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Consistency in practice matters.
Yoga is not something we understand only by thinking about it, reading about it, or occasionally touching it when life feels calm. Practice asks for our return. Again and again. There is value in showing up, even when the mind is restless, even when life is full, even when it would be easier to postpone.
But somewhere along the way, many of us started confusing consistency with force.
We started believing that being a “good” yoga practitioner means showing up no matter what.
Tired? Practice.
Sick? Practice.
Overwhelmed? Push through.
In pain? Don’t listen too much.
Emotionally exhausted? Get on the mat and do the full sequence anyway.
And often, this is praised. It is called dedication. Commitment. Strength.
But I don’t believe this is what yoga is asking of us, and this belief comes from almost three decades of practice where I too have often pushed my own boundaries.
Yoga is not asking us to become better at overriding ourselves.
Yoga is, above all, a practice of awareness. It invites us to notice what is happening in the body, in the breath, in the nervous system, in the mind, and in the deeper layers of our being. It asks us to become honest enough to see clearly, and steady enough to respond with wisdom rather than habit.
This is where practice becomes more subtle.
Because sometimes the habit is laziness. Sometimes the mind is avoiding discomfort, and we need the steadiness to return to the mat. But sometimes the habit is pushing. Sometimes the pattern is to ignore exhaustion, to silence pain, to perform resilience, to keep going because stopping feels like failure.
Yoga should help us see both.
In the Yoga Sutras, practice is not described as something casual or occasional. Abhyāsa, steady practice, is essential. We return. We repeat. We cultivate a ground. But abhyāsa is held together with vairāgya: the willingness to loosen our grip, to release attachment, to not be ruled by craving, ambition, fear, or identity.
And I think this is something we often forget.
We may be attached to doing the whole practice.
Attached to being seen as strong.
Attached to progress.
Attached to the posture.
Attached to the idea of who we are as a practitioner.
But yoga is not here to strengthen the identity of “the dedicated yogi” if that identity makes us less aware, less honest, or less kind.
A strong āsana practice can be deeply transformative. It can build steadiness, clarity, strength, humility, and focus. I believe in practice. I believe in returning. I believe that liberation is not reached by only doing what is comfortable.
But I also believe that awareness must lead the way.
Some days, awareness may guide us into a strong and focused āsana practice. On other days, it may ask us to adapt, slow down, simplify, breathe, sit, rest, study, chant, or choose another limb of yoga altogether.
That is not weakness.
Meeting yourself honestly is not taking the easy way out. It is not a lack of commitment. It is a deeper form of practice.
Because the goal of āsana has never been impressive postures.
The shape itself is not the practice. The practice is the quality of attention we bring to it. The breath. The presence. The relationship between effort and softness. The ability to feel what is actually happening, instead of forcing the body into what the mind has decided should happen.
I have seen practitioners with the most advanced āsanas who are completely disconnected from what their bodies are asking for.
And I have seen people practicing the simplest movements with such presence, steadiness, and sincerity that they embody the heart of yoga.
This may be uncomfortable to say in a culture that often celebrates intensity, discipline, and visible progress. But more is not always deeper. Stronger is not always wiser. Pushing through is not always devotion.
Sometimes pushing through is just another way of not listening.
Yoga is not trying to make us better performers.
It is inviting us into a different relationship with ourselves. One that is honest, awake, steady, and free from the need to constantly prove something.
Consistency matters. Practice matters. Returning matters.
But true practice should make us more aware, not less.
And through that awareness, perhaps slowly, perhaps quietly, we find a little more freedom.
See you on the mat for your urban exhale...
Namas-té, Ine
