively mountainous at that point). Running isn’t always fun for me, but it is joyful: an invitation to move unbridled, a steady rhythm, a synchronization of breath and body.

Like many runners others I know, though, running can dislodge a bracing internal dialogue: how much farther can I go? Do I have time to trace another loop around Trout Lake before work starts? Can I push my pace for the last few minutes instead of cooling down?


As we slow dance our way from the hesitant unconfinement of summer into colder, darker days bound by uncertainty, how can we build habits to cultivate steadiness? How can we learn new ways to track time, less focussed on progress, and more on simply being? Unsurprisingly, my waking and dreaming thoughts have become narrower, like the shard of light between branches as the afternoon dips into evening. I’ve been thinking about the value of daily habits, and how, even in their smallness, they can give us the structure to continue to exist in this perpetual in-betweenness.

In a biological context…


One of the things that has struck me about moving from one city to another is my relationship to place — specifically, of the rhythm of moving and pausing, speaking and listening, locating similarity and difference.

During my last few months in Toronto, when cycling was my main source of joy (oh, the luxury of unfettered movement!), I started documenting how my movement, alone and with others, differed. Alone, I often collapsed into the familiar: treading the same paths, letting myself be drawn to comfortable places, imprinting my steps. …


The shift from late summer to early autumn has always seemed more like a feeling than a season — this year, especially so, as I recently moved from the soupy humidity of Toronto to the cooler, fir-scented air of Vancouver. This transition has felt natural, hopeful, potent, though dappled with shadows of what-now: what will I do with the extra time? How will I continue to challenge myself, faced with an openness that I haven’t experienced for years? What structures must I put in place to avoid sinking into complacency?

Big questions, yes, but I am lucky to have this…

Mixed-up Yogi

Writing from beautiful Vancouver about muddling through via intuitive movement 🤸🏽‍♀️ place-based learning 🌳 strong coffee ☕️ creative connection✨

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