My relationship with mornings had always been pretty straightforward: get up like a madman, grab some coffee, jump through the peep hole, and hope for the best. My chaotic morning ritual had felt familiar—even necessary—for years. After all, isn't busy the new classy to prove that your success?

But in January of last year, that changed. I don't know if it was the post-holiday depression or the way my shoulders seemed constantly fixed to my ears from anxiety and tension, but I decided to say yes when a friend texted me about "that yoga lady on YouTube." Turns out, that yoga lady was Adriene Mishler, and her newest 15-minute morning practice was the surprise stimulus for the most transforming year of my adult life.

I'm not exaggerating when I say this practice was a lifeboat for my sanity during one of the most difficult periods in recent times. And what began as a desperate effort to feel less awful in the mornings morphed into something I never thought was possible: a complete rewiring of the way I move through the world.

Why I Was the Most Unlikely Yoga Convert

I'll start with this: I was nobody's idea of a yoga person. My philosophy towards exercise was always go hard or go home. I loved those awful spin classes where the instructor is screaming motivational quotes? I wanted more! I also loved A hot yoga class where the longest I felt was when I looked like I had been dunked in a swimming pool? Bring it on!

I actually thought that, if you weren't suffering, you weren't getting better.Gentle movement felt like surrender, like saying "I can't actually handle the real stuff." When my friends discussed restorative yoga classes, I nodded and politely-internally rolled my eyes. Where was the challenge? Where was the evidence that I worked out?

My mornings illustrated the all-or-nothing mentality perfectly. I would either get up at 5:30 AM to do an intense workout, feel exhausted before the work day started, or I would hit snooze until the very latest moment, sprint through my morning routine in a chaotic frenzy, and leave for work barely able to keep it together. There was no in-between, there didn't ever feel like there was space for anything that didn't feel urgent or extreme.

The irony is I was miserable. I was tired, feeling chronically stressed, and increasingly resentful of my own lofty aspirations. But I actually thought this was the burden of being a high achiever. Suffering was the point, right?

The YouTube Rabbit Hole That Started It All

I chose Adriene's routine that morning because I was feeling particularly awful. I had slept poorly, my lower back hurt from hours of hunching over my laptop, and the idea of my typical high intensity workout sounded so unbearable that I wanted to crawl back under my covers.

Instead of my regular routine, I found myself typing "gentle morning yoga" into YouTube at 6:47 AM, still even in my pajamas.The first thing I found was a 15-minute flow, titled "Morning Flow", from a person named Yoga with Adriene. The thumbnail showed a woman in comfy clothes, sitting calmly on a yoga mat; there was nothing perfect about it and no super flexibility.

"What the fuck", I said, and hit play.

What happened next completely took me off guard. Rather than just jumping straight into movement, Adriene spent the first minute talking about breathing. Not any fancy breathing, she just talked me through noticing the breath I already had. She sounded like she was speaking to a friend who knew how tough the morning can be, and acknowledged that simply showing up was something.

Here I was, despite my skepticism, relaxing. When we started to move, it felt far more like a conversation with my body than a workout. Each stretch had a directive of permission to modify, to back off, or just to notice what "felt good" rather than "looked good".

Fifteen minutes later, I was lying on my back in something called savasana, staring at my ceiling feeling... different. Not exhausted, not accomplished, as I would normally measure my accomplishments or workouts, rather settled. Grounded. Like I had really taken care of myself and not just on another thing to check off to-do list.

The Unintentional Addiction

I told myself it was a one-off thing. It was good to get out of my typical routine, but not something I wanted to make my routine. Except, the next morning when my alarm went off and my back was still sore, I found myself reaching for my yoga mat again.

And then, the next morning. And again, the next morning.

In a week, I was actually looking forward to those fifteen minutes, in a way that shocked me. It wasn't the adrenaline I'm so accustomed to when I have an intense workout, it was more quieter and sustaining. I started sleeping better. My chronic shoulder tension lessened, I was no longer prone to frantically chasing energy at the beginning of my days.

The most shocking part? I wasn't getting less done. If anything, starting my day with intention rather than panic made me more focused and productive throughout the day. The extra fifteen minutes in the morning somehow created more time and space in everything that followed.

I began exploring other videos on Adriene's channel, which has an almost overwhelming variety of practices. There were sessions for anxiety, for tight hips, for building confidence, for dealing with grief. It felt like having a personal yoga teacher who somehow knew exactly what I needed on any given day.

When Life Fell Apart (And Yoga Held Me Together)

Three months into my new morning routine, the world changed in ways none of us could have imagined. The pandemic struck, everything shut down, and just like that, my perfectly constructed life was turned upside down. I was working from home in a tiny apartment, isolated from my friends and family, feverishly glued to the news and feeling a sense of trepidation and disbelief.

This would have been a perfect time to abandon my morning yoga. There were bigger things to worry about than whether I had done my stretches, right? But something interesting happened. My morning fifteen minutes became more essential.

When everything felt uncertain (and out of control) rolling out my yoga mat felt like an anchor. It was something to count on. Something that stayed consistent when everything else felt chaotic. Some mornings, I would end my practice in tears, grieving and working through the waves of anxiety which were often overwhelming and came from nowhere.

Adriene's gentle voice was a lifeline during those dark months. Her videos during this time framed the collective trauma we were all dealing with without being preachy or too optimistic. She normalized that some days just getting on your mat was enough, that healing was not linear, that not feeling okay was okay.When my anxiety was particularly high, I began to engage in longer practices, sometimes an hour long, where I moved through different videos until I started to feel somewhat human again. On others days, when depression made even 15 minutes feel impossible, I would do a five minute, gentle stretching sequence, counting it as a success.

The Science that Explained My Experience

As my practice progressed, I became curious about why it was working so well. I have always been skeptical of anything that sounds too "woo-woo," but the changes that I was experiencing were too huge not to believe. I very quickly started looking into the research around yoga and mindfulness practices and what I discovered was a whole lot of interesting research.

There is evidence that yoga activates the parasympathetic nervous system; it essentially is saying to your body that it is safe to relax. This is a revelation for someone like me, who had been living in a constant low level fight-or-flight response.

The breathing techniques that felt so simple were really very sophisticated tools for regulating the nervous system. Deep breathing or diaphragmatic breathing activates the vagus nerve, it is a signal to your brain that you are not in imminent danger. This is not just feel good stuff, it is measurable physiological change.

I was also more interested in the concept of neuroplasticity—the brain's ability to create new neural pathways until we die. When you practice yoga regularly, it literally rewires your brain, builds the emotional regulation and attention areas of your brain, and quiets the amygdala, the alarm system of your brain.

When I began to comprehend the science behind what was happening made me take the practice even more seriously. This is not just a nice way to start the morning, it is effectively changing my brain and my nervous system, significantly improving the quality of my life.

The Domino Effect

As my morning practice became more established, I started noticing changes that extended far beyond those fifteen minutes on my mat. The patience I was cultivating during slow, mindful movements began showing up in other areas of my life. I was less likely to snap at my partner during stressful conversations. I could sit through boring work meetings without feeling like I was going to crawl out of my skin.

My relationship with discomfort shifted dramatically. Instead of avoiding difficult emotions or trying to fix them immediately, I learned to sit with them, to breathe through them, to get curious about what they might be trying to tell me. This skill proved invaluable during the uncertainty and grief of the pandemic, but it's continued to serve me in all kinds of situations.

I also noticed changes in how I related to my body. Instead of seeing it as something to be pushed, controlled, or improved, I began appreciating it as a source of wisdom and information. When my shoulders started creeping toward my ears, I took it as a signal to slow down rather than push harder. When my hip flexors felt tight, I did some gentle stretches instead of ignoring the discomfort until it became pain.

This shift from fighting my body to working with it transformed not just my yoga practice, but my entire approach to health and wellness. I stopped forcing myself through workouts I hated and started moving in ways that felt good. I began eating when I was hungry and resting when I was tired, revolutionary concepts for someone who'd spent years overriding her body's signals.

Finding Community in Unexpected Places

One of the surprising benefits of practicing with YouTube videos was discovering the global community of people doing the same thing. Reading the comments on Adriene's videos became part of my morning ritual—seeing messages from people in different time zones, sharing their struggles and victories, offering encouragement to strangers.

There's something profound about knowing that thousands of people around the world are rolling out their mats at the same time, breathing together across continents and languages. During the isolation of lockdown, this virtual community became a source of connection and hope.

I started commenting occasionally myself, sharing small victories or challenges. The responses were always kind, supportive, and genuine. It felt like being part of a movement of people committed to taking better care of themselves and each other, one breath at a time.

Some friends and family members became curious about my new routine, especially when they noticed how much calmer I seemed during stressful situations. I shared videos with a few people, and several of them started their own practices. Suddenly, we had something new to bond over—comparing notes on different teachers, sharing favorite sequences, supporting each other through challenging days.

The Art of Showing Up Imperfectly

I believe the greatest lesson learnt from my yoga practice relates to practicing consistently and not perfectly. In the past, when I had a day in which I missed (let's say because I was unwell) a day of (movement) activity and (self)care; I failed and thus abandoned the whole self-care endeavor. As I started to honour the concept of merely showing up rather than focusing on outcomes.

Control and Pivoting

There were mornings that I picked up my mat, set it down and felt physically tired, mentally grumpy, and emotionally resistant. Some mornings these feelings made me go through some mechanical motions while I sat there counting off the minutes before I could get on with my "real" day. Even those mornings mattered to me. I maintained a practice, the neural pathways of practicing stayed active, and those practices altered and shifted my mood more than I possibly recognized.

Some days, I got so engrossed in that same yawning, or "unaware" state of practice that I started out with a 15-minute practice that took off to thirty, and then sometimes forty-five minutes where I was unaware that time had flown. I discovered trust in my body and the wisdom of asking it what it needed that day instead of my prescribed, practice commitment or schedule.

I took this flexibility back into my practice with other sections of my life. Instead of abandoning something I may not have engaged in perfectly - I learned to negotiate my commitments and kept moving forward. Instead of abandoning habits I recognized as healthy for me because of a bad day - I practiced going back to something healthy, without judgment or being self-critical.

The Unexpected Mentor in My Living Room

I had begun to notice my practice evolving and to my amazement I noticed that Adriene had become an unexpected mentor (in the trail of thought I am articulating). Her teaching style - so patient, welcoming and wonderfully normal - modeled relatedness to myself I hadn't experienced before. She normalizes struggle without sensationalising it. She validates choices and provides acceptable substitutes without feeling like you are failing (which I bewitch of often). And she routinely integrates a committed practice based notion of progress versus perfecting notions to think.

But the mantra I started to embrace, to leave what works for you Instruct, "find what feels good" became more than a catch-phrase or cue for yoga practice. It became a way of living that insidiously began to translate into work choices, relational choices, and daily small and large life choices. Instead of just muddling through things which felt wrong because I was obligating myself to finishing a task, I began to shift gears and always defaulted to trusting my instincts about what truly served me.

And while she would routinely acknowledge the possible discomfort in difficult poses without making it a big deal, she ironically showed me to meet my difficulties with authenticity and calm consideration. In yoga when she would guide a more challenging pose, she would say with candour "this might be a difficult pose for you but try to breathe if you can". Earlier in the process of being curious became my strategic stance for engaging inquiry in challenging topics for work, chronic stress for work and emotional challenges.

Her impetus for being curious instead of judgmental offered a new relationship to my limitations, or errors. I began to become curious about what my body was sharing with me in a way that made it impossible for me to do the "pose" and not abuse myself. That curious nature spilled into other areas of my life, I had both more patience for the process of my own learning, and I had even more compassion to be imperfect.

The Physical Changes Nobody Talks About

While the mental and emotional benefits of yoga get a lot of attention, the physical changes were equally remarkable. My chronic lower back pain, which I'd accepted as an inevitable part of working at a desk, virtually disappeared. My posture improved without me consciously trying to fix it. My balance and coordination got better, making everyday activities easier and reducing my risk of injury.

But the most significant physical change was in my relationship with my own body. I stopped seeing it as an adversary to be conquered and started treating it as a wise partner deserving of respect and care. This shift affected everything from how I slept to how I ate to how I moved through the world.

I became more aware of my body's signals throughout the day. Instead of pushing through fatigue or ignoring hunger, I learned to respond to what I was feeling with appropriate action. This led to better energy management, improved digestion, and a general sense of being more at home in my own skin.

The flexibility gains were obvious and satisfying, but the strength I developed was more subtle and perhaps more important. Not the kind of strength that comes from lifting heavy weights, but the deep, stabilizing strength that supports good posture and prevents injury. My core became stronger without me doing a single crunch, simply from the mindful engagement required in yoga poses.

Seasons of Practice

As my first year of consistent practice unfolded, I began to notice how my needs changed with the seasons, both literally and metaphorically. Summer mornings called for energizing flows that prepared me for active days. Winter practices became more gentle and warming, helping me ease into darker mornings with compassion rather than resistance.

During stressful periods—work deadlines, family crises, global upheavals—I gravitated toward more restorative practices that emphasized rest and nervous system regulation. When my energy was high and I felt strong, I explored more challenging sequences that built heat and required focus.

This responsiveness to changing needs taught me about the importance of flexibility in all areas of life. Instead of rigidly sticking to plans that no longer served me, I learned to adapt and adjust based on current circumstances. This skill proved invaluable during the unpredictable challenges of the past few years.

I also learned to honor different phases of my menstrual cycle with appropriate practices. During my period, I'd do gentle, grounding sequences. In the weeks leading up to ovulation, I'd choose more energizing flows. This attention to my body's natural rhythms helped me work with my biology rather than against it.

The Ripple Effect on Relationships

One of the most unexpected benefits of my morning yoga practice was how it affected my relationships. Starting each day feeling centered and grounded meant I showed up differently in my interactions with others. I was less reactive, more patient, and better able to hold space for difficult emotions without trying to fix or change them immediately.

My romantic relationship improved significantly. Instead of beginning our days with the stressed, hurried energy that had become our norm, we started having more intentional morning connections. Sometimes my partner would join me for a few minutes of stretching before we went our separate ways. Other times, we'd simply sit together quietly with our coffee, maintaining the peaceful energy I'd cultivated during practice.

I became a better listener, less likely to interrupt or formulate my response while others were still speaking. The mindfulness I was practicing on my mat translated into more mindful communication in all my relationships. Conflicts didn't disappear, but they became easier to navigate when I could stay present rather than getting swept away by reactive emotions.

Even challenging family dynamics became more manageable. The equanimity I was developing helped me maintain my center even when others were stressed or difficult. I learned to distinguish between my emotions and others', to offer support without taking on their problems as my own.

The Evolution of My Practice

As I became more confident, I experimented with other styles and instructors while continuing with my morning routine with Adriene. I found yin yoga when I felt like I needed to get deep relaxation and I practiced vinyasa flow when I wanted to do a little more movement, and on days that were particularly tough, I engaged in restorative practices. Each style offered something different in terms of value and lessons.

I also started to take in-person classes every once in a while, which offered a social component of practice that I didn't really realize I was missing. There was something powerful about moving alongside other people and breathing in harmony with other human beings even if we didn't say a word to each other. Though, the energy of the group experience had something special that doing yoga alone or online just couldn't capture. That said, I still valued the time alone in my practice.

Eventually, I was ready to try those heated studio classes that had previously represented my perception of 'real' yoga. Interestingly, my experience of the classes was completely different this time around. Instead of feeling I needed to keep up regardless of how I felt, I listened to my body as needed and modified where it was required. The experience was less of a 'fight' and more of a conversation.

I learned that there is a place for every type of yoga in my life, whether it was a gentle flow in the morning, a heated challenge, or a restorative practice before bed. I would choose the practices that met my needs at that moment and not feel like I needed to prove anything to myself or anyone else.

Building a Sustainable Relationship with Wellness

Maybe the biggest gift of my yoga journey has been learning what sustainable self-care looks like. For years, I engaged with wellness in the same all-or-nothing way I did everything else in life. I would commit to complex routines that were not sustainable, then I would abandon them entirely when I couldn't meet my ridiculous standards. Yoga showed me that progress can still be achieved through small, regular behaviors. I started exercising for 15 minutes every day; this is sustainable in a way that an hour-long workout never had been, and it paved the way for additional healthy habits—better sleep hygiene, more mindful eating, walking regularly in the woods. Rather than attempting to overhaul my entire life in an instant, I focused on building wellness practices gradually and sustainably.

This practice also helped me recognize the difference between self-care and self-improvement. Many of the things we see as wellness are just repackaged or marketed as ways to further optimize and improve ourselves. I learned that self-care is about accepting and caring for oneself rather than fixing or changing oneself; it is about caring for the body and mind you have, not the body or mind you wish you had.

This realization was groundbreaking for somebody who spent many years trying to optimize every element of her life. Instead of constantly striving toward the mythical next version of myself, I started enjoying, caring for, and appreciating who I am now.

The Long View

Now, over a year into this practice, I can say with confidence that those fifteen little minutes every morning have been some of most valuable in my day. Not because they are particulary productive in any objective way, but because they set a tone of intention and self-compassion that colors what follows.

I still have challenging days, stressful times, and moments when I feel I am being crushed by the demands of daily life. But now I have tools to work with these experiences rather than being crushed by them. I have breath awareness, body-based wisdom, and emotional regulation that all come from yoga, now entrenched in my navigation of difficulty.

My morning practice has progressed to include other things—journaling, meditation, gentle/unstructured movement beyond yoga—but the nutshell version remains: I want to start my day with intention, not reaction; with care, not pushing; with presence, not urgency.

I have learned that transformation can occur without suffering; that healing does not mean perfection; and that the greatest change can happen through the gentlest means. In a world screaming for more, faster, better, my morning yoga practice is a daily reminder that sometimes the most radical act is the subtlest: slowing down enough to breathe.

An Invitation to Begin

If you're reading this and feeling curious about creating your own morning ritual, I encourage you to start small. The goal isn't to become a yoga expert or to completely transform your life overnight. It's simply to begin treating yourself with the same care and attention you'd offer a good friend.

Maybe that means rolling out of bed five minutes earlier to do some gentle stretches. Maybe it's taking three deep breaths before checking your phone. Maybe it's drinking your coffee in silence instead of while scrolling through news and emails. The specific activity matters less than the underlying intention: giving yourself a moment of peace before the world makes its demands.

Remember that there's no wrong way to begin taking better care of yourself. The perfect routine is the one you'll actually do, not the one that looks impressive to others. Start where you are, with what you have, for as long as feels manageable.

Your mornings—and perhaps your entire life—might shift in ways you never expected. At minimum, you'll have given yourself the gift of a few peaceful moments in an increasingly chaotic world. And in my experience, that alone is worth everything.

The path from overwhelmed, harried mornings to grounded intentional days happened one breath at a time, one day at a time, one small decision at a time. This journey has been one of the most transformative experiences in my life and it all started with a single choice to experiment with doing something different on a random Tuesday morning in January.

Now, when my alarm goes off, I still sometimes reach for my phone first. But often I reach for my yoga mat. And that modest choice continually sends ripples of calm and intention that expand well beyond those first fifteen minutes of my day, reminding me that the most profound changes often happen through the gentlest of means.