your greatest love.

a thought to unfold…

You are the greatest love story of your life. 

Yet when we think about love, we often think of someone else—a partner, a friend, a child, a pet. And when we think of those we love most, we know that love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a practice—something we nurture through patience, understanding, forgiveness, and care. We celebrate them. We champion them. We give them grace. We choose them, over and over again.

What if you offered yourself that same kind of love?

Inspiration is everywhere…

A week or two ago, I was up in Vermont. I lived there for most of my adult life, about 16 years. And if you’ve ever lived anywhere else I’m sure you know the feeling of returning to a place that used to be home.

All the memories start coming back and you think of all the people and places and things you’ve loved. I thought of my best friend who I love more than life itself and her children who I’ve watched grow up, and how lucky I am that they are still such a huge part of my life. I think of the mountains and snowboarding and the beauty of being outdoors and what a glorious gift that is. And…it also makes me think of some of the not so great things, like my shitty ex boyfriend who left some difficult memories that are really hard to forget.

As I walked through the familiar streets and visited old spots, I felt surrounded by the ghosts of my past selves—different versions of me from years ago. Some of those versions were full of hope, some of uncertainty, and some were still in the middle of figuring it all out. Whatever “it” is. Some were adventurous and full of life and successful, others scared and empty.

I was reminded of how these past versions of me are all a part of me and who I am, some joyful, some painful, some moments I wish I could get back, some I’d rather never think of again, but all a part of my story. 

With it being Valentine’s Day, I’ve been thinking a lot about love and self-love. When we think of the people we love—friends, family, lovers, pets—we don’t expect them to be perfect, because we know they can’t be. We accept them for who they are, flaws and all. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. We give them grace. We celebrate them. We champion them. And we choose them, over and over again.

For some reason though, when it comes to ourselves, we don’t always offer the same. But the thing is, the longest relationship, the longest love, you will ever have in this life is you. From your very first breath until your last, it has always been you. Every chapter. Every twist and turn. Every smile, every heartbreak. Moments of joy, moments of despair. You. you. you. Always you. Always there.

Loving yourself is a practice, just like loving others. It takes time. It’s something we nurture with patience, with forgiveness, with care. We choose ourselves, again and again, even in the moments where we feel less than. And just like any relationship, the more we show up with compassion and understanding, the stronger our love becomes.

The beautiful thing about self-love is that the more we practice loving ourselves, the more we are able to be love in the world—more patient, more understanding, more open with others. And we all know the world can you use more that right now. Our yoga practice is a good reminder of that, too. Accepting what is. Being curious. Open. 

Let this month and this practice be a reminder to love yourself—all of you. The parts you're proud of, the ones you’re still learning from, and the ones that need more grace. Each is so deserving of all the love. 

The way you love yourself shapes the way you experience everything else in this life.

thoughts for practice…

journal prompts

Pick one or two that speak to you—or move through them all.

• What does loving myself look like in my daily life—not in theory, but in practice?

• When do I feel most supportive toward myself? When do I tend to abandon myself?

• How have all versions of me helped shape who I am today?

• What is one small way I can love myself today?

• When do I feel most at home in myself?

• What helps me return to myself when I feel disconnected?

• I love me because... (write from here)

Before you begin…

Gently close the windows of your eyes.

Bring your hands to your heart, right hand stacked over left.

Take a big inhale through the nose.

Then slow, steady exhale through the mouth.

Feel your heart beating beneath your hands. Acknowledge the power in knowing this heart has been beating for you since the very first day you entered this world.

Tell yourself, “I love you.”

Then begin writing.

Reflections of your practice

The next time you step onto your mat, ask yourself:

What does love look like this morning?

Celebration?
Grace?
Kindness?
Patience?

Maybe love looks like effort, showing up fully and trying again.
Maybe it looks like softening. Or staying.
Maybe it looks like resting when your body asks for pause.

Notice any thoughts that show up as you move, observe them, then keep moving. Let your breath guide you back whenever your mind wanders or your inner critic tries to take the mic.

Each inhale, an invitation to stay. Each exhale, a chance to begin again. Every breath a return.

Your practice isn’t asking you to be perfect. Only to be present.

With your breath, your body, your greatest love…you.

take this with you…

Self-love, like any other type of love, isn’t just a feeling, it’s a practice, a choice—a commitment to showing up for yourself, day after day. It’s choosing yourself in moments of doubt, choosing kindness for yourself when you feel you’re anything but. It’s offering yourself grace when you stumble and celebrating yourself when you shine. And even when you don’t.

The most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one with yourself. The heart that lives in this body right here—the one that’s been beating for you since the day one, the one that will be there for you until the very end.

You are worthy of all the love, compassion and understanding you so freely give to others. You are your greatest love story.

—this reflection comes from a classes taught 2.12-16.2026—

every volume has it's own vibe

〰️

press play and let this one unfold

every volume has it's own vibe 〰️ press play and let this one unfold

the art of noticing

a thought to unfold…

“When the mind is loud, intuition feels distant.
When the mind is quiet, everything becomes clear.”

— @yoga

Yoga doesn’t give us the answers.
It quiets the noise so we can hear them.

Synchronicities and coincidences start to appear. Inner and outer worlds align. These little whispers, these winks, these are reminders that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. 

The universe doesn’t want you to try harder. It wants you to breathe. To soften your grip. To slow down enough to notice what’s already here.

The practice of yoga is an invitation to tune in. To drop in. To be present enough to notice the subtle ways life is always guiding you.

inspiration is everywhere…

Back in 2018, my parents and I went to see Max Wienberg (Bruce Springsteen’s longtime drummer) at Big Chill Beach Club down here in southern Delaware where we live. He was doing his show, Max Wienberg’s Jukebox, where he’d play a bunch of covers, along with the band, The Weeklings. It was a great time and there were a ton of people there, couple of hundred if not thousands, they were packed in. At the end of the show, Max invites people to come up on stage, mostly women who ran up there to play tambourines and dance. My Dad looked at me and said, “let’s go.”

We go up on stage, the first beat drops, and it’s Glory Days—my Dad’s all-time favorite song. As they started to play, my Dad looks at the band, grabs the mic and says, “I’ve got this.” He sang the entire song, and when I say he brought the house down, I’m talking high-fives in the parking lot, people asking him if it was a set up, I mean, he brought it DOWN. It was amazing.

The next year, Max Wienberg was coming back to Big Chill, so of course we got tickets and went again. On the drive down there, my Mom and I gave my Dad the talk, telling him that he’s not going to get back up on stage again and that last year was amazing, but just let it be a one-and-done kind of thing—let it be what it was. No need for a repeat.

So we get there and find our spot in the crowd to watch the show, and all of a sudden, this couple behind us was like, “wait, you’re the guy who sang Glory Days last year, you were incredible! Are you going to do it again?” Dad kind of brushed it off while also guilting us with, “my wife and daughter said I’m not allowed to.” We laughed and shook it off. Show starts, show was amazing. End of the show is near, and Max invites people up on stage once again. The woman behind us urged him to go up, “come on, you’ve got to get up there,” she said. Then he looks at us, and almost simultaneously, my Mom and I shrug our shoulders in a we-knew-this-would-happen sort of way, and said, “go ahead, get up there!”

And guess what? He crushed it. Just as good, if not better than the first time. My Dad was something else.

Fast forward seven years to 2026, just a few weeks ago. It’s been a little over a year now since my Dad died. If you’re new here, he died in October 2024, about 8 months after receiving a cancer diagnosis. He gave it all he had (which should come as no surprise after hearing that story I just shared about him on stage—that’s how he did everything in life) and I’m so proud of him. I cherish those eight months of loving every last minute of his life together.

So here we are, January 2026. My Mom told me she got tickets to The Weeklings at the Milton Theater. I was subbing yoga class that Thursday night, and to be honest, it just felt like a lot to go to the show after. I could have easily said no. But I also didn’t want my Mom to go alone to the show, and I knew going would mean a lot to her. So I taught class, got changed at the studio and drove to the theater to meet her. She was already in her seat, the second row (my mom doesn’t play when it comes to seats haha), I take off my jacket and settle in. And…guess who is behind us? Like the two seats DIRECTLY behind us. You guessed it. The same exact couple—the same exact couple that was there in 2018 when my Dad got on stage and the same exact couple that urged him to get back up on stage in 2019. And now here we are, 7 years later, and they’re right behind us once again. I mean WTF, if that’s not a holy sh*t moment, I don’t know what is.

Yes, this an extreme example (and longwinded, I know), but it got me thinking about synchronicities and these seemingly small “coincidences”—these little whispers and winks from the universe. Sure, you can shrug them off as a weird coincidence. And maybe you think it’s all a bit woo-woo to think there is meaning behind it. But sometimes, there really is no other explanation other than this simple truth: these are reminders that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be. 

Now hear me out—this isn’t a “everything happens for a reason” kinda thing, I’m not saying that. Because believe me, I do not believe that my Dad should have died, I believe he should have been there at that show with my mom instead of me. But he’s not here. And in that moment, I was. And there it was. The reminder, the wink, the whisper, the big ol “hey, I’m right here with you, you’ve got this. Keep going.”

Thank you, Dad.

thoughts for practice…

Journal Prompts

Pick one or two that speak to you—or move through them all.

• Where in my life am I being invited to slow down and listen more closely?

• What am I rushing past that might be asking for my attention?

• When was the last time I experienced a “what are the odds?” moment?

• What does my body feel like when my inner and outer worlds align?

• If I trusted that I’m exactly where I need to be, what would soften?

Before you write, practice listening.

Close your eyes.
Take a big breath in through your nose.
Open mouth exhale, let it all go.
Notice what’s here without trying to change it.
Let this be your starting point.

Reflections for your practice

The next time you step onto your mat, consider it not as a place to do more, but as a place to listen more closely. Ask yourself:

Where can I soften my grip and deepen my awareness?

What changes when I stay with the moment instead of rushing toward the next pose?

Can I notice the pause between each breath, each movement? Can I be where I am?

Every time we come to our mat is an opportunity to fine-tune the art of presence. We’re using our breath and body as a way back here.

And in doing this, the noise of our inner world gets quieter, and in turn, we’re more deeply tuned in. Our outer world feels more vivid and moments that once slipped by start to stand out.

Yoga isn’t giving us the answers, that’s not what this practice is about. It’s about creating the kind of presence where meaning can find you—quieting the noise, and seeing what’s already here.

take this with you…

Yoga teaches us how to be here.
To slow down enough to notice the moment we’re in.
To listen, not just with our ears, but with the whole body, the mind, the heart, the soul.

And when we live this way, our awareness deepens.
Our presence expands.
Life begins to feel more connected, more meaningful.

Then, when those moments arrive—coincidences, synchronicities, signs from the universe, whatever you want to call them—we don’t rush past them.

We notice.
We feel them.
We allow them to remind us that we’re aligned.

We’re on the right path.
We can trust the unfolding of our lives.

—this reflection comes from a classes taught 1.14-19.2026—

Ps. Every volume has its own vibe—press play and let this one unfold.