Three Sessions Later

"Healing is not about becoming someone new. It is about gently reconnecting with the person you have always been."

I have so much in my head that I need to let out. I honestly don't even know where to begin. When I first shared that I was embarking on this trauma informed yoga journey, I had every intention of writing after each session. I imagined sitting down with a cup of coffee, reflecting on what I had learnt, what I had felt, and sharing that with all of you as I went.

Life, however, had other plans. I've now completed three sessions, and every time I sat down to write, something happened that pulled me away. Sometimes I couldn't find the words because there were simply too many emotions. Other times I had so many thoughts that I didn't know where to begin.

Perhaps that's part of healing too. Sometimes we don't have the words because we're still living the experience. So this isn't a blog about one yoga session. It's simply an honest update after three sessions, and everything that has happened in between.

Life Between Sessions

Family. Hospitals. Work. Karate. Clients. Daily life. Grief.

Each of these pulled me away from writing, but they also reminded me that healing doesn't happen in isolation. It happens in the middle of life — in the interruptions, in the exhaustion, and in the moments when we're too overwhelmed to put words to paper.

Why Trauma Informed Yoga?

Many of you know that I've studied yoga. I've spent years learning about movement, breath, anatomy, mindfulness, and the philosophy that sits behind the practice. So this wasn't about learning yoga from the beginning.

This journey is different. It's about becoming a student again. It's about allowing someone else to guide me through a process instead of trying to guide myself. Over the next few weeks, Dale de Klerk at BeingMe Yoga Studio is taking us on a journey through the chakras, using trauma informed yoga as the foundation.

Trauma informed yoga isn't about performing the perfect pose or striving for flexibility. It's about creating safety. It recognises that trauma isn't simply the difficult event itself. Trauma is the lasting impact an overwhelming experience can have on our mind, body, and nervous system.

Understanding Trauma and Grief

What overwhelms one person may not overwhelm another. We each experience life differently, and our nervous systems respond differently too. When we experience something frightening, overwhelming, or deeply distressing, our bodies instinctively move into one of four survival responses: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. These aren't choices. They're our nervous system's remarkable way of trying to protect us.

Sometimes, though, even after the danger has passed, the nervous system continues responding as though we're still under threat.

As I've been learning more about trauma informed yoga, I've found myself replacing the word "trauma" with something that feels deeply personal to me: grief. Because while grief and trauma are not the same thing, for me they have become inseparable.

Losing Paige didn't only break my heart. It changed my nervous system. It changed how my body experiences the world. It changed my breathing, my energy, my sleep, my concentration, and, at times, even my ability to feel present.

This journey isn't about making my grief disappear. Nothing ever will. It's about learning how to live inside a grieving body with a little more compassion.

I also want to say something before I continue. This isn't a review of trauma informed yoga. It isn't medical advice. It isn't me saying I've found the answer to grief.

It's simply my honest account of what I've experienced over these first three sessions. If you're walking your own journey through grief, trauma, anxiety, or simply the challenges that life sometimes throws at us, perhaps something I share will resonate with you.

If not, thank you for simply walking beside me.

Session One – Becoming the Student

Our first session was gentle: simple movements, breathing, moments of stillness and quiet reflection.

If I'm honest… I walked in as a teacher, not as a student. I spent the session analysing everything — was I doing the movement correctly? Was my breathing right? Would I teach something like this differently? Could I use this with my own clients one day?

I was looking at everything through the eyes of an instructor instead of simply allowing myself to experience it. At one point another student was struggling with a movement and, before I even realised what I was doing, I instinctively stepped in to help. Typical Gala.

Dale smiled, gently reminded me that he was the teacher today — not me — and we all had a little laugh. It became a joke in the class, but it also became one of the biggest lessons of the evening.

If I wanted this journey to help me, I first had to learn how to surrender:

That sounds much easier than it actually is.

The Exhaustion I Didn't Expect

When I got home, I expected to feel relaxed. Instead… I felt exhausted. Not sleepy. Not physically tired. Just… exhausted.

It's difficult to explain because it wasn't the kind of tiredness that sleep fixes. It felt strangely familiar — it reminded me of the exhaustion I experienced after Paige passed away. Not sadness. Not tears. Just an overwhelming heaviness that settled through my entire body.

Perhaps my nervous system had finally stopped holding everything together for a little while. Perhaps grief had quietly risen to the surface in ways I hadn't noticed before. I honestly don't know. What I do know is that it caught me completely by surprise.

As the weekend unfolded, life once again reminded me that healing doesn't happen in isolation. My uncle was admitted to hospital after suffering a stroke, followed by complications from deep vein thrombosis.

Over the past few weeks I've tried with everything I have to be there for my family, to return even a small part of the love, support and comfort they gave me after losing Paige. But I've also had to learn something that has been incredibly difficult: boundaries.

Not because I don't care. Not because I don't want to help. But because my own grief is still so incredibly raw. One of the greatest lessons grief has taught me is that boundaries aren't selfish. Sometimes they're essential. You can't continually pour from a nervous system that is already running on empty.

One of the Demons I Still Face

Can I be completely honest? One of the hardest parts of grief isn't grief itself. It's wondering whether you're grieving the "right" way.

I don't cry all day. I don't shut myself away from the world. I don't fall apart every time someone mentions Paige. Instead, my grief comes in waves. Sometimes they're only a few seconds long. Sometimes they knock the breath out of me. And then… life carries on.

That makes me question myself far more than I'd like to admit. Am I normal? Why can't I express my grief the way it's portrayed in books, movies or stories? Why don't I seem to grieve the way people expect a grieving mother to grieve? Did I not love deeply enough?

Intellectually, I know every single person grieves differently. I've said those words to other people countless times. But when it's your own heart… logic doesn't always quiet the questions.

Every night I pray. Almost every prayer ends with me sobbing. I ask God to help me feel what I need to feel. To guide me. To give me clarity. To help me let go of the fear and the guilt that grief carries so effortlessly.

Then, when the prayer is over… I wipe my eyes. I get up. And somehow… I'm okay again. Not healed. Not "over it."

Just…
able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Session Two – Finding My Ground

Our second session focused on the Root Chakra, or Muladhara.

Having studied yoga, the chakras aren't new to me. I've learnt about them before, taught around them, and understand the philosophy behind them. But this journey isn't about learning the theory all over again — it's about experiencing it through a very different lens.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the chakras, I'll briefly explain each one as we journey through them together.

The Root Chakra is our foundation. Located at the base of the spine, it is associated with safety, security, stability, and our connection to the earth. Its element is earth, its colour is red, and it reminds us of one very important thing:

Two affirmations from that session stayed with me:

At the time, they were simply beautiful affirmations. I had no idea how quickly I was going to need them.

The Night That Frightened Me

That night, I slept deeply. Or at least I think I did.

At three o'clock Wednesday morning, I suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. I couldn't breathe. Not a panic attack. Not conscious anxiety. I simply couldn't catch my breath.

For what felt like an eternity, my lungs refused to cooperate. It was terrifying.

Brad woke immediately. He held me, stayed calm, and helped me find my breath again. Eventually, around 4:30, I managed to fall asleep.

The next morning, I cried. Not all day. Not uncontrollably. Just… enough. Perhaps because the experience had scared me so much. Perhaps because something inside me had finally found a safe space to release.

But alongside the fear came another question that has quietly stayed with me ever since: Did Paige feel what I felt? Did she experience that desperate need to breathe? Did time slow down for her the way it did for me?

As a mother, I know I'll probably never have those answers. But they are real. They live quietly inside me. Just like grief does.

By lunchtime, I knew I couldn't stay sitting any longer. The lethargy was pulling me deeper into the couch. So Brad and I took the dog for a walk.

We hardly spoke. Just a few comments, a couple of laughs. Nothing profound.

As we walked, I remembered everything we had practised the night before. Instead of walking to get somewhere… I simply walked.

I noticed how my feet felt inside my shoes. How my toes moved with each step. How my calves worked. The swing of my arms. The breeze against my skin. The warmth of the sun. The beads of sweat across my forehead. The colours of the flowers. The shape of the rocks. The sound of the leaves moving in the wind.

For the first time in a very long time… I wasn't trapped inside my thoughts. I was present.

Completely Present.

It was the first true meditative walk I've ever experienced. And somewhere during that walk, I realised something beautiful: I could feel the earth beneath me again.

Not metaphorically. Physically. I felt connected to it.

The heaviness I'd been carrying slowly changed. Not into excitement. Not into happiness. Into peace.

The exhaustion softened into something gentler — the tiredness that comes after your body finally lets go. Almost like the feeling after a warm cup of chamomile tea. Quiet. Calm. Rested.

Session Three – Learning to Flow

By the time my third session arrived, I found myself looking forward to going. Not because I expected another breakthrough. Not because I thought I'd suddenly have all the answers. Simply because, for two hours each week, I was giving myself permission to be the student.

No expectations. No teaching. No fixing. Just showing up.

This session focused on the Sacral Chakra, or Svadhisthana. Located just below the navel, it is the center of our emotions, creativity, relationships, and joy. Its element is water, reminding us that life isn’t meant to be rigid — water doesn’t force its way around obstacles, it flows. Its color is orange, representing warmth, vitality, and creative energy. The Sacral Chakra invites us to soften, to feel, and to allow movement to become expression.

The affirmations we worked with were:

Karate Before Yoga

Before I even arrived at yoga that evening, I realised just how much I needed to move. The past few weeks had been emotionally exhausting. Between my own grief, my uncle’s hospitalisation, my friend’s daughter being admitted to hospital, and the constant worry surrounding the people I love, I was carrying far more than I realised.

Thursday is also karate night. I’ve trained in karate for years, and that evening I wasn’t looking for peace or stillness. I needed an outlet. I needed somewhere safe to channel everything I had been carrying.

So I trained. Hard. Every punch. Every kick. Every block. Every stance. Every kiai. I poured every ounce of frustration, fear, sadness, and uncertainty into that training session. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t aggression. It was release.

By the time training ended, I was physically exhausted, but emotionally lighter. I hadn’t left my emotions on the dojo floor. I had simply stopped carrying them quite so tightly.

From karate, we drove straight to Dale’s class. What struck me was how naturally I was able to transition from one movement practice to another. Karate had allowed me to release. Yoga invited me to receive. One asked me to be strong. The other asked me to soften. Neither was better than the other. They simply gave me what I needed in that moment.

As we explored the Sacral Chakra through movement, breath, and reflection, I found myself thinking about creativity. For months, I’d struggled to write. Painting rocks — something that had brought me so much comfort after losing Paige — had almost disappeared from my life. I hadn’t stopped loving those things. I simply hadn’t had the emotional capacity for them.

Looking back now, I don’t think I lost my creativity. I think my nervous system had been using every bit of energy it had just to survive. Yoga reminded me that creativity, like water, will flow again when we allow ourselves to soften and feel. It showed me that emotional capacity is not weakness — it is the space where healing and creativity can return.

Yesterday, I think my answer became a little clearer.

I don't just survive the day…

I actually live it.

Healing doesn't always arrive as one big breakthrough.

Sometimes it arrives as a collection of small moments that slowly remind your body that it's safe to breathe again.

"And for today…

that is enough."

My mantra remains: “Movement creates momentum.” Even the smallest step forward is a victory.

“Karate for courage, Pilates for stability, Yoga for peace — together, they carry me, and perhaps they can carry you too.”

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