Dear, ME

When you lost your brother, you needed somewhere for the pain to go.

You needed something to keep you breathing.

You needed something to anchor you when the ground kept disappearing beneath your feet.

You found yoga.

Or maybe… yoga found you.

For 12 years, it held you.

It gave your body somewhere to put the grief your heart couldn’t carry alone.

It gave you breath on the days you didn’t have any left.

It gave you community when you felt like a ghost.

You taught because it saved you.

You nourished people — literally — through the salad jars that became their rituals and your survival.

Everything you offered came from loss, from love, from devotion.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

People came to your classes and your products for reasons that weren’t your reasons.

They were looking to lose weight.

To change their bodies.

To be “better.”

And while you honored what they needed…

that was never the heart of your work.

Your healing was never about shrinking.

It was about living.

And now, you’re ready to stop softening that truth.