the white belt diaries

I didn’t give myself time to think my way out of it. A shift that ended barely half an hour before class left me with no space to spiral into overthinking, no window for the quiet, creeping voice that tells me I don’t belong anywhere new. I left work, changed quickly, and drove straight to the gym.

Walking in, I realised how much my mind had been filling in the unknown with something safe. In my head, I’d foolishly imagined the kind of welcome you get at a yoga studio; reception desk, soft music, plants breathing in the corners. Instead, I stepped almost straight onto the mat. The air was warm and sharp with the smell of effort. A group of men turned to look as I entered, and for a moment, my confidence wavered.

Then I saw Ella, the woman I’d spoken to on the phone. She came straight over, smiled, and took me in hand as if we’d been friends for years. She showed me around, handed me a gi, tied the belt for me the first time, then taught me how to do it myself. She talked me through the flow of the class and the quiet rules that guide it and finally I felt my shoulders drop. I wasn’t invisible, but I wasn’t exposed either. I was held.

And then we began.

There’s a point in so many of my (attempted) yoga sessions lately where I’m bargaining with the clock, asking how much longer until it’s over when I’ve barely begun. I didn’t look for the clock once tonight! My focus was so completely pulled into the tangle of gripping, shifting, rolling, (even choking!) that the usual noise in my head just stopped. My muscles burned, but in a way that felt alive, not punishing. My breath came fast, but it was purposeful, feeding the work. I’d forgotten how it feels to inhabit my body without resentment or judgement.

Cee, the woman I was paired with, laughed with me through the mistakes, celebrated the small wins, and made space for me to try again when I fumbled. Ella hovered nearby, offering gentle adjustments, sharing her own enthusiasm for the sport in a way that felt like an invitation rather than instruction. In that sweaty, breathless space, pressed close to women I had only just met, I felt a kind of belonging I haven’t felt in years, perhaps the kind only girls can understand.

It struck me how rare it is to be welcomed into a group through physical closeness. Most connections are built from conversation, from stories shared over time. But here, trust is built in the immediacy of touch: the way someone braces to take your weight, or shifts to give you a better chance to try a move again. There’s an intimacy to that which my words can’t quite reach tonight.

By the end of the class I was flushed red, hair sticking to my face, my limbs heavy and loose. And yet instead of exhaustion, there was something lighter, like I had given my body back to myself for an hour in pursuit of a fun challenge. It had remembered what to do with it, and girl, what a reward that was.

Driving home, windows cracked to let in the night air, I thought about how easy it would be to let this be a one-off. The cost, the scheduling, the inertia, my introverted default to spend time at home alone… it all adds up. But I also thought about how rare it is to walk into a room full of strangers and leave feeling more whole than when you arrived.

Maybe this is the start of something. Or maybe it was just one beautiful night that reminded me I am still capable of starting.

All my love,

Mae xxx