When I arrived in Bali, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d signed up for a 200-hour yoga teacher training at Alchemy Yoga & Meditation Centre. As a relative beginner, I had been told it would be intense. Early starts, long days, and a steep learning curve.

Each day began at 7am and ran through to early evening. Four hours of physical practice were interspersed by classes on teaching methodology, anatomy, and philosophy. Evenings were spent reading, reflecting, and preparing for the next day. It was demanding. Physically, mentally, and at times emotionally. But there was something about the rhythm of it – the structure, the repetition, the focus – that created space.

Finding Space

I had come to Bali looking for that, although I’m not sure I fully realised it at the time. I had recently lost my mum after a short illness of only three months. My mum was beautiful, inside and out. She radiated love and positivity. Her final weeks were spent at home, with my siblings and me caring for her. It was heartbreakingly beautiful.

When my mum passed away, I had a quiet sense that I needed to slow down, to reflect, and to reconnect with myself. Bali gave me space to do that. Not directly, but through the quiet moments in between. In the practice, in the stillness, in the repetition of each day.

The physical practice was only part of it. Training with Alchemy is rooted in non-dual Shaiva Tantra, a philosophy that sees things not as separate but as part of a whole. It wasn't just about learning poses or teaching techniques, but about connecting practice to something deeper, something that extended beyond the mat and into everyday life. In many ways, that is what gave the training its depth. Not just what we were doing – but how and why we were doing it.

One of the biggest lessons for me was around presence. Not in an abstract sense but in a very practical way. The more present I was – in the practice, in the learning, in the conversations – the more things began to flow. And the opposite was also true. When I tried to control things, to get it “right”, or to push too hard, it often had the opposite effect. Things tightened. Progress slowed. Letting go, even slightly, made a difference. It’s a simple idea, but not always an easy one to apply.

Letting Go

Early one day in the training, I walked across the shala to get a cushion as class was beginning. As I passed Ashton, our teacher, he said "you're tiptoeing across the shala." I was trying not to disturb the class but he was right. It was a small thing but it stayed with me — a reminder that sometimes, without realising it, we hold ourselves back, move a little too carefully, take up less space than we might. The training had a way of surfacing these things.

The experience also reinforced something I often see in my work: that awareness comes first. Before change, before action, before progress — there’s a moment of noticing. Of seeing things more clearly. That was happening throughout the three weeks in small but meaningful ways. Moments where I could feel myself stepping back, observing more, reacting less.

And in those moments, I often found myself thinking of my mum, her love, her positivity, and her kindness. There was something in that which stayed with me, and perhaps shaped how I was experiencing the training.

Ashton, Sara, Johanna, and the team at Alchemy created an environment that was supportive and challenging. There was a depth to the learning but also a sense of care and encouragement that made it accessible. My fellow classmates played a big part too. We all arrived on our own journeys but there was a shared willingness to show up, support each other, and keep going, especially when it was hard.

I left Bali with a sense of having stepped back from the pace of everyday life and seeing things with a little more clarity. And perhaps, in some small way, a closer connection to my mum and an appreciation for everything she did for me.