There Was a Time…
There was a time I thought perfection was the only path to acceptance.
Once, there lived a boisterous young girl.
Impressionable. Full of energy and wonder.
She danced, twirled, climbed, jumped.
Laughed, giggled—sillies on full display.
She moved—joyfully and free.
Innocence, stolen. Too soon.
Learning of the world, cruel—it’s harshness in operation.
And so, she grew.
Swallowed pain.
Performing it away.
Letting judgment echo long after the crowd had gone.
Anxiety, unnamed but deeply known.
A squeeze in the chest, stutters, dry mouth, thoughts that wouldn’t quiet.
A heart pounding loud enough to hear—she feared.
And not like now, when fear has context. Back then, she just felt wrong.
And she carried all of that into the studio.
The Studio: Where Beauty Met Burden
There, in the ballet studio, I met both beauty and cruelty.
I learned to sew pointe shoes with precision—and to stitch smiles over discomfort.
To extend a line past fingertips and toes.
To turn out, find balance, respect music—and to hide the aches.
Ballet taught me discipline, artistry, community.
Kindred spirits from all over this beautiful planet—many I still hold space for, some 30 years later.
But it also showed me the subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways a person can be told they don’t belong.
Discrimination, before I had the word for it.
My spine curved with scoliosis, and so did my dream.
They said I lacked artistic expression. But that wasn’t the truth.
Private lessons followed—acting, expression, masks.
I learned to perform emotions I didn’t feel. To adjust to lighting, to environments, to protect tender parts of me with paint and poise.
Because sometimes, it feels safer to be seen as “Fine” than to be seen as bare.
But someone braver whispered the truth.
My mother.
She trusted me with honesty—truth wrapped in compassion.
It hurt. But it helped.
It marked a turning point. Growth.
The Woven Thread of Self
Each expression, challenge, and lesson became a thread—
Weaving the fabric of my life.
Our early wounds shape how we speak to ourselves.
They whisper in yoga studios, boardrooms, classrooms.
They echo in quiet scrolling moments:
“Not enough.”
“Don’t.”
“Not yet.”
“Not like that.”
Still—I practice.
Still—I show up.
Alongside others—some further, some newer, all brave.
Because showing up is brave.
Still—I Practice
Comparison is a trap.
Perfection is a myth.
We all carry stories—some whispered, some screamed.
Some written in muscle memory, others etched into visible scars.
Yoga, motherhood, aging—they’ve softened me. Not weakened. Softened.
Now, I care less about being the best.
And more about being present.
Being strong.
Being connected.
I celebrate those beside me—those who show up in pain, joy, or truth.
Their energy is felt. Their presence makes an impression.
I feel it all. Always have.
How people move, how they pause, how they breathe.
Those moments are windows into the deep, unseen parts of someone’s journey.
By honoring them—without trying to fix or change them—we expand our compassion, soften our judgments, and deepen our understanding of what it means to be human.
Where I’ve Found Safety
Their presence becomes a mirror.
A guide.
An invitation to reflect on who we’re becoming.
It’s here—on the mat—that I reflect.
I close my eyes and feel all that I am.
Safe enough to do so.
Sometimes I cry. I let it fall.
Sometimes I burst with inspiration.
Other times, I crumble—curled in child’s pose, it is all I can muster.
And that’s okay.
It’s okay.
At Yoga Generation, I move with ease—like little Mel, finally free again.
Here, I’ve found safety.
Here, I’ve healed.
The Bhagavad Gita says:
“Yoga is a journey of the self, through the self, to the self.”
And for me, that’s true.
This journey is not about perfection—it’s about presence.
Real Is Better
I’ve learned: I’m not perfect.
I never will be.
And, honestly, I’ve stopped wanting to be.
It feels so much better this way.
More real.
More alive.
Connection is the goal.
Grace.
Self-trust.
Joy.
And in a world obsessed with performance and perfection, to say—
“I’m okay with who I am, right now”—that’s a quiet revolution.
At least, for me it is.
Let’s Be Kind—To Ourselves and Each Other
So, I continue doing the inner work.
And I remind myself—and you:
Be the friend in you.
You’re the voice you hear the most.
Be kind, forgiving, compassionate, strong.
And when someone throws shade, rolls their eyes, makes you feel small—remember:It’s not often about you.
It’s likely their pain. Their wiring. Their unmet needs.
And if it still hurts? Let it.
You’re human.
When calm returns, let curiosity meet your pain—not shame.
Not judgment.
We are always, always learning.
Shedding skins.
Reclaiming joy.
Together, We Rise
I don’t just grow older.
I grow wiser. I grow freer.
And I hope you do too.
Let’s rise together—not apart.
Thank you for journeying with me.
In whatever capacity—it matters.
Because we are all connected.
With love,
Melanie Watts