07/29/2025
Some days, teaching isn’t about poses or progress.
It’s about presence.
It’s about sitting beside someone you’ve guided for years — someone who once moved with clarity and strength — and watching as they no longer know their elbow from their knee.
Today, she didn’t know left from right.
Didn’t remember the name of her hand.
And still, we breathed together.
Still, I offered her my voice, my steadiness, my touch.
Not to fix, but to witness.
There is a quiet kind of heartbreak in watching someone slip away — one breath at a time, one word, one gesture lost.
It is heavy. And holy.
To the teachers, caregivers, and hearts holding this kind of space:
You are not alone.
Your love matters, even when it isn’t recognized.
Your presence is medicine.
Even when it goes unnamed.
