People often ask me what makes my classes different.
On the surface, it’s pregnancy yoga, mats, movement, breathwork, relaxation. But when someone walks into the room for the first time, they usually notice something else long before we start.
The calm.
The way the women are already chatting softly with each other.
The way the room feels warm, safe and quietly familiar.
The way I say hello to every single person who walks in.
Nothing formal. Nothing polished. Just human.
I’ve been teaching yoga since 2011. I taught in my 30s, my 40s, and now into my 50s. The older I’ve become, the more comfortable I am in my skin, and the more honest my teaching has become. I know who I am and who I’m not. I know who my clients are and what they need. And the women who find me tend to arrive at exactly the right moment.
I’m not a traditional yoga teacher. I’m not here to perform or demonstrate perfect shapes. I’ve lived with chronic pain and illness for more than 30 years, and I know how intimidating it can feel to walk into a room where the teacher seems to glide and float. When you’re dealing with pain, fatigue, anxiety, or simply a lack of experience, that kind of perfection can feel unreachable.
So, I don’t teach like that. I teach in a way that feels real.
I talk about how postures feel, not how they look.
I ask where tension is hiding today.
I show the postures I struggle with, and I show the adaptations I use myself.
There’s humour. Things go off-plan sometimes. I forget which side we’re on now and again. And nobody is trying to be impressive.
You take what you need from the class. If you need to rest with pillows and a fleece, that’s valid. If you need more movement, that’s valid. If you need to sit and breathe and not move at all, that’s valid too.
People come as they are. And that’s enough.
The energy in the room shifts each week. Some sessions unfold exactly as I planned. Some don’t. We adapt depending on what the women bring in with them. Tiredness. Nerves. A stiff hip. A sore back. A difficult appointment. A good week. A busy mind. It all comes in with them and shapes the class.
I tell every woman who walks through the door that her voice matters. She’s allowed to say when something doesn’t feel right. She’s allowed to ask questions until things make sense. She’s allowed to advocate for herself. And I encourage every single one of them to do this wherever they are. In class, in their pregnancy, in appointments, with partners, within life generally.
My approach is anatomy led. That means I look at how someone walks into the room. How they sit. How they get up and down. How they breathe. How they talk to the person beside them. All of these little things tell me what might be happening in their body.
If someone is struggling with balance, we move to the wall.
If someone has SPD, I already know where their pain sits and I adjust automatically.
If someone cannot comfortably get onto the floor, we use a chair.
If shoulders start creeping upwards in Warrior 2, I guide the whole room to soften and reset without singling anyone out.
I talk about how breath changes between the second and third trimester.
I talk about pelvic positioning.
I talk about why some movements feel different as the body shifts.
And everything is explained in normal language. No jargon. No mysticism. Just clear, useful information.
My age and experience play a big role in how I teach now. I am more certain of my style than I was twenty years ago. As a woman over 50, I don’t apologise for being myself, and I don’t try to be anything I’m not. The women who join me in class almost always arrive as a recommendation, and they usually know what I’m like before they even step through the door due to word of mouth.
I’m consistently in awe of pregnant women and new mums. The fact that they manage to get organised, arrive on time, and come back week after week never stops surprising me. That they choose me, out of all the teachers and classes available in London, is something I never take lightly.
My first pregnancy was isolating. I didn’t know who to ask. I didn’t know what was normal. I felt things I didn’t expect. I felt alone. That experience sits in everything I do now. I never want anyone in my class to feel they are the only one struggling, or the only one unsure, or the only one who isn’t enjoying pregnancy.
When people say I’m knowledgeable or dependable, I take that as a compliment. When someone describes me as a safe pair of hands, that feels right. I want women to feel supported enough to relax, breathe, speak honestly, and feel seen. And if someone needs a hug, or a chat after class, or a recommendation for a physio, that’s part of what I offer too.
And when I really strip it back, the truth is simple.
The reason my classes feel different is because of me.
Not in an egotistical way. But in the sense that I care deeply and genuinely. I don’t just say I love babies — I genuinely do. I don’t just say I care whether a posture feels right — I genuinely do. Community matters to me. Connection matters. Making life a little bit easier for pregnant women and new mums matters.
I teach in a way I wish someone had taught me. I create the support I wish I’d had.
That’s the difference.
If that sounds like what you need, you’re always welcome at E14YogaCoach.
