When I was in first grade, my mom left for nine weeks to become a certified hot yoga teacher. At the time, I didn’t really understand what was going on – I just knew she was somewhere warm (quite literally) doing something called “teacher training,” while I was at home with my dad, learning how to spell and do basic math in school.
When she came back from her training, yoga was suddenly everywhere. There were yoga manuals and books on the kitchen counter, foam rollers and blocks in the family room, and ever-increasing amounts of laundry so she could wash her yoga clothes.
From the time I was around 7 to 14, my mom taught hot yoga multiple times a week. After school, I’d often sit in the lobby of her studio, doing homework or playing Temple Run on my iPad (I have a really vivid memory of that, for some reason), surrounded by the scent of fresh towels coming from the locker room. Truly, I knew how to roll a yoga mat before I could do long division.
Growing up, I watched my mom teach sweaty, steamy hot yoga classes like it was her second nature. I would peek into the room after one of her classes, scrunch my nose at the heat and the scent of freshly evacuated sweaty people, and instantly declare that I would never take a class. I swore I’d never be one of those people who liked that kind of thing. It seemed too intense, too breathy, and yes, I’ll say it again – too sweaty.
And yet… here I am.
Growing up with two extremely athletic parents (I’m talking multiple marathons, college athletes, and regular 5 a.m. gym wake-ups), I struggled to figure out what form of movement and exercise worked best for me (spoiler alert – it’s not running). I tried all kinds of sports, realizing after a season of each one that it just wasn’t my thing. I wanted something that felt empowering without feeling punishing – something that made me feel connected to my body, not at war with it.
Enter yoga.
I don’t even remember exactly what convinced me to actually try it. Maybe it was post-finals burnout. Maybe it was the fact that the local studio had a free week-long trial. Or maybe it was a subconscious effort to circle back to my roots. But one day, I took a class – and I got it. I finally got it.
Now, yoga is one of my favorite ways to move my body and de-stress. I actually feel the benefits I’ve been hearing about my whole life – the mental clarity, the strength, the weird little moments of peace when you’re in child’s pose and everything in the studio just quiets down for a second. And maybe I’m brainwashed, but I love hot yoga, especially. A room-temperature class just doesn’t hit the same.
I know, I know – I became the exact person I swore I’d never be.
But, now, the best part? Whenever I’m home from college, I go back to the local studio. Sometimes my mom and I take classes together, and it feels full circle in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not just nostalgic – it’s honestly really grounding. We’re no longer teacher and kid waiting in the lobby. We’re just two people, side by side on our mats, breathing through the sweat and letting all the stress go (unfortunately, I not only inherited her love for yoga, but also her anxiety).
There’s something really special about reconnecting with a part of my childhood in a way that feels entirely mine now. Yoga may have started as her thing, but it’s also become our thing. And it makes it even better that I get to share it with the person who introduced it to me – even if I spent years pretending I wasn’t paying attention.
And yes… I’m officially one of those sweaty people leaving class, towel over my shoulder and everything. Funny how that happens.