My Path to Joy
My path to Yoga started about 6 years ago, even though I didn’t know it yet. I had this deep, insatiable urge for change in my life that seemed to follow me everywhere. Throughout my college career, I took a staggering 202 credits, totaling 485 hours of class time. To put that into perspective, the average bachelor’s degree requires about 120 cumulative hours to graduate. Hindsight, I can confidently say I’ve learned more about life—and about how to help people heal—through my 200-hour YTT program than I ever did in college.
I began college as a music education major with a minor in disability studies. I knew I wanted to help people, and at the time, I believed music was the only way. But after a rough first year filled with self-destruction and isolation, I had a heart-to-heart with a caring advisor. She asked me why I wanted to be a music teacher. At first, the question felt silly—obviously, “to teach music.” But for the first time, I really sat with the question and thought about what drew me to the field.
I realized it was the emotional connection in music I loved most. No matter the language, or whether words were spoken at all, you could feel what the music was trying to express. I told her I wanted to help students heal through music, to offer them the same comfort and safety music had given me. She looked at me for a long moment, and I instantly felt self-conscious, almost foolish for saying anything beyond the obvious. But then she said, “You can still offer music as an outlet to students, but not necessarily as a teacher. You should pursue psychology.” Truthfully, that was the first of many turning points that eventually led me to yoga.
The next year and a half were a blur. I tried creating my own music therapy major, switched instruments, but nothing satisfied that persistent ache in my heart telling me I still wasn’t doing what I was meant to do. I finally let go of music entirely, convinced a psychology degree would be the answer. For a brief moment, it was.
My academic career could best be described as a dumpster fire getting dragged by a blinded 18-wheeler. I was driven, ambitious, and eager to learn—chasing anything that sparked my interest or lit that fire in my heart. My closest advisor called me a “powerhouse” and often directed my peers to me for guidance. But inside, I was consumed by chaos and indecision. When I sought advice, even from trusted mentors, I’d hear: “You should have just picked one thing to study” or “You can’t do it all—choose something to specialize in.” That only fueled my determination to prove I could find a way to help people heal in the unique way I envisioned. I studied relentlessly for two and a half years straight, taking extra credits over summer and winter breaks just to graduate “on time.” It took me five years to realize I was searching in the wrong place.
By graduation, I had earned two majors (Psychology and Women & Gender Studies), a concentration in Domestic Violence Prevention and Services, and three minors (Music, Human Development & Family Science, and Health & Wellness). In my first two years, I was in four different bands, orchestras, and ensembles. In my last two, I was in a research lab, a TA, vice president of an improv troupe, and an intern at a police department. I even received my department’s Distinguished Student Award. But despite the accomplishments, I left college feeling unsuccessful, with more questions than answers. I was back at square one.
Right out of college, I got a job as an assistant manager at a schizophrenic clinic—no summer break, no recovery from burnout, just an obsessive drive to find… something. I didn’t even know what. And it certainly wasn’t that job. But it did show me just how unhappy I was. I was working 70-hour weeks, on call 24/7, pulling doubles into night shifts. The stress and anxiety was crushing. I even took up martial arts at the time, hoping it would help release the tension I was carrying (and to some degree it did, to this day I still love it).
I remember one night sitting at my childhood kitchen table—my mom cooking dinner, the TV on—finally on my first day off in longer than I could remember. I was exhausted in all meanings of the word, mindlessly Googling “healing professions,” when “yoga instructor” popped up. Honestly, I skipped right over it at first. Ten or fifteen minutes later, after scrolling through more results, a loud voice in my head told me to go back.
Before you say anything—yes, I love being a yoga instructor. But at the time, I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to support myself financially or find something that “actually worked” for what I was envisioning. Thankfully, I listened to that voice, a voice I now believe was God’s.
I searched “yoga instructor” without any expectation, scrolling past studios, local teachers, and videos, until I came across a school called One Yoga. The founder described yoga as a soul journey, a path of deep, transformative healing. Everything she wrote felt like it was written for me. Still, I told myself, “This could be a fun side gig—maybe learn a tool or two to support my greater purpose.” (I roll my eyes at myself now.) Without telling anyone, I signed up for The Path to Joy, the YTT program. I had no idea what I was getting into.
The program began with a kickoff day retreat in September. I was still working my insane clinic schedule, so I made sure to request that day off. Unfortunately, I didn’t request the night before off—and of course, I got called in for a night shift after a full day’s work. I told myself, “I’ll be fine—a couple hours of sleep, an energy drink, a cold shower, and I’ll be good as new.” Wrong. I slept through all my alarms, showed up four hours late, and hadn’t even seen the email about what to bring. So I arrived like a bat out of hell, in dirty jeans, an old t-shirt, and sneakers, carrying nothing but my phone, wallet, and keys.
As fate would have it, the first person I met was my now-mentor, Susan Smith, the founder of One Yoga. I knew from the look on her face that she could feel—and clearly see—my disheveled state. I patted my clothes and finger-combed my hair like that would help. But instead of criticism or judgement, she gave me a warm smile and told me I could relax. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could. I’ll never forget the first words Susan said when she stepped up to the podium to talk to the class. “Forget everything you think you know about Yoga. I want you to start this course raw and completely open minded.” Chuckling to myself sitting on the bare hardwood floor in the back leaning up against the wall, I remember thinking, “Man, I don’t think anyone can get more raw than this.” And even though I missed half the event, had no notebook, and no food or water in my system, those four hours changed my life.
Yoga taught me what it means to truly heal— it begins with having a hard, honest conversation with yourself. My past had such a grip on my worldview and my relationships that I didn’t realize I wasn’t even living. I was trapped in old wounds and fears, terrified I’d relive the deepest hurts—even those I hadn’t caused. Yoga gave me a light to follow and showed me that the voice I’d been hearing all along was God’s.
In my first year of YTT, I learned to be vulnerable. I let down the bitter, protective guard I’d kept for years. Consciously or not, I’d been driving people away with aversion, attachment, ego, and fear. Before YTT, I told myself relationships ended because people “outgrew” me or “didn’t get to know me well enough.” The truth was, I was wounded and scared to let anyone in. I had no faith that loving relationships existed. I later realized much of that came from me not being emotionally honest—with myself or others.
Year two taught me to share my emotional truth in any moment, with kindness and detachment from the outcome. It sounds simple on paper but is anything but in practice. That’s the essence of yoga—practice, change, acceptance, forgiveness, and letting go. I learned that the best outcomes in life often come from the hard conversations we avoid. Our greatest blocks—emotional, spiritual, or physical—are tied to the deepest lessons we’re meant to learn. By facing our own adversity, we find the peace and joy we’ve been chasing in material earthly things.
Finally, yoga has taught me I will always be healing, learning, making mistakes, and growing. There’s no “end goal”—only a way of being in union with the universe, reached through yoga’s eight limbs: the yamas, niyamas, pranayama, meditation, focus, movement, and detachment. This path leads to samadhi—enlightenment—reuniting with our Creator in complete love and trust that there’s more to existence than our human experience.
Yoga gave me so much, but most importantly, it restored my faith—faith that loving, trusting relationships exist, not only with others, but with myself too.
If you feel that same call for change in your life, The Path to Joy is for you, and it begins when you decide to say yes. Why wait, the happiness you are looking for is within, and this journey provides you the tools to unearth it. Join us this October for the transformational experience that is Yoga.
My Second Year Graduating the Program to Become a Mentor (May 2025)
