Physical activity has always been my lifeline. From the moment I entered the world, my body posed challenges I couldn’t understand—multiple surgeries before I could even crawl, and a strict, clean diet from day one. My parents had no choice; it was the only way to keep me healthy. As I grew older, I admit there were times when I felt burdened by this approach, especially in my teenage years when friends enjoyed all the fun snacks and carefree moments I was denied. But looking back now, I see the gift in it. I see the foundation it laid, even when I didn't realize it. I recognize that those early years shaped not just my body but my mindset, instilling in me an understanding of nourishment that extends far beyond what’s on a plate.

But physical health was only one part of my story. The other part arrived uninvited when I was seven years old—when my baby brother passed away. It was the first time I met grief, the kind that turns everything you know inside out. Childhood shifted overnight. My days, once filled with laughter and play, were replaced with quiet, hesitant conversations where even my closest friends didn’t know how to act around me anymore. My parents, immersed in their own sorrow, tried to shield me from the worst of it, but there was no escaping the absence, the sense of something missing. It was as if joy itself had taken a step back, unsure whether it was still welcome in our home.

At that time, therapy, mindfulness, and meditation weren’t part of the conversation where we lived in Costa Rica. There were no formal avenues for processing loss, no structured spaces where we could sit with our pain. I withdrew from activities I had once loved—tennis, swimming, gymnastics—because a part of me felt I didn't deserve joy while my family grieved. The world was different, and it didn’t seem right to find comfort when the people I loved most were still hurting.

But even in those difficult moments, movement found its way back into my life. Physical activity was where I thrived, where I felt most like myself. It had always been more than just a pastime for me; it was where I found connection and community. I was the kid who loved PE class and joined every team I could—football, volleyball, cross country, basketball. I embraced any opportunity to be active, whether through gymnastics, which I had started young, or dance classes in ballet, jazz, and hip-hop at a local academy. These experiences shaped not just my body but my sense of belonging, offering a space where I could reconnect with life in its most vibrant form.

It was during this time, when everything felt uncertain, that my mom and I found our way to yoga. What started as a simple attempt to move our bodies again slowly became a lifeline we didn’t even know we needed. At first, it was just about feeling alive again—just a little bit of movement, just a little breath. But gradually, it became something deeper, something that carried us back to ourselves. The quiet moments on the mat brought a stillness that spoke louder than words, and in those spaces, we began to heal in ways we hadn’t thought possible.

Yoga gave us more than we could have ever expected. It wasn’t just a practice of stretching and strengthening; it became a way to rebuild our connection to life itself. Each session was an opportunity to be present, to let go of what was behind us, and to open our hearts to the good things that were still happening—even if they were quiet, even if they were small. It showed us that healing isn’t about forcing ourselves to move on but about allowing ourselves to move with life, to flow with its ups and downs. Through yoga, we found not just a practice, but a community—a group of people who believed in finding light, even in the darkest moments.

Now, I look back with gratitude for all of it—the clean diet, the challenges, the years when I lost my way—because they all led me here, to this balanced place where I can share what I’ve learned. It’s about more than just food, more than just exercise. It’s about finding the strength to breathe through every experience, to welcome the present moment with all its imperfections, and to trust that, no matter what, there is always a way forward. Yoga gave that back to us, and it is my hope to pass that gift on to others—to share not just a path to physical health, but a way to truly connect with life again, one breath at a time.

Yoga’s versatility has always drawn me in. With so many styles and approaches, there’s a never-ending journey of learning and growth. I love diving into different practices, each offering its own blend of strength, flexibility, and mindfulness. Even now, I’m still discovering new techniques and insights that deepen my connection to the practice.

Over time, I’ve also added Pilates and barre into my movement routine. Together, these disciplines have shaped a unique formula that I bring to you today. It’s a blend of what I’ve learned from various traditions, each contributing something valuable. It’s not just about perfecting a pose or achieving a fitness goal; it’s about finding the balance that works for you—meeting yourself where you are, with openness and intention.