A Yoga Journey Through Injury and Healing

At the tail end of 2023, I fell and fractured my humerus (in two places!). And so began over a year of having to rethink everything I thought I knew about yoga.

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Well, in reality, I was forced to practice what I preached. I had always told my students that yoga wasn’t about what you could achieve—bending into the big, ‘fancy’ poses—but deep down, when it came to it, I had internalised the belief that I must always be in action.

Doing is easier than being. Doing is distracting. It has concrete achievements. Being is unknown. It’s sitting with things. It doesn’t look impressive. It’s also completely terrifying—who knows what will come up?

It wasn’t until September that I felt able to try and practice again, with the help of my wonderful teacher, who was completely unphased by my new limitations. I hadn’t spent those nine months leaning into stillness with breathwork or Nidra. Instead, I had railed and raged, frustrated that I no longer understood my body. Everything that once felt effortless now left me defeated.

I was failing at yoga.

At home, I often ended my practice in tears. Some of it was frustration, some of it was relief. Because despite everything, I still kept going to classes. Something about being on my mat still felt like home.

And in time, when I paid attention to this feeling of relief, a thought occurred: when you move into a new house, you have to learn it. Every home has its own sounds, its own quirks. Even though it’s yours, it doesn’t feel quite familiar yet. The only way to learn it is to be still and observe (it’s why we can often be startled by strange pipe or settling sounds the first night in a new home—this is when we are quiet).

Learning my new house.

And that’s what was happening with my body. This injured body was my new house, and I had to learn it. The only way I could do that was by settling into it, being curious, being present—just being.

I finally remembered—this is yoga.

It was December 2024 when I lifted into my first downward dog in over a year. It was shaky. I had to bend my knees to find the right angle—something I’d never had to do before. But when I adjusted, I realised something surprising: the back stretch felt exactly the same.

I had taken a different route, but I had arrived at the same destination.

And I’m still learning. The injury was significant, and the physiotherapy continues. But now, the healing journey feels easier. I’m not fighting it. I’m working with how I am today, and tomorrow, I will work with how I am that day.