It brings me great joy to reflect on my journey teaching children’s yoga—especially now, as I begin teaching it again. Children’s yoga has always been deeply personal to me. When my children were babies and toddlers, I was teaching baby and toddler yoga, and they came along with me to classes. I built a beautiful community of mums and babies, all moving through the same stages of early motherhood together. It was a time of financial strain, but also of enormous connection and support. I was able to work in a way that allowed me to bring my children with me, earn an income, and do something I truly loved.
Looking back now, those memories feel incredibly precious. I can still picture my youngest, before she could crawl, happily sitting with books and toys, watching the toddler yoga class unfold around her. Or my eldest joining in with children’s yoga, moving and breathing alongside the other little ones. Those moments are at the heart of why this work matters so much to me.
My first business, where I began teaching children’s yoga, eventually grew into a non-profit. An incredible team delivered wellbeing sessions rooted in everything I love: yoga, nature, being outdoors, teaching by the ocean, and even weaving in my love of surfing. It grew into something much bigger and more structured than I could manage alongside a growing family and a fully booked therapy practice. As the organisation expanded, it moved further away from the original reason I started this work—to live in a way that felt balanced, values-led, and supportive of my family’s wellbeing. I learned some very hard lessons about business, boundaries, and trust. I learned how easily creative work can be taken in directions that no longer align with your values. Along the way, I met some truly wonderful people who are still dear friends.
For a while, some business experiences took the joy out of the very things that support my own health and wellbeing. Yoga, creativity, and movement—things that once felt nourishing—became tangled with disappointment and grief. But time, reflection, and learning have a way of softening things.
Now, children’s yoga has found its way back to me—wiser, quieter, and more grounded. This time, I am keeping things small and manageable.
Why I Believe So Deeply in Children’s Yoga
I teach children’s yoga because I believe in it wholeheartedly—not as a performance, but as a lifelong foundation for wellbeing.
Children’s yoga can:
- Support emotional regulation and help children understand and express their feelings
- Build body awareness, strength, balance, and coordination
- Encourage calm, focus, and nervous system regulation
- Foster confidence, self-trust, and resilience
- Offer tools for managing anxiety, stress, and overwhelm
- Create a sense of connection—to themselves, to others, and to the world around them
- Provide moments of stillness and joy in an increasingly busy, noisy world
At its best, children’s yoga is playful, grounding, and deeply respectful of where each child is. It’s not about perfect poses—it’s about helping children feel safe in their bodies and supported in their inner worlds.
Coming back to this work feels like coming home.
Now I have come full circle, like the moon. I am running children’s moon yoga workshops at Maya and Moon studio in Christchurch.
It feels deeply meant to be—especially with my oldest daughter named Luna and my youngest named Moon. I am proud to now have my oldest in sessions as my assistant.
This journey was birthed alongside the birth of my children, and now it returns to them - Bringing the focus back to small, meaningful, heart-led work. Creating spaces where children can feel safe, calm, confident, and connected—to their bodies, their breath, their emotions, and their inner worlds.
If you feel called to this journey, I would love to welcome you and your children into these workshops. This is where my yoga story began—and where it continues, gently, intentionally, and in alignment with what truly matters.
Full circle, like the moon Children’s Moon Yoga workshops at Maya and Moon, Christchurch.
