The Yamas are the first of the eight limbs of yoga. They are often described as principles of ethical living, guiding us in how we relate to the world, to others and ultimately to ourselves. There are five Yamas: Ahimsa, non violence or non harming; Satya, truthfulness; Asteya, non stealing; Brahmacharya, moderation or right use of energy; and Aparigraha, non attachment or non possessiveness. I have come to think of the Yamas less as a set of rules and more as an invitation to look at ourselves. They ask us to examine the way we think, speak, act and respond. They bring our
attention to the patterns we may have developed over time, some of which we may not even question because they have become so familiar.
For me, understanding the Yamas has become less about learning their definitions and more about asking what they actually mean in my own life. Can I practice truthfulness when the truth is uncomfortable? Can I let go when holding on feels safer? Can I use my energy wisely? Can I recognize when my ego is influencing the way I behave? These questions can be uncomfortable, but they are also where the practice becomes real.
I want to explore each of the Yamas through this lens: not as an expert explaining ancient philosophy, but as a practitioner reflecting on how these principles have appeared in my own life. This is a glimpse through self reflection.
Ahimsa: The Practice of Non Violence
Ahimsa is generally understood as non violence or non harming. When I hear the words non violence, I immediately think of Mahatma Gandhi and his practice of non violence during India’s struggle for independence. I also think of Nelson Mandela and the long struggle against apartheid. Both are powerful examples of people who stood against oppression and injustice without allowing violence to become the means of their resistance.
But over time, I have started to think about what Ahimsa means in my own life. What does non violence look like when there is no large movement, no obvious oppressor and no one standing in front of you? What does it look like in our everyday relationships, in the way we speak, the way we react, the way we treat our bodies and even in the thoughts we have about ourselves? For me, one of the first places I had to look was my own anger. For many years, I did not fully understand how much anger was affecting me. A lot of my anger came from things I felt were justified. I became angry when I saw injustice, unethical behaviour or something I felt was
simply wrong. There were situations in my childhood, family and business where I knew something was not right, and remaining quiet was difficult for me.
The problem was not always the reason for my anger. It was what happened when I held on to it. Anger can build inside us. It may start with frustration or something that feels unfair, but if it is not dealt with, it keeps growing. I think of it almost like shaking a bottle of champagne. The pressure builds underneath, and when it is finally opened, everything comes out at once. That is how my anger could feel. I would shout, speak harshly or react in ways that affected both me and the people around me. Sometimes the situation would be over, but I would still be carrying the anger for days. I would replay the conversation, think about what I should have said
and become angry all over again. Looking back, I often knew that I could have said the same thing differently. I could have paused, taken a breath and given myself some space before responding. Knowing that and actually being able to do it were two very different things.
I began to understand that even when the reason for my anger was valid, the way I expressed it could still cause harm. Standing up for what is right does not mean that I have to hurt someone else, and it does not mean that I have to hurt myself by carrying anger long after the situation is over. Anger can affect our relationships, our ability to think clearly and the way we feel in our own bodies. It can leave us with guilt after we have reacted and keep us caught in the same
situation long after it has passed.
One of the things I have learned is that there is a space between reacting and responding. It may only be a few seconds, but that space gives us a choice. Instead of immediately saying whatever is coming up, I can ask myself what I am actually feeling, what has made me angry and whether I really need to respond at that moment. If I do need to speak, I can think about how to say what I need to say without creating more harm.
This has not made me silent. In fact, I have become more willing to speak when something does not feel right. I have stood up for people when I felt they needed support and spoken when I felt something was unjust or unethical. I have also become less afraid of being judged or misunderstood. There is a difference between anger and conviction that I have come to understand more clearly with time. Anger wants to win. It wants to prove that I am right. Conviction allows me to stand
firmly in what I believe without needing to attack another person. I can disagree.
I can say that something is wrong. I can speak directly and still have compassion for the person I am speaking to.
Someone once asked me if I considered myself an activist. I found the question interesting because I am actually a fairly quiet person. I do not speak much about my views on social media, and I do not usually describe myself as an activist. But it made me think about what activism really means. I do not think activism always has to be loud. It can also be standing beside someone who needs support, speaking when something is wrong, refusing to participate in something we believe is unethical or simply having the courage to act according to our values. Gandhi’s approach to non violence was not about doing nothing. He stood firmly against what he believed
was wrong without becoming what he was fighting against. I think there is something very powerful in that.
As I have become less afraid of losing people’s approval or acceptance, I have found it easier to speak honestly. I can say what I believe without needing to make someone else wrong. I can be direct without being cruel. I am still learning how to do this, but I see it differently now. The more I have looked at myself, the more I have realised that non violence is present in our lives in ways we do not always recognise. One of the places I notice it is in the way we speak to ourselves. Think about standing in front of a mirror and seeing your face change. A line that was not there before. Skin that has changed. A body that no longer looks exactly as it once did.
What do we say to ourselves in that moment? We can be surprisingly hard on ourselves without ever thinking of it as violence. We judge our age, our weight, our skin and our shape. We compare ourselves with the person we were ten or
twenty years ago, or with someone else standing beside us today. We look at ourselves and immediately begin to find what needs fixing.
Where is Ahimsa at that moment?
I have had to look at this in my own life as I grow older. My face is changing. My body is changing. There are things I can change and things I cannot. Constantly fighting what is inevitable only creates more suffering. I do not have to pretend that I love every change or that I never feel insecure. But I can look at myself without immediately criticising what I see. I can care for my body without treating it as a problem that is always in need of fixing. This has also changed the way I think about my body on the yoga mat. As a yoga teacher, there can be an unspoken expectation that we should look advanced in front of our students. To demonstrate very difficult postures and want our students to see what is possible. Sometimes the ego gets involved and we want to prove that we can do something simply because we are
the teacher.
I have seen this in myself, especially in the earlier years of my teaching. There were times when I pushed through pain because I wanted to demonstrate a position. I knew something did not feel right, but I wanted to perform. Looking back, I can see that I was asking my body to produce
a result instead of listening to it.
Today, I am much more aware of the difference between effort and aggression. Respecting the body does not mean avoiding every challenge. The body needs movement, strength and appropriate effort. If we never move, never strengthen or never ask ourselves to do something difficult, that is not necessarily kindness either. There are times when we need to challenge ourselves, and there are times when we need to stop. Learning to recognise the difference is part of my practice.
The same questions come up around food. I remember watching a documentary about animal husbandry that made me stop and think about what we consume and how it is produced. It made me question where our food comes from and what happens before it reaches our plate. I still do not have all the answers, and I do not pretend that I do. But I think there is value in asking the questions. Can we be more conscious about what we consume? Can we understand where our food comes from and, where possible, make choices that cause less harm? For me, Ahimsa is not about finding the perfect answer. It is about becoming more aware of the choices we make.
The same awareness comes back to anger. When I feel it rising now, I try not to let it sit inside me and build until it explodes. I try to notice it earlier. Sometimes I need to speak. Sometimes I need to step away. Sometimes I need time before I know what I really want to say. I do not always get it right, but I notice the difference when I do. This is why I think of Ahimsa as a practice rather than something we simply understand intellectually. We repeat it, we get it wrong, we notice, and we try again. With practice, the pause can come a little sooner and the old reaction does not always have to take over. I still become angry. I still have reactions that I have to question. I still discover things about myself that I would rather not see. But I am learning that everything does not have to be resolved through confrontation. There are peaceful ways of dealing with difficult situations, even though peaceful does not mean easy.
For me, Ahimsa has become much bigger than simply not hurting another person. It is in how I speak when I am angry, how I look at myself in the mirror, how I treat my body, how I teach and practice yoga, what I choose to consume and whether I speak up when something is wrong. It is also knowing when to step back, when to listen and when to let something go. And perhaps this is where the deeper work of yoga begins. We may come to yoga wanting to change our bodies, but over time we can begin to notice how we think, how we react and how we move through the world. The transformation may not always be visible in a photograph. Sometimes it is simply responding differently to something that once would have brought out the
same old reaction.
I am still learning when to speak and when to pause, when to challenge and when to soften, when to stand against something and when to let go. I am learning to recognise when I am acting from awareness and when I am acting from anger, ego or fear. I do not think Ahimsa is about becoming passive or avoiding difficult things. It is about finding the strength to stand for what we believe in without creating unnecessary harm. For me, that is the practice