#dailypractice

the stockholm studio was beautiful. floor-to-ceiling mirrors, blonde wood floors, expensive candles burning. i settled into warrior two, surrounded by bodies in matching athletic gear, and caught myself doing it.

comparing.

her arms were perfectly parallel. mine wobbled. i adjusted, checked the mirror again, tried to look serene.

and then i realized: i'd forgotten to breathe for the past three poses.

this wasn't yoga anymore, this was performance.

when studios stopped working

seven years ago in barcelona (where i'm from), i found a small yoga studio in gràcia. no mirrors, just old wood floors and incense. on mat, my body would soften for the first time in weeks.

it was simple. it was good.

when i moved to gothenburg, sweden (where i live now), i tried to recreate that feeling. i visited the recommended studios - bright, expensive spaces with perfect lighting.

the teachers were skilled. the sequences were solid. but something felt off.

the mirrors showed me my alignment, but they also showed me everyone else's.

the expensive membership made me feel like i should achieve something.

the athletic environment turned practice into subtle competition.

i'd come seeking quiet and leave feeling inadequate.

this was the same pattern i fell into - when practice becomes performance rather than presence.

what i was actually looking for

what drew me to yoga wasn't flexibility or impressive poses, it was breath.

the way my scattered mind could anchor in my body.

the possibility of being present with what is.

in rishikesh, india (where i did my yoga training), guru devendra would laugh at our western obsession with physical poses.

"you think yoga is touching your toes," he'd say. "but yoga is what happens when you learn to stay."

that simplicity...that willingness to be with what's uncomfortable without decorating it.

that's what i wanted.

but studio culture - the mirrors, the comparison, the unspoken hierarchy - kept pulling my attention outward when the practice is meant to turn it inward.

the teacher who set me free

i almost gave up on yoga in gothenburg.

then i found sara lindström's small studio near haga (a neighborhood here).

no mirrors. uneven floors. sara taught in swedish and broken english, her approach more philosophical than athletic.

"suave, suave," she'd say, soft, soft, when someone pushed too hard.

one evening after class, i stayed to help fold blankets.

"you look tense," she observed.

i tried to explain the comparison, the performance anxiety, the feeling i wasn't doing yoga "right" anymore.

she nodded, kept folding.

then: "maybe you don't need the studio. maybe you need to remember why you started."

the paradox was perfect.

a teacher who helped me realize i could practice alone.

building a practice at home

i started practicing in my apartment. just me, my old mat, the window overlooking cobblestones.

at first, i used adriene mishler's videos. her approach felt unpretentious, focused on how practice feels rather than how it looks.

i'd roll out my mat at dawn, before the city woke.

luna (my cat) would watch from the radiator, unimpressed by my discipline.

without mirrors, i had to listen differently.

i couldn't see if my alignment was perfect, so i had to feel whether it was honest.

the questions changed when nobody was watching.

i learned to build my practice around breath, not achievement.

some mornings i'd flow through sequences.

other mornings i'd spend twenty minutes in child's pose, letting tension soften.

nobody saw me practice, i had nothing to prove.

what i kept simple

one mat. two blocks. one strap. one bolster.

i didn't need fancy props or perfect space.

i just needed to show up.

most mornings, my practice was unremarkable.

no impressive poses. no breakthrough moments.

just the same basic asanas i'd done a thousand times.

forward folds that showed me where i was tight.

hip openers that revealed what i was holding.

savasana where my nervous system could finally rest.

this ordinary practice taught me more about yoga than any studio class ever had.

the spiritual dimension

here's what i discovered with only luna as witness:

the spiritual dimension of yoga doesn't require community or guidance.

it requires honesty.

in studios, i'd performed presence.

at home, i had to actually be present.

the yoga sutras talk about pratyahara - withdrawal from external objects.

practicing alone taught me this meant withdrawing from comparison...from the need to be seen doing it right.

when i practiced in studios, my attention scattered across the room.

at home, my attention could finally come back to the only thing that mattered: this breath, this body, this moment.

i wasn't trying to become more flexible, i was learning to honor where my body was today.

some mornings that edge was soft.

other mornings my body asked for gentleness.

at home, i could listen without shame.

what's different now

i still take sara's class sometimes. once a month, maybe.

but the core of my practice lives in my apartment now.

when i do go to class, i notice the difference.

i close my eyes during poses instead of watching mirrors.

i focus on breath instead of scanning the room.

the studio doesn't make me anxious anymore because i don't need it to validate my practice.

the quiet morning

this morning, i rolled out my mat in pre-dawn darkness.

luna was still sleeping. the apartment was cold, the city quiet.

i sat cross-legged, felt my breath, waited for my body to tell me what it needed.

no impressive poses.

just gentle hip openers, a few rounds of cat-cow, a long savasana with my hand on my heart.

unremarkable. ordinary. nobody saw me practice.

and that's exactly what made it yoga.

the studio didn't fail me, i just needed to remember that yoga was never about the room.

it was always about breath, and breath doesn't need an audience.

if studios make you anxious, if the mirrors and comparison are pulling you away from why you started...

maybe you don't need to fix your relationship with studios.

maybe you need to remember that practice can happen anywhere.

in your living room, with your worn mat, with nobody watching.

maybe that's not a compromise.

I’ve just wrapped up the first week of my month-long challenge to rebuild my art skills from the ground up starting with lines and simple shapes.

It might not sound exciting, but honestly, it’s been more challenging and more rewarding than I expected.

Here’s what Week 1 looked like:

• Practicing straight lines, curves, Ovals, Circles, Squares, Etc

• Learning to draw with my shoulder, not just my wrist

• Focusing on accuracy, consistency, and control

• Following exercises from Brent Eviston on Skillshare

Progress has been slow at times, and yes, a little frustrating, but I’m already starting to notice a difference. My lines are a bit steadier. My shapes are a bit more confident. Most importantly, I’m starting to enjoy the process again.

No finished drawings, no big results yet, but that’s okay. This is the foundation I skipped the first time, and I’m finally giving it the time it deserves.

If you’ve gone through this phase before, how did you stay motivated?

If you’ve got any favourite drills or exercises for beginners, feel free to send them my way.

Week 2 begins. Let’s keep going one line at a time.

Your day holds power. The way you move through each moment—how you rise, shift, and wind down—shapes your clarity, focus, and emotional balance. When you build your day with intention, you reclaim your energy and create space for real transformation. This piece shows you how to create rituals that support your expansion. You’ll learn how to start your mornings with purpose, reset your energy during transitions, and close the evening with practices that restore your body and spirit. Every part of your routine becomes a conscious choice.

Inside, you’ll find information about guided prompts, visualization techniques, and tools that help you release what no longer serves you and create habits that carry you forward. These aren’t routines that box you in. They’re practices that return you to your center and help you live in rhythm with your truth. You decide what stays. You choose what shifts. You lead your day with intention.

Hello darlings 🥰

Are you interested in witchcraft, but not sure how to start incorporating it into your daily life? The key is to create a daily practice that works for you. Here are some tips to help you get started:

Set aside a specific time each day to practice. Whether it's first thing in the morning or before bed, having a consistent time can help you stay on track.

Choose a few simple activities to start with. You don't need to do a full ritual every day - simple activities like lighting a candle, meditating, or pulling a tarot card can be a great way to connect with your witchy side.

Start small and build up over time. It's better to do a few simple activities consistently than to try to do too much and get overwhelmed.

Keep a journal to track your progress. Writing down your experiences and observations can help you stay motivated and see how your practice is evolving over time.

Don't be afraid to experiment and try new things. Witchcraft is all about exploring and discovering what works best for you.

Finally, remember that witchcraft is a personal practice - there's no right or wrong way to do it. Follow your intuition and do what feels right for you.

Creating a daily witchcraft practice can be a great way to deepen your connection with yourself and the world around you. Whether you're just starting out or have been practicing for years, there's always something new to discover on your witchy journey.

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With love, from a Sappy Witch 🔮💕