About Boise Yoga Girl

---

I started teaching yoga in 2014, right after finishing my Yoga Alliance Certification at Hollywood Market Yoga in Boise’s North End. That little studio was where I first learned how to use my voice in a new way—less political, more personal. It’s also the year I met the love of my life. We were married the following year, and not long after that we opened Shine Yoga Collective on the corner of Broadway and Warm Springs. It felt like a dream: a brand-new marriage, a brand-new studio, and the beginning of a totally new chapter.

But dreams still need to be paid for, especially when you have three kids, two dogs, and a yoga studio to keep afloat. So I kept lobbying. To make the schedule work, I taught the 5:45 AM class Monday through Friday for three straight years. I’d leave the studio, grab coffee, and head straight to the Capitol to lobby for clients like UnitedHealthcare, Marathon Health, Kinsa Health, the Idaho Naturopathic Physicians Association, Berkshire Hathaway, Enterprise, Lyft—whoever needed someone in their corner. During legislative session I often didn’t leave the building until 7 or 8 PM. And while a normal session might last from January to March, the truth is: there were very few normal years. Some went until the end of May.

When the Legislature finally adjourned each year, I’d return to the studio full-time. I’d teach daytime and evening classes, trying to make up for the months I had missed. And because apparently I believed sleep was optional for young adults, I also ran a statewide fundraising campaign for a nonprofit that suddenly lost a major federal grant. Oh—and I ran a statewide campaign for lieutenant governor. All at the same time.

Eventually, my body decided it had had enough.

I started falling down—literally. No warning, no explanation. My nervous system just… glitched. My mom, who’s a nurse and does not mince words when she’s worried, told me to see a neurologist immediately. I got a referral, had an MRI and a CT scan, and then came the call. The kind you never forget.

There was a mass in my front left lobe. It looked like a tumor. They weren’t sure what kind. They hadn’t seen anything like it. They recommended Mayo Clinic.

My mom went into full mom-mode and got me an appointment with a specialist at Cornell Weill in Manhattan. We flew to New York, sat in the waiting room, and eventually the doctor came in and studied me with that quiet, careful energy you only see in people who know more than they’re saying. He asked about my life, my job, my schedule, my kids. He was kind. Then he asked the strangest question:

“Are you poor?”

I blinked. “No…?” I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“If you’re not poor,” he said gently, “then why are you working this many jobs? Because your body thinks you’re in danger. You are doing too much. And if you don’t let something go, you are going to continue to suffer.”

Then he told me the mass wasn’t a tumor at all. It was inflammation—my nerves were literally on fire. A tiny ball of fire in my front left lobe. My body had been trying to warn me for a long time. I just hadn’t listened.

So I had to choose. And as painful as it was, I had to sell Shine. I had to take care of myself because no one else was going to do it for me. I had spent years telling other people to slow down, breathe, listen to their bodies… and I wasn’t doing any of it for myself.

I learned the hard way. You don't have to...

I found yoga in the middle of a bitter divorce. At the time, my ex and I were both lobbyists, which meant we worked in the same building, in the same rooms, with the same people. Every day felt like walking into a pressure cooker I couldn’t step out of. It was… a lot.

A friend eventually convinced me to try a Bikram Hot Yoga class. I’ll be honest—I hated it. Every minute of that first class felt like torture. But something happened afterward. For the first time in ages I felt calm, almost weightless, like I had stepped out of my life for a moment and into myself. That feeling lingered for 24 hours, and it made me curious enough to go back. It wasn’t until my second class that I realized I had stumbled onto something truly transformative.

Bikram, if you’ve never tried it, is basically the military boot camp of yoga. The instructor tells you when to drink water—if you’re allowed to drink water at all. You’re told not to leave the room, not to wipe sweat from your face, and definitely not to fidget. For someone with a very busy mind—like I absolutely had during that chapter of my life—being still felt almost impossible. The instructions weren’t just challenging; they were confrontational.

And then there was the ear sweat. I hated the feeling of sweat collecting in my ear. It made me want to scream, shake my head, just do anything to get it out. But instead, I made it a personal challenge: could I stay still just a little longer? Could I delay the urge to fidget? Eventually, one day, I made it through an entire class without touching it. Not one adjustment. For someone who is sensory-sensitive, this was a massive victory.

That moment changed everything for me. If I could sit with something as irritating as ear sweat—something that made my whole body want to react—maybe I could also learn to sit with discomfort in other parts of my life. Maybe I could resist the pull of my ex’s bad behavior or any chaos around me. Maybe I didn’t have to react to everything.

And now, years later, I get to teach yoga all over the valley. My home studio is especially meaningful because I now teach side by side with those same Bikram instructors who guided me through those first messy, healing years. I count myself lucky to have met them when I did. They helped give me hope when I needed it most, and I’m eternally grateful.

Ear sweat is ridiculous, yes—but it’s also my reminder that I can hold steady through anything. It’s my story, my turning point, and my reason.

Today, the way I teach is shaped by everything I’ve lived through—my burnout, my healing, my curiosity, and my belief that yoga is as much internal as it is external. I teach to the subtle body. I teach students why we move the way we move, not just how. Because when people understand the anatomy behind a cue, the movement suddenly becomes meaningful.

When I ask students to turn their chin toward their front shoulder, it’s not just alignment for alignment’s sake—it’s to help stimulate the lymphatic pathways along the neck and throat, supporting immune function and clearing stagnation. It’s to gently activate the thyroid and parathyroid—the tiny glands that regulate energy, metabolism, and mood. When we come into Bridge Pose, I invite students to hug the knees inward not only to protect the low back, but to gently compress the kidneys and adrenal glands. That squeeze-and-release helps move stress hormones through the body, sending a message to the nervous system that it’s safe to soften.

I want students to know why things matter. Why a breath can change a moment, why a pose can support a system, and why small adjustments can shift energy we didn’t even know we were carrying.

Across all the different styles I teach, that philosophy stays the same. Here’s what each class looks and feels like:

My Hatha classes are slow, intentional, and accessible for every body. We spend time in each posture, exploring alignment and subtle shifts that create big impact. This is where I teach the “why” behind the movement:

• Why we rotate the chin to stimulate lymph drainage
   
• Why we root through the big toe mound to support the pelvic floor
   
• Why a small change in gaze can settle the vagus nerve

Hatha is the heartbeat of my teaching—strong, steady, and deeply connected to inner awareness.

My Vinyasa classes move like water: warm, fluid, and rhythmic. The sequences are intelligently built so the body opens layer by layer. We link movement and breath to:

• Increase circulation
   
• Support lymphatic flow
   
• Warm the fascia
   
• Build strength without strain

It’s a moving meditation—one that leaves you both energized and centered, as if your breath cleaned out the corners of your mind.

Sculpt is where yoga meets strength training. Light weights, high reps, and lots of fun. But it’s never just about building muscle—it’s about supporting the endocrine and nervous systems through strong, intentional movement.

We work:

• Glutes to support low back and sacrum
   
• Core to stabilize digestion and the solar plexus
   
• Shoulders and upper body to open the heart center and relieve stress

Students sweat, laugh, sometimes swear, but always leave feeling powerful in a way that resonates far beyond the mat.

Restorative is the place where your body finally says, “thank you.” Long holds, heavy props, and an environment that invites your nervous system into true rest. This is where we support:

• Adrenal recovery
   
• Hormone balance
   
• Lymphatic drainage
   
• Emotional processing
   
• Digestive reset

Your only job is to be held—literally and energetically. Everything else softens on its own.

Yin is slow, quiet, and disarmingly powerful. We hold postures for several minutes to target fascia, joints, and energy meridians. This helps:

• Release stored tension
   
• Improve joint mobility
   
• Hydrate connective tissue
   
• Balance organ systems through Chinese Meridian Theory

It’s the class where people meet themselves—not the surface-level self, but the deeper, intuitive, wise self that often gets drowned out by everyday life.

No matter what style I’m teaching, the intention is always the same: to help people understand their bodies, their energy, and their capacity to heal. Yoga saved me more times than I can count, and now I get to share the exact tools that helped me find my way back to myself.