In terms of sleep, I used to be an excellent sleeper, and I could sleep anywhere and fall asleep whenever I wanted. Then I adopted my third child, who has significant special needs, most of which are early largely trauma-related. He didn't sleep through the night until he was about eleven years old, and so, for the most part, neither did I. Even though he's a bit older now, I feel that those years have really changed my relationship with sleep. I've been working on it, being more intentional about turning off screens and making sure I get enough exercise during the day, but I appreciated having my attention brought back to this aspect of health. I guard my sleep, and turn my phone off at about 8:00PM, and because we don’t have power late at night (off-grid living!), I got to bed early and wake-up early.

I also really appreciated the definition of Santosha that Jen offered, particularly the idea of it being a lack of desire for something we don't have (no problem), or not needing to alter or change something about ourselves (much harder!). That's still landing for me, and I've been doing quite a bit of journaling and processing around this.

And then there was the idea of an unwavering trust in self and gratitude for self, which I wrote in capital letters in my journal. I think that's a really profound way of framing this niyama - thank you, Jen!

I've also been thinking about something Stacy said about sometimes wanting to uproot your entire life and move to a cabin in the woods, because in a way, I've done that. I moved from a comfortable life in Canada, in a city, to living off-grid in South Africa. So I found myself wondering whether that actually leads to contentment. Does changing our external circumstances bring us closer to it? And how does that relate to our ability to serve others?

For me, this move was part of a much bigger expression of who I am, and the more I can come back to who I am, the more I actually have to offer others. I don't know that the decision itself, or being here rather than somewhere else, has necessarily brought contentment. Although I can't deny that there is a certain peace of mind that comes with geographical distance from places that feel unsafe in the world right now, as well as the mental stress of being constantly bombarded with this stuff. I grew up in Western Canada but lived for a long time in Ottawa, Canada's capital, and that sometimes carried a fair amount of stress about things happening politically, particularly with our neighbours to the south. Being geographically removed from some of that has genuinely brought me some peace. And I don't mean that as an insult to anyone, but at times living in Canada feels like we are living in a really dangerous neighbourhood, with little ability to participate in what needs to change.

I also appreciated Alejandro's comment about sometimes wishing he could just rescue kittens, but then saying “that's not his calling". I run a charity here in SA, and often (daily) think of converting it from a place that serves people into a pit-bull rescue centre. I love animals, and people are just so freaking complicated! But that's not my calling, at least not right now. Not today. Not today.

I also thought about the question: How can we be content when others are suffering?

I think that's a particularly relevant question in my life. The work I do and the community I live in mean that I'm often surrounded by suffering. There is significant poverty, violence, crime, loss of life and property, addictions, children raising themselves and just general hardship. And sometimes it can feel difficult to find contentment in the middle of all of that.

Something I have come to hold onto is this (I think I read it from a Byron Katie book?): it's not my turn. Today, right now, it's not my turn. At some point, we will all experience pain, loss, illness, the loss of a job, or any number of the difficult things that life brings. But today, in this moment, it's not my turn. So instead, what can I do to perhaps make someone else's suffering a little less difficult, and to help them to feel a little less alone with that pain?

I've also come to understand that I cannot make someone else's suffering any lighter by taking it on myself. All that happens is that now there are two people suffering. I've done that before, and I've worked really hard to recognize that tendency in myself. I think it's partly a trauma response, this instinct to take on another person's pain or suffering as though somehow that will help them.

Having a partner who is a recovering addict has really reinforced that lesson for me. Taking on his suffering doesn't make his load any lighter, and it doesn't support him in any meaningful way. What does support him is when I am grounded, when I'm regulated, and when I continue to attend to my own needs, even when he's struggling.

That's where a lot of my thinking about Santosha is taking me at the moment. I'm still sitting with it, still journaling, and still working out what it means in practice, and looking forward to watching next weeks recording!

I've also been thinking about the conversations around how we know whether something is intuition, a gut reaction, or our past trauma speaking. I've come to recognize that, for me, the presence of a story is often a clue. When I think something is my intuition, but my mind immediately starts creating a story or justifying it — this must be my intuition because of this and this — I suspect that it's more likely my trauma or my conditioning speaking. When I act from a place of pure clarity, without a story or a need to explain or justify, even when the action doesn't seem to make "rational" sense, that feels more like intuition to me. There's simply a knowing, without all the narrative around it.

I like thinking about saucha in this way: clearing away the things that make it difficult for us to access our own clarity and intuition. I see that as my work in this lifetime. 

And as a facilitator of the practices we're teaching, I think this work is even more important. It's incredibly important to me as a parent, and it's equally important in working in the field of trauma with people who have their own histories of trauma. Now, as I prepare to work with people in carceral and rehabilitation settings, I feel this responsibility even more deeply. If we're inviting others to explore themselves, reconnect with their bodies, and develop greater awareness, then I believe we have a responsibility to keep doing our own work and to recognize our own conditioning and the ways it can influence how we show up with others.

For me, saucha is not about becoming a perfectly clear or healed person, but about continuing to notice what's getting in the way, gently clearing what I can, and making more room for my authentic self to be present, and then returning to that practice, again and again.

For example, working excessively hard or becoming addicted to knowledge, as Alejandro mentioned, can be praised rather than approached with curiousity. I also have to check in with myself and really feel into why I want to purchase one more book, take one more course, acquire one more degree. We celebrate the person who takes another course, while we judge someone struggling with substance use. Yet these behaviours can arise from the same underlying pain, even if their consequences and how society responds to them are different.

I really appreciate Gabor Maté’s broad understanding of addiction: that it can be anything we use to seek relief from emotional pain that leads to craving, has negative consequences, and we struggle to stop (even after knowing or experiencing these consequences). Whether it involves substances, food, sugar, scrolling, power, money, control, or behaviours that are generally considered positive, I think it is important to look beyond the behaviour itself and ask what need it is attempting to meet.

I found it particularly helpful to reflect on what Jenn said about how our relationship with ourselves changes in anticipation of obtaining a substance or experiencing that relief. The way I understand it, the relief we seek is often an attempt to escape or soothe emotional pain. The deeper work, then, is to understand that pain and find healthier ways to address the underlying need. If the pain comes from loneliness, for example, the answer isn’t to eliminate our longing for connection. Loneliness is a human experience, and connection is a genuine human need. The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, it is connection. Instead, we can explore how to meet that need in ways that are nourishing rather than harmful to ourselves or others.

I live off-grid, grow most of my own food, and have moved countries (from Canada to South Africa) and in that process sold off most of my personal belongings, but still notice now and then an urge just to "buy something", or "eat something". I've come to have some awareness that as soon as my mind adds the "something", it is probably masking an unmet need, and not that there is simply a nice object I want to have, or that I'm hungry. The "something" is the important piece. Sometimes, I'm able to come into the moment and recognize it, others times I'm not as successful :) 

One other thing I noticed during the movement section was that the tense-and-release exercise brought up quite a lot of anger for me. I found that interesting and wanted to pay attention to what arose rather than dismiss it. It made me reflect on how different practices can affect us in unexpected ways. While I might be hesitant to use this particular exercise when working with others, I also don’t want to rule it out simply because it brought up uncomfortable feelings in me. Instead, I see it as an opportunity to remain curious about my own responses and to recognize that our experiences of a practice can be very different.

First, I really loved the metaphor Jen shared about the waterfall of information pouring into and over a cup. We don't need to grasp at the water as it spills over because it will evaporate, become rain, and come down again. I think this is such a beautiful metaphor for healing in general. We don't have to hold on to every insight, experience, or moment of understanding. We can trust that what we need will return to us in some form, in its own time.

At the beginning of my notes, I wrote about a student I had grown particularly fond of. Just as I began this module, his parents discontinued his lessons, and I didn't get the opportunity to say goodbye or tell him how much I had enjoyed our time together. It was a small but meaningful opportunity to practice non-attachment: to acknowledge my sadness, appreciate the time we had shared, and let go of the need for a different ending.

Over the past six months, I have also lost one of my closest friendships, and I have been grieving that loss. Something that resonated with me in the discussion was the idea of revisiting beautiful memories for what they were, appreciating that we had those experiences, and then returning to the intention to let go. Not forcing ourselves to stop caring or pretending that something didn't matter, but gently practicing the act of releasing our attachment to what was, again and again.

And then, in the last three days, this module has taken on an entirely different meaning. I live in South Africa, while my mother lives in Canada. She has Alzheimer's, although she has remained physically healthy until now, and she is in her final days. While this wasn't entirely unexpected, I am suddenly faced with making decisions about her care and treatment: what interventions we want, when it may be time to let go, and how to make decisions based on what she would want rather than what I want.

I find myself sitting with the reality that love does not necessarily mean holding on. Sometimes, love means making room for what is happening, even when it is painful and even when we desperately wish things could be different. I cannot control the outcome, and I cannot make these decisions without grief. All I can do is try to meet this moment with as much love, clarity, and compassion as I can.

It feels as though this module has walked alongside me through three very different experiences of loss and letting go: the loss of a connection with a student, the grief of a friendship that has ended, and now the impending loss of my mother. Each is different in scale and circumstance, but all have invited me to consider what it means to honour something deeply without trying to hold on to it.

I also found myself reflecting on the discussions around parenting and attachment. My work is rooted in trauma, and I work with children and families whose lives have been shaped by early adversity. For me, non-attachment does not mean being unattached to our children. It means learning to release our attachment to the outcome.

As parents, we can give our children everything we have: our love, our time, our attention, our resources, and our best efforts to create safety and connection. And still, we cannot control the choices they will make or the paths their lives will take. I have older children who were adopted and have histories of trauma. I know that we can give everything we have and still watch our children struggle, make choices that are difficult for us to understand, or face challenges such as addiction and incarceration. This doesn't mean we have failed, nor does it mean we stop loving them. It means recognizing the limits of our control while continuing to show up with love wherever and however we can.

I see a similar dynamic in my relationship with a partner who struggles with addiction. I have learned a great deal about non-attachment through this relationship. I can offer support, compassion, and care to the extent that I am able, in any given moment, but I cannot control the outcome. I cannot make someone else's choices for them, no matter how much I love them or how deeply I wish things could be different.

For me, an important part of practicing non-attachment is learning to recognize the difference between giving because I genuinely want to and have the capacity to give, and pushing myself beyond my own limits because I am attached to a particular outcome. It means understanding that compassion does not require me to exhaust myself, and that loving someone does not mean taking responsibility for what is ultimately beyond my control.

This has been an incredibly meaningful module for me. I suspect I will return to it many times over the coming days, weeks, and even months. Aparigraha feels less like a concept to understand intellectually and more like a practice to return to throughout life: allowing ourselves to love deeply, to grieve honestly, to appreciate what we have been given, and to release our need to determine how things must unfold.

Perhaps non-attachment isn't about caring less. Perhaps it is about learning to love without needing to possess, support without needing to control, and honour what has been without demanding that it remain.

That is what I am taking away from this module, and it is something I know I will continue to practice.

This final recorded session of the cohort offered a workshop exploring a collection of yoga postures and different variations that may be appropriate for programs. Feel welcome to practice along and notice how to explore accessible variations to consider in your programs. 

This session concluded with a demonstration of a program adapted for youth, shared by Lo Patt, PYP's communications manager and youth facilitator in Arkansas.

Please feel welcome to share any questions of comments you may have about this session. Consider how you might adapt sequences to support the unique populations you serve.

This week we shared discussion of Samadhi, the 8th Limb of Hatha Yoga. We also explored tools and resources for determining the regulation and engagement of participants as well as supporting folks who may be in active recovery. 

Please feel welcome to share any thoughts or topics that resonated with you, or you may prefer responding to one or more of the prompts below:

• How might you introduce principles of Samadhi within a carceral setting?
• What considerations could be beneficial when supporting a new group of participants, or supporting those who are in active recovery?

I enjoyed learning more about graduation and the opportunity to register with Yoga Alliance. I also appreciated the information about providing testimonials and becoming a PYP ambassador. As I've mentioned previously, once I complete my finals, I plan to begin volunteer training and hopefully apply to become a Justice System Liaison. Given my lived experiences, I feel this is an area where I could make a meaningful contribution.

I appreciated the conversation with Emma about inclusive language, particularly the use of "ladies." Until around age 30, I frequently used expressions like "girl" in everyday conversations, but I've naturally become more intentional with my language. I occasionally slip back into those habits depending on who I'm with, but I recognize the importance of using inclusive language in the spaces we're facilitating. Similarly, I appreciated the discussion about adapting terminology to different groups. References to the stars, moon, or solstices might resonate with some participants but not others, so it's important to make the practice accessible and relevant to the people we're working with.

The discussion about men's and women's prison yards and outdoor recreation was particularly interesting. My previous roommate described her experience at a large women's correctional facility in Ontario, where she said men from a neighbouring institution would catcall women across the fence. Having experienced incarceration at Vanier myself, I found this especially insightful. However, because I was only there for approximately one week and never received outdoor recreation time, I can't speak to how the yards operate today. It was another reminder of how different people's experiences of incarceration can be.

I actually teared up closing out with seeing Jen’s smiling face as she said, “Goodnight, everyone,” knowing that I’ve now completed all the modules and weekly classes. I’m so appreciative of this entire experience and the opportunity to reflect on my journey through these posts. I can’t believe how perfectly timed this milestone is with everything else happening in my life right now.

Thanks, Jen and PYP, for such a meaningful experience! I’m so excited for graduation next week! 🧡

I've been thinking about it in the way I facilitate different groups that I lead or facilitate now, and realized at times I have an “agenda”, or try to steer the group one way, or steer the conversation in one particular direction (I mean, I have slides, we have to talk about this 😊 ) . In this way, I'm stealing from the group. I'm stealing their agency to let their needs be known and then met within the group. I thought that was really interesting, and I've been thinking about all the different things that were mentioned in relation to asteya.

And then, of course, thinking about how systems of oppression, capitalism, misogyny, colonization, etc. have caused asteya on a macro and micro level, both in the past and present. These systems operate with the intention of replicating this harm to stay in power, and the systems (and people behind the systems) steal not just mental health and well-being, but others’ basic human rights, their access to resources, their agency, their choices in life, and in many cases, their lives themselves.

I liked the idea that asteya is about creating opportunities to support agency. I think that was a really important piece that I took from this week's teaching. I also really appreciated what Alejandro said about giving yourself grace when you don't get it right. I think that is so important. When we feel like we've messed up, or there's something we want to change in our classes or whatever it is we're doing, we need to be able to give ourselves grace and compassion, and know we did the best we could with what we knew at the time, and commit to doing better moving forward.

At the same time, I think when we focus on “what we did wrong” for too long, it can become about us rather than about the harm we caused to the other person. So being able to acknowledge it, self-correct, make a change, and give yourself grace feels really important.

I lead a group for adoptive, foster and kinship care families who are struggling with bog issues and challenges within their homes. Many of their teens or young adults are in crisis. They have all adopted or foster children with early histories of trauma, and these children are now teenagers and young adults, and part of their trauma is acting out on behaviours that can be really difficult within a family environment. We've been meeting for about a year and a half now, every two weeks, so I know these families quite well.

A few weeks ago, I did a breathwork session with them. I had been doing breathe holds in my own yoga practice, and I thought it would be interesting to bring into the group. Afterwards, I did a roundtable and asked what people noticed, whether they enjoyed it, whether they didn't enjoy it, and what their experience had been.

One of the participants reminded me that she has CF, and that the breath holds weren't possible for her, so she just breathed normally. I had invited people at the beginning to breathe with what was comfortable for them, to release the holds as they felt they needed to, or to just not do the breathe holds at all if they weren't comfortable, but it's a very small group, and if I had remembered at the beginning that she has CF and finds breathing difficult in general, I wouldn't have done that practice at all. I would have chosen something different.

I was hard on myself for a little while, thinking, "How did you not remember that this woman has CF?" But after hearing Alejandro talk about being able to let it go and do better next time, I found myself thinking about it differently. It wasn't intentional harm, but the harm was still there. So now it's up to me to acknowledge that (I reached out to her after the class), make a change, and do better next time.

The other thing I've been thinking about a lot is how we've been talking about the early trauma that most people in a carceral setting, or in rehabilitation, will have experienced.

During one of the breakout room conversations, one of the group members asked about various behaviours during a class, and I think the example was “attention seeking”.  The information from Jenn about this was so good, reminding us all that we should be cautious in making assumptions about how somebody might be, and to really consider not basing our expectations on what other people have told us that person will be like.

What came to mind for me, since I work in this field, was also the impacts of Foetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder, or FASD. Studies have shown that a very large percentage of people who are incarcerated, both in Canada and the U.S., have either been diagnosed with FASD or are suspected to be on the spectrum. The same is true here in South Africa, which has one of the highest rates of FASD in the world. I would imagine the numbers would be significant worldwide if more studies were done.

FASD can cause behavioural challenges, difficulties with social skills, a lack of awareness, communication difficulties, impulsivity, and many other challenges, including not having the ability to learn from “cause and effect” (which may be a factor in recidivism). FASD is brain damage, as the developing brain has been affected by alcohol exposure in utero. When you then combine that with early trauma experiences, mental health issues, or other neurological differences, it's just a lot to realize that the people we may be working with could be experiencing.

For me, that's another way of thinking about giving people grace and recognizing that everybody is doing the best they can with the hand they've been dealt. This isn't a studio setting. These are individuals who have most likely been through a lot, potentially from the very beginning of their lives until now, when we have the opportunity to work with them.

Those were my main takeaways this week. I really enjoyed the range of motion practice, and again, the reminder of asking, "What does today's body need?"

I have experienced "surrender" in a couple different forms in the last 3 or so years. My first truly all encompassing understanding of surrender was when I got sober. I did not go through AA where surrender is a core tenant of the program. But through my own journey, the idea of surrendering - surrendering to my powerlessness over alcohol; to my regrets; to wasted time; to self-harm; to falsehoods; to embarrassment - I was able to start a true journey of forgiveness, self-acceptance, and self-love. Having become comfortable with the idea and feeling of surrendering, I have had an even more profound experience with it recently. I was unexpectedly released from my work contract in August. As a single person, I have only myself to rely on - no second income, no safeguards of a family support system. In past decades - I know I would have gone into total panic mode. But this time, I accepted the reality, and I trusted that the universe would show me the way. That's not to say I haven't put in a lot of work on self-reflection, self-discovery, and self-analysis to figure out what my next step was. But I allowed the universe to guide me and I surrendered to the process. Sure enough, I have met some amazing people, I was led to a job posting, and I have just completed the interview process with a good chance of getting the position. Even if I don't, the calmness and steadiness that came with surrender has helped me navigate this process with clarity and confidence. I have many thoughts about how I will approach this new employment situation and my life in general and the steadiness and ease. A feel a trust within myself going forward that I am strong and capable of handling the challenges of life I will continue to face. The foundation of yoga has surely added to my ability to move forward in life with a better understanding of myself, how I move through the world, and how my energy creates portals of openness to welcome in change. 

The idea of bringing in the idea of surrender to a carceral setting seems challenging. The "maintenance to surviving" really resonated with me and I can see a path of offering surrender to self to participants to help disrupt that survival mode. Offering surrender as creating trust and confidence in yourself seems like an accessible avenue to opening up this idea to the practice. 

Something I have learned over the last year, especially coming from a communications background, is how much language matters. I have become much more intentional about person-centred language, including how I speak about disability and incarceration. I have previously called myself a former inmate, but moving forward I will say “a person who has experienced incarceration.” That distinction feels important as I move into this work.

I really appreciated our journaling around, “I am becoming a trauma-informed and healing-centred yoga facilitator.” When I think about service, I think about taking everything I have experienced over the last two years and using it to connect with and support others. I now understand personally what it means to experience police violence, incarceration, alcohol misuse, eviction and homelessness. Experiencing homelessness has been especially eye-opening because I came from a place of significant privilege and did not understand how dehumanizing some systems and services can be. Right now, I feel especially connected to people experiencing homelessness, while also recognizing how much that intersects with trauma and adverse childhood experiences.

It was really moving to hear everyone speak about “becoming.” I remember beginning this training in January and being in such a different place. There was a time when I could barely talk about what happened to me with police because it was still so traumatic. I am now able to talk about those experiences, recognize how much healing has happened and think about how I can use what I have learned to be of service to others.

I also really appreciated the teachings on Ayurveda and the idea of daily, seasonal and life stages. It felt incredibly relevant because I am closing a season of displacement and homelessness and moving into a stable home where I can finally settle.

Even the discussion about our environment and substances felt connected to that transition. A year ago, I was drinking heavily, chain smoking frequently and could not imagine living somewhere without a balcony for instance. My new home does not have one, and that no longer feels like a loss. I may still have a couple of drinks with a friend at a show, but I am not imagining myself drinking alone in my apartment or chain-smoking alone on the balcony anymore. I am not only moving into a new home; I am moving into a very different version of my life.

As I finish the training, I am looking forward to completing my final reflection as a three-part small painting piece once I am settled into my new home. I am also returning to a consistent hot studio yoga practice, despite the challenges those spaces present, and plan to use the facilitation guide to keep developing my skills before completing my final practicum by the end of the year.

Overall, I am incredibly grateful that I was able to take this training at a time when I was finally ready for it. There has been so much growth, healing and love in this experience, and graduation feels less like an ending and more like the beginning of what comes next.