Over the past few mornings, I’ve been sitting with notebooks spread across my kitchen table, dreaming into the Mother Ache offerings that will begin this August. More and more, I feel that healing unfolds through relationship, through being witnessed honestly, and through slowly remembering that we are not alone.

For over a decade, I taught Kundalini Yoga as part of my own spiritual and embodied path. It gave me tools I still cherish—breath, discipline, devotion, and community. But as my work deepened with somatics, Compassionate Inquiry, and gentle, nervous-system-aware practices, I realized that what I was offering no longer felt aligned with that name or lineage.

What was coming through me was softer, quieter, and more rooted in presence than in activation. I began searching for a name that reflected this shift and found myself drawn to the Sanskrit word laya—meaning dissolution, softening, and returning to stillness. I am not claiming a traditional lineage called Laya Yoga; rather, this term expresses the essence of what my classes have become: breath-centered, grounding, trauma-sensitive, and focused on unwinding the body into a deeper state of inner presence.

This transition feels like a natural maturation, a return to honesty in my teaching. Laya Yoga is simply the most accurate name for the practice that has been quietly unfolding in me for years.