The first yoga class ended in tears. Not because it hurt, but because something opened.

In the chaos of college—two degrees, full-time work, 80-hour shifts in a group home, surrounded by trauma and responsibility—yoga became the quiet place to feel. To breathe. To survive.

At just 20, she carried more than most, without the tools to hold it all. But the mat offered space. Not to fix everything, but to come back to herself.

Sometimes, healing begins with one deep breath and a flood of tears.

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