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There are seasons when practice comes naturally.
You roll out your mat without negotiating with yourself. You know your rhythm. Your body remembers. Your breath arrives before you even begin. Practice becomes part of your day, like brushing your teeth or making tea.
And then, sometimes, life changes.
Not always dramatically. Sometimes it happens slowly. A busy schedule. A period of stress. Health challenges. Work that asks more from you than expected. A body that no longer recovers as quickly as it used to. One missed practice becomes two. Two become a week. A week becomes months.
And before you know it, you are no longer “in your routine.”
For many yoga students, this can bring up a lot of inner noise.
“I should be more disciplined.”
“I used to be better at this.”
“I will come back when I feel stronger.”
“I will restart when I have more time.”
“I will wait until I can do it properly again.”
But this is exactly where yoga begins again.
Not in the perfect moment.
Not when your body feels strong enough.
Not when your schedule finally becomes calm.
Not when you feel like the version of yourself who practiced consistently before.
Yoga begins again in the honest moment you are in now.
I have been practicing yoga for almost 28 years now, and this past year was the first time I truly lost my routine.
Not because I no longer cared about yoga. Not because I had forgotten its value. Not because I did not want to practice.
It happened because of different circumstances. My health needed attention. Work was full. My schedule became too busy. And at a certain point, my body could no longer keep up with the rhythm I was asking from it. It was not restoring quickly enough.
For almost five years now, I have also been living in Limburg, away from the shala. And although I know how to practice, although I have carried yoga with me for so many years, I have felt how different it is to keep going without the steady guidance of a teacher, without the energy of fellow students around you, without that simple but powerful support of entering a room where everyone is there for the same reason.
This is not a sad story. It is not a story of failure.
It is simply real.
And maybe that is why I want to share it. Because if it can happen after almost three decades of practice, it can happen to anyone. Even when you love yoga. Even when you know it helps. Even when you teach it. Even when it has shaped your life.
Sometimes we lose the rhythm.
And when we do, the way back is not through shame.
The way back is through gentleness.
One of the biggest traps when you have lost your yoga routine is waiting for the perfect moment to return.
We tell ourselves we will come back when we have more energy. When our body feels open again. When we can commit to three classes a week. When work calms down. When we are less tired. When we feel more like ourselves.
But often, we need the practice to help us feel like ourselves again.
The return does not have to be big. It does not have to be impressive. It does not even have to feel good immediately.
You can start with one class.
One morning practice.
One quiet moment of breathing.
One sun salutation.
One yin pose before bed.
One honest check-in with your body.
The first step back is not about performance. It is about rebuilding trust.
Trust with your body.
Trust with your breath.
Trust with the part of you that knows how to begin again.
When you return after a break, it can be tempting to pick up exactly where you left off.
But your body may not be there yet. Your energy may not be there yet. Your nervous system may not be there yet.
That does not mean something is wrong.
It simply means you are meeting yourself in a new moment.
So instead of asking, “How can I get back to where I was?” you could ask:
“What would support me today?”
“What is the smallest practice I can actually do?”
“What rhythm feels kind to my body right now?”
“What would help me return without pressure?”
Maybe your practice used to be strong and dynamic, but now you need something softer. Maybe you used to come three times a week, but now one class is already a beautiful beginning. Maybe you used to practice early in the morning, but this season asks for something else.
A gentle restart is not a weaker restart.
It is often the wiser one.
A home practice can be beautiful. It can be intimate, personal, and honest. But it is not always easy to keep going alone.
There is something powerful about practicing in a shared space. You do not have to carry all the motivation yourself. The room helps you. The teacher helps you. The rhythm of the class helps you. The breath of the people around you helps you.
Sometimes simply showing up is enough.
You enter the shala tired, distracted, or unsure. You stand on your mat. You move. You breathe. You listen. And slowly, something shifts.
Not always dramatically. Sometimes only a little.
But little shifts matter.
You may leave with more space in your body. A calmer mind. A softer breath. A little more clarity. A little more connection to yourself.
And that is already practice.
When you return to yoga after a break, you are not starting from zero.
Everything you practiced before is still part of you. The body remembers. The breath remembers. The mind may be busy, the body may feel different, but the practice has not disappeared.
It may just be waiting beneath the surface.
Sometimes returning students feel embarrassed. They worry they will be stiff, tired, out of shape, or less focused than before. But yoga is not a place where you need to prove that you are consistent. It is a place where you are allowed to return.
Again and again.
That is the practice.
Not never falling out of rhythm.
But learning how to come back with honesty and care.
When you have lost your yoga routine, the question is not:
“How do I become disciplined again immediately?”
The question is:
“What is possible now?”
Maybe it is one class this week.
Maybe it is choosing a slower practice.
Maybe it is telling your teacher that you are returning after a break.
Maybe it is accepting that your body needs time.
Maybe it is letting go of the image of how your practice used to look.
You do not need to rebuild everything in one week.
Let the routine grow slowly. Let it become steady because it feels supportive, not because you force it. Let your practice be a place where you can meet yourself, not another thing you have to succeed at.
Losing your routine does not make you less of a yoga student.
It makes you human.
Life moves. Bodies change. Energy changes. Circumstances change. And still, the mat is there. Not as a place of pressure, but as a place of return.
You do not need the perfect moment.
You do not need the perfect body.
You do not need the perfect schedule.
You do not need to feel ready.
You can begin gently.
With one breath.
One class.
One moment of honesty.
And maybe, from there, the rhythm will slowly find you again.
See you on the mat for your urban exhale...
Namas-té,
Ine
