13/09/2026
Monday last week marked 7 years since I qualified as an instructor.
And if I’m completely honest, I didn’t really feel like celebrating.
I’ve put so much of myself into my classes over those seven years. I’ve learned an enormous amount, grown in ways I never expected, and there have, of course, been plenty of “why am I doing this?” moments along the way. But somehow, I’ve always managed to ride the waves of whatever challenges have been thrown at me.
This past year has felt different.
I’ve found it much harder to keep riding that wave.
The passion is still there. Huge amounts of it. But my body seems to fight me on it every single day, and this year I’ve often felt like I’ve let my classes down because I haven’t been able to be the instructor I want to be. I know I’ve lost people along the way because of that, and that hurts.
I’ve always tried to be honest about my imperfections — chronic illness, pain, neurodivergence, the good days and the really bloody hard ones. But sometimes that honesty bites me on the bum when people assume I’m looking for pity.
I’m not.
I’ve never wanted to pretend that exercise is easy for everyone, because it simply isn’t.
There are so many nuances and grey areas in all of our lives. Mental health struggles. Physical barriers. Family responsibilities. Work. Exhaustion. Chronic conditions. Neurodivergence. Life being life.
Sometimes the list feels endless and completely overwhelming.
I know I’ll never be perfect. I know I’m inconsistent in lots of ways. My energy, my body, my ability to do all the things I want to do…
But there is one thing I have been incredibly consistent about.
I genuinely, wholeheartedly want to share my passion for movement.
I want people to know that it’s OK to be imperfect. That you don’t have to arrive at my class as some shiny, confident, motivated version of yourself. You don’t have to change who you are to belong there.
You just get to be you.
And maybe that won’t win me any instructor awards. Because those things aren’t always measurable. You can’t put a number on somebody feeling safe enough to walk through the door. You can’t measure the person who came to class when they really didn’t feel like leaving the house. You can’t put a percentage on somebody feeling a little more like themselves when they leave.
There are no transformation photos for that.
No overflowing classes to prove it.
But I think those things matter.
And then, completely unbeknownst to one of my wonderful new class members, last Monday was my 7-year anniversary.
They handed me the sweetest little gift and a heartfelt card.
They had absolutely no idea how much I needed that moment that day.
Because sometimes, as instructors, we think we’re the ones helping everyone else.
But so often, it works both ways.
My class members have carried me through some really difficult days without even realising it. ❤️
Seven years in, I’m still figuring it out. Still learning. Still imperfect. Still battling my own body sometimes.
But still here.
Still passionate.
Still me.
And still incredibly grateful that I get to do this. ❤️
