It’s funny being a yoga teacher sometimes.

There’s this unspoken expectation that you move through life in a permanent state of chill.

Calm, unbothered, floating from mat to mat on a cloud of incense and good vibes only.

But that’s far from the truth.

What actually happens is that just when you think you've got it all figured out, life taps you on the shoulder right when you’re in flow and says:

“So… you do yoga, huh? Let’s see you practise now.”

And that’s when the practice really kicks in.

When the mat isn’t the challenge

This happened in class the other day.

We were on the final round of a ladder flow, deep in Ardha Hanumanasana (half split).
Quiet. Focused. Everyone moving with their breath.

…and then the door opens.

A woman walks into the room.
Apologises for interrupting.
Mentions something about her car being blocked in.

And then doesn’t stop talking.

In a matter of seconds, I experienced:

• Confusion — “What the hell is happening here?”

• Frustration — “Will you please stop talking?”

• Annoyance — “Seriously… what are you doing?”

Old patterns don’t disappear quietly

It took me straight back to my time as a BigLaw lawyer in Singapore.

Those moments when a partner would walk into my office mid-flow, carrying that unspoken belief that their situation mattered more than my time, my focus, or whatever I was in the middle of.

And my natural urge in the yoga studio?

To stop the class.
To snap, “You can’t just walk in and interrupt a class like that.”
To usher her straight back out the door.

Choosing something different

But instead… I chose something else.

I remembered the yoga philosophy workshop I’d co-hosted just days before.
About living your yoga in alignment with the 8 limbs.
About Ahimsa — non-violence, compassion.

Not as an idea.
But as a choice.

Especially in inconvenient moments.

So I let go of the anger and chose compassion.

• Compassion for the woman, just trying to get to her car

• Compassion for my students, whose yoga bubble had been unexpectedly pierced

• Compassion for myself, and everything I was feeling in that moment

I stayed with my students and let the moment pass without adding heat to it.

Was it easy?
No.

But honestly?

That was the yoga.

Not the stretch.
Not the shape.
But the response.

The yoga that really matters

This is the part of yoga I care most about.

How it shows up when things don’t go to plan.
How we meet interruption, discomfort, and friction.
How we move through the day when we don’t have a mat under our feet.

Because that’s where the practice lives.

An invitation for your week

Here’s my invitation to you.

Notice the moments when you want to rush to judge, react, or harden.

• When someone cuts you off in traffic.

• When a person jumps the coffee queue.

• When you open the dishwasher and realise your partner loaded it
  like a drunk raccoon in a bar fight.

• When you’re deep in flow, and a colleague chooses that exact moment to ask a question that absolutely could have waited.

In that moment — right before your default reaction kicks in — pause.

Just long enough to soften a little.

Breathe once more than feels necessary.
And choose how you want to respond.

Not necessarily letting bad behaviour slide, but meeting the moment with kindness and compassion.

For the person, or people, in front of you.
And for yourself.

When this becomes the practice

Moments like this don’t show up neatly at the end of a yoga class.

They show up in traffic.
In conversations.
In interruptions we didn’t plan for.

And that’s exactly why they matter.

See, Yoga isn’t just something we do on a mat.
It’s how we respond when things don’t go to plan.
It's how we meet discomfort without crumbling.
And it's how we choose intention over reaction again and again.

That’s the practice that stays with us.