I've been studying and practising this stuff for what is becoming most of my adult life. And I'm still reading, still questioning, still changing my mind. I recently read McMindfulness by Ronald Purser. It’s a sharp critique of how mindfulness has been packaged and sold. It's uncomfortable reading for anyone in my line of work. It should be. And a lot of it, I agree with.

So here's where I want to be clear and on record with what mindfulness actually is to me here, what it isn't, and how I try not to be part of the problem.

Pregnancy is, in the most literal sense, a condition of non-separation. For the duration of this season, you and your baby share a body, a breath, a heartbeat, a blood supply, a nervous system. The boundary between self and other that is so firmly maintained in ordinary life is, for these months, genuinely dissolved. It is profound.

Dhyana is the seventh of the eight limbs of yoga. It’s maybe the one that most confuses people when they encounter it, because it doesn't look like a practice. You cannot do Dhyana the way you do Asana or Pranayama. You cannot achieve it by trying harder. In fact, trying harder is precisely what prevents it.

Dharana is the sixth of the eight limbs; the first of the three inner limbs that Patanjali calls the samyama. It's typically translated as concentration, but that word carries baggage. Concentration implies effort, strain, the feeling of forcing your mind to behave. That's not what Dharana is…I think a better translation is ‘single-pointed focus’, or the practice of ‘choosing one thing to attend to’ and returning to it when the mind wanders.

That last part is the whole practice. Returning when the mind wanders.

Pregnancy amplifies everything. Smell becomes overwhelming in the first trimester. Sound feels louder. Touch becomes either desperately needed or completely unbearable depending on the day and the trimester. The nervous system is already working harder than usual processing the physical changes, the hormonal shifts, the emotional weight of becoming a parent, and it has fewer resources left for filtering the external world.

This is why so many pregnant people describe feeling overstimulated in ways they never did before. The capacity that usually runs quietly in the background; the ability to filter, to tune out, to not take everything in - is compromised. Because the body is using that energy for something else.

Pregnancy changes the body's relationship to movement in ways that are profound, constant, and not always predictable. Your centre of gravity shifts. The ligaments loosen! The hormonal processes can effect every joint in the body, not just the ones you're using. The diaphragm is compressed. The cardiovascular system is working harder than usual just to sustain the baseline. Balance changes. Energy is unreliable. What felt accessible last week may not feel accessible today.

A consistent breathwork practice in pregnancy does something specific: it trains your nervous system to regulate. Not to avoid stress (not possible) but to move through it and return to baseline more efficiently. And your capacity to spike and return, to feel overwhelmed and come back? That is exactly what labor will ask of you. Every contraction is a wave your nervous system needs to meet and move through. What I wish everyone knew: the woman who has been practicing regulation for months arrives at that experience MUCH differently than the one who hasn't.

Santosha is often translated simply as contentment. But in the context of pregnancy and in the context of modern life, modern bodies, and the particular cruelty of social media… it's something far more specific and far more necessary:

The practice of releasing the gap between how things are and how you think they should be.

Not toxic positivity. Not pretending everything is fine when it isn't. Not forcing gratitude when what you actually feel is nauseous, terrified, or quietly grieving parts of your former self. Santosha is subtler than that. It's the practice of meeting this moment, the specific, imperfect, uncomfortable, occasionally beautiful moment, without the additional weight of how it was supposed to be different.

Brahmacharya is the practice of learning what drains you, what restores you, and how to consciously redirect your energy toward what actually matters. It's about becoming so attuned to your own resources that you stop leaking energy unconsciously through things like people pleasing, overcommitting, scrolling, saying yes when your body is screaming no. Sound familiar? You can start making deliberate choices about where your vitality goes.

In my early days of motherhood, I felt fragmented. My body was exhausted but I kept pushing it, like beyond. Like I could ‘win’ at mothering. My mind was spinning with worry but I couldn't quiet it. My emotions were huge but I felt numb. And I had no idea who I was anymore beyond "someone who keeps this baby alive." I needed something that could help me check in with all of it without taking an hour I didn't have. The PIES Meditation became that tool.

For new mothers, this practice is life-changing. Because in early motherhood, it's easy to lose track of which part of you needs attention. You're so focused on keeping your baby alive that you forget to check in with yourself. A PIES Meditation gives you a structure to do that. In 5-10 minutes. Even when you're exhausted.

What I now know that I needed is practical tools (not aspirational wellness advice or Instagram mantras) to actually come back to myself when I felt like I was failing. Two practices have changed this for me. They're the ones I return to again and again, even now. They're the ones I teach every new mother I work with. And I'm sharing them with you today because if you're in the thick of early motherhood, you need them too.

There’s a part no one tells you when you take a hard look at things and try to decide if alcohol is serving you. They focus on the hangovers, the regret, the health risks. And sure, those matter. But the real cost? Alcohol steals your presence. Your clarity. Your ability to feel your life as it's happening. And whatever you’re trying to ‘do’ in life, while using alcohol to escape your own life? That dissonance will eat you alive.

Here's what I want you to try instead of another ambitious New Year's plan: For the next week, just notice. Notice when you're present and when you're not. Notice when you're in your head versus in your body. Notice when you're reacting versus responding. That's it. No fixing. No changing. Just noticing. Awareness is the first step. You can't build a practice th

You're being bombarded with impossible 30-day challenges, extreme diets, and massive life overhauls that require Herculean discipline. Let’s be honest: those big resolutions are often designed to fail, leaving you feeling defeated before February even hits. So this year, we're trying something different. Let’s trade the pressure of the "New You" for the reality of "Better Right Now."

Yoga Nidra translates to "yogic sleep," but that's kind of misleading because the whole point is to stay awake. You're lying down in the most comfortable position you can find (props encouraged, no judgment), and you're guided through a systematic relaxation of your body and mind.

You deserve practices that work for your real life, not some idealized version of it. You deserve tools that meet you where you are because you are doing the absolute best you can.

And those tools exist. They're simpler than you think. And you're already capable of using them.

Starting right now. Starting with this breath.

Once I released these stories I was holding on to, I gave myself permission to start small and messy. I got on Spotify. Put my headphones in. Listened to a guided meditation. Sat on my couch and breathed. Was it perfect? No. Did my mind wander? Constantly. Did it change my life? Gradually, yes.

Because here's what I discovered: meditation didn't make my problems disappear. It didn't make motherhood easier or sobriety simple. But it gave me a way to be with myself through all of it. It created tiny pockets of space between stimulus and reaction. It helped me find my center when everything felt chaotic.

And it can do the same for you. No special cushion required, no empty mind expected, no perfect circumstances demanded.

The ritual (if you don’t like that word try routine, consistency, habit) is how the ordinary becomes extraordinary. It’s how transformation actually happens. Not in a single lightning-bolt moment, but in the slow, steady practice of returning, again and again. And we’ll say it again, it’s so easy to fall back into old patterns. We’re householders. We live in real lives, with families, dishes, deadlines, distractions. We’re not practicing in a vacuum.