2025: A Year of Trust, Depth, and Discernment in Practice. What Worked Well.

Each year, I take time to reflect on my work - not as an exercise in productivity or performance, but as a practice of honest listening. I look back at what worked well, what didn’t, and the growth I may not have fully recognised in the moment. You can see last year's here.

These reflections help me discern what wants to be carried forward, and what is ready to be released. They shape how I plan for the year ahead - not through rigid goals, but through intention, attention, and care.

This year, I felt drawn to share just a little bit of that reflection here, not as a set of conclusions, but as a quiet offering - an invitation into the questions, learnings, and moments of discernment that have shaped my teaching over the past year.

2025 was the year I truly began to trust my voice.

Not by speaking more, but by learning when to be silent. I came to understand that holding space does not require filling it - that silence is not something to be rescued, but something to be honoured. Silence, I learned, is often where the deepest nourishment lives for my students, and for me.

This was also the year that rest stopped being an idea I spoke about and became something I embodied. I allowed asana to become what it was always intended to be: preparation for savasana. Not something to achieve or perform, but a gentle journey towards stillness. Teaching slowed as a result. It softened. And in that softening, something essential deepened.

I grew more confident in teaching intuitively. This has always been part of my method, but this year I truly immersed myself in it - listening to the room, responding from the body rather than the plan, trusting what was present rather than what I thought should be offered. My teaching felt steadier, less defended, and more honest.

This year, I also expanded my offerings to include day retreats, which have been an absolute joy to lead. The yoga, the food, the setting - but above all, the sense of community. These days feel like a natural extension of my values and a reminder that yoga is not something we do in isolation. It is relational. Shared. Lived.

One small but meaningful moment this year was asking whether anyone might be interested in joining a yoga philosophy group - fully expecting no one would. I was quietly astonished when many people said yes. It felt like a gentle affirmation of a real hunger for depth, reflection, and shared inquiry.

Alongside all of this, I continued to learn - not from a place of striving, but from curiosity and devotion. I undertook further training in psychology, yin yoga, menopause yoga, yoga for cancer, pranayama, and meditation teaching, while also reading widely and deeply. Over seventy books found their way into my hands, each one subtly shaping how I understand this work and my place within it.

More than anything, 2025 feels like a year of maturation, as a yoga teacher and as a woman.

My imposter syndrome loosened its grip. I stopped arguing so fiercely with my right to be here. I felt more settled, more rooted, and less pulled off centre by comparison or the need to prove myself. I know that I am a great yoga teacher. That knowing doesn’t shout - it rests quietly in my body, in my experience, and in the way I hold space.

I don’t teach for numbers or metrics. I am here to show up, to teach with integrity and presence, and to offer this work to those who genuinely wish to meet it. That, it turns out, is more than enough.

If you're interested in seeing what didn't work so well for me this year, I explore that here.