WHAT I'M MOST PROUD OF

People see the accolades first.

They see 42 consecutive issues on the cover of Yogini Magazine and have followed the column I continued to write for ten years. 

They see me as a longtime adidas global ambassador, featured in national and global campaigns.

They might remember the Yoga Journal People’s Award in 2016.

And my favorite: they might say, “Yes, I’ve been to her studio. The beautiful sanctuary in Omotesando.” I kept the place pure and pristine, like a temple master in the heart of Tokyo’s fashion district for ten years.

I celebrate those things, too. Truly.
They are slices of who I am.

But if you asked me what I’m really proud of—what I hold in the quietest, most sacred place in me—I thought to myself today:

It’s none of those things.

It’s all of the mornings I unrolled my mat and practiced when I didn’t want to.
The days I was tired, broken, crying—and still showed up for myself.

It’s teaching the 6 a.m. yoga class, day after day, week after week, year after year, because that was the breath of my devotion.

Most of all, it’s the decisions I made that have shaped my life.

Like the day I knew I had to leave my first marriage because I knew I didn’t want my son growing up watching me that way.

It took me years to heal and to forgive, but by grace, I did.
And I'm so proud I did. 

I was still scared, though.
To believe in love again. To trust someone again.

It took me more than five years, but bravely and daringly, I opened myself to love again. 
Fully. Completely. Tenderly.

So much so that we created a new family together and welcomed our little boy born in our home, in our bathtub, in total peace.

It was an almost all pain-free birth! Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but they're actually possible. After my first birth, which felt like extended torture, I knew there had to be another way. 
And there was—because I trusted in the body’s wild, ancient knowing. And I'm so proud I allowed Life to pass through me that way.

I’m proud of the joyous family we became. 
Of the laughter, the softness, the strength.
So when my husband died suddenly, five months after we had welcomed that little boy with the fluffy hair—

my world ended.

And more decisions followed.

About how we would honor him.

And I’m proud—so proud—of the totally unconventional funeral we held.

Not at all Japanese. But deeply him.

I stood up for him. Against all cultural expectations, and even in the face of death, I did.

And I’m so, so proud of that.

Then came the days, the weeks, the years of grief.

Each one brought more choices.

And when the day came when the breath of my body gave in to sorrow so badly it could not hold,

I’m so, so proud of myself for how I picked up the phone and called the suicide hotline.

Four times, before I got through.

Somehow, the decision was to keep choosing life.

Even on the days when I felt I couldn’t anymore.

Even when the choice meant just to hang in and let time roll by.

Then, when the seasons turned,

I would choose again.

To open myself to the possibility of joy.

Again.

Just maybe—

A possibility.

So today, I want you to know: I’m happy. 

There are dreams I never got to live, and gifts I never dreamed I’d receive.

And I am content.

So content, that if I had to do this life all over again, I might just choose to be me again.

And I'd probably be proud of that choice, too.

Maybe someone needs to hear this today:

If you’re on one of those nights

Hanging on.

Letting time roll by.

In the cusp and threshold of your quiet decision-making,

It’s not over yet.

It’s not over until it is.

Just one breath. One decision at a time.

And when the moment comes, when there’s just the smallest flicker of space, open your heart to the possibility that it can get better. Just in ways you hadn't imagined.

In ways we can’t yet see.