Yo Yoga Soul Yoga Therapy Hull

Boundaries and Processing: 🧘‍♀️ Why My Feed is Quiet (And Why that Makes Me a Better Yoga Therapist) 🏫

If you have noticed I am sporadic on here, you are right.

I am.

As a yoga therapist and educator, my daily work demands absolute vigilance, deep holding of space, and navigating a highly sensory world.

On top of that, I am navigating and processing my own neurodivergent journey.

Often, my nervous system gets maxed out. Just like yours.

I have zero interest in performing “perfect presence” on social media.

To keep my teaching authentic, positive, and deeply grounded, I have to ruthlessly protect my energy. That means muting the noise and stepping away from the screen.

When I am here, it is for high-value inspiration and genuine connection.

When I am not, I am practicing exactly what I teach: nervous system regulation, radical boundaries, and deep rest. And throwing heavy rocks to re-align my chakras 😂

Masking and people pleasing which lead to severe burnout was the price I paid with undiagnosed PTSD in my youth, and recently a late neurodivergent diagnosis post-menopause.

Thank you for being here for the real, sporadic journey.

What’s your version of a 'giant boundary rock'? Drop your favourite defensive emoji below.

Tell me I'm not the only one muting my phone this week!

✨

I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth...” 🌧️ is exactly where I feel today and many times previously having to mask with AuDHD which leads to burnout.

There is no cultural artifact better that captures the visceral, cellular exhaustion of neurodivergent burnout quite like Withnail shouting Hamlet at wolves in the pouring rain. Bruce Robinson’s film is also my all time favourite.

When you hit this wall, the cognitive override stops working, leaving your nervous system completely fried.

The world feels loud, sterile, and entirely “by mistake.”

In trauma-sensitive yoga therapy, we look at this exact moment not as a failure, but as a protective boundary.

Your body is forcing the rest you wouldn’t give yourself.

If you are currently standing in the metaphorical rain, please know:

🌱 You do not have to perform or “fix” this today.

🌱 Your value is not tied to your executive function.

🌱 Gentle, somatic rest—just lying flat on the floor—is medicine. Let the mask drop. Let the body collapse. The healing starts when we stop fighting the exhaustion.

🔗 If your nervous system needs a safe space to land, check the link in my bio for neurodivergent-affirming somatic support. I have a range of fabulous practices and tips!

If your nervous system could borrow a line from literature, poetry, or a movie to describe how it feels regularly, what would it say? Drop it in the comments. Let’s create a space for our unmasked, messy truths. 📝👇

Ever wonder how a trauma-sensitive yoga therapist with AuDHD manages their own emotional landscape? And yes, this is me dancing to deep house music to get a quick hit of dopamine 🎶 which neurodivergent brains lack.

Just like you, I have to actively cultivate safety in my body every single day.

Regulation isn’t about being perfectly calm all the time. It is about knowing what tools bring your nervous system back home when the world feels too loud.

Here is what my personal regulation sanctuary looks like lately:

🚶‍♂️ Intentional movement: Rhythmic walking for up to two hours a day to ground my feet. I loop in podcasts like Blindboy—as a fellow autistic creator, he completely speaks my language.

🧘‍♀️ Repetitive yoga: I flow in repetitive patterns. It is how I stim to channel and soothe my energy.

🎶 Dance music: Shaking out stagnant energy and boosting my dopamine for a productivity lift when working.

🏡 Radical quiet time: Treating my home as a strict sanctuary. After heavy social contact, I intentionally shut out the world to reset.

📚 Reading: Immersing myself in stories to rest my analytical mind. Growing up, making friends was tough, but I always found deep friendship in books.

🗓️ Predictable routines: Creating rigid daily rhythms. While it sounds strict to some, my brain feels entirely safe inside structure.

🎧 Noise-cancelling headphones: Actively turning down the volume of an overwhelming external world.

💼 Self-employment: Owning my time to honour my energy dips and flows. The traditional workforce isn’t built for neurodivergence, and corporate “inclusion” often feels performative. Working for myself keeps me safe. Working part-time is also low demand to avoid neurodivergent burn out.

Self-regulation is never one-size-fits-all. Your sanctuary will look different than mine, and that is exactly how it should be.

👇 What is one tiny thing that makes your body feel safe and regulated?

The overlap between Complex PTSD (CPTSD) and neurodivergence is deeply rooted in nervous system vulnerability.

Neurodivergent individuals possess a more permeable nervous system, meaning sensory inputs and emotional stimuli are processed with intense volume.

When a neurodivergent individual spends decades masking, enduring sensory assault, and facing chronic invalidation (gaslighting of their reality), the brain treats this as chronic, inescapable stress.

This alters the amygdala and prefrontal cortex function looking exactly like interpersonal trauma. It is often not a single shock event, but the trauma of invalidation and non-belonging that triggers CPTSD in neurodivergent folk.

🧘‍♀️ Traditional trauma therapy often relies on interoceptive awareness (e.g., “What do you feel in your body?”), which can be incredibly triggering or inaccessible for neurodivergent clients who experience alexithymia or poor interoception.

🧐 Because of your lived experience, I work with you by ditching the hierarchy: Shifting from “expert” to collaborative peer.

🧑‍🩰Offering true autonomy: Giving choices for every movement, breath, or stillness.

🧠 Validating the Sensory: Acknowledging that your sensory needs have to be met otherwise it can trigger a trauma response, and that is biologically valid.

👯‍♂️Regulation: Using my own regulated, unmasked nervous system to offer a safe anchor for yourself.

Why do I know all this? I’m AuDHD and worked on my CPTSD recovery. It’s lived experience.

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Aa a neurodivergent, daily interactions often make me feel like Jean Grey, the Dark Phoenix absorbing the powerful energy of the sun.

As an English teacher and Trauma-Sensitive Yoga Therapist, this has helped me understand how social communication affects the nervous system. Yet, for years, my own biology was completely depleted from fighting my own AuDHD traits. Accepting my neurodivergence wasn’t a mindset shift; it was a survival strategy to recharge my batteries.

Here is what that looks like for me:

🧠 Object Permanence: If it’s not in front of me, it slips away. People, places, things. It’s never a lack of caring; my brain just prioritizes what’s in front of me.

⏱️ Time Blindness: Two months or 20 years feel identical. When I reconnect with a friend, my brain picks up exactly where we left off. Linear time feels irrelevant.

📝 The “Surprise Essay” Effect: Group chats, messages, and random calls feel like high-stakes cognitive assignments. Masking makes digital contact utterly exhausting.

🌀 Monotropic Focus: When my work is busy, my brain funnels all power into one single tunnel to avoid burnout. Cutting off social bandwidth is a mental necessity.

💬 No Superficial Scripts: I loathe small talk. I prefer passionate deep dives. Because I am blunt and direct, I often get misunderstood as rude.

⚖️ Injustice Sensitivity & Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria: I over-analyse every interaction: feedback feels like severe criticism. I also deeply struggle to connect with anyone indifferent to social injustice or politics because it affects my disability.

🧘‍♀️ How This Connects to My Work: In my trauma-sensitive yoga sessions, I build the exact unmasked spaces our brains need. Zero social scripts. No expectations to perform. If your batteries are flat, you can show up entirely non-verbal and let your body safely process the overload.

Drop a 🔌 below if this is your brain, or DM me (zero pressure!) for 1:1 neuro-affirming somatic support.

Keep your ‘Divine Feminine.’ I’ll take the sledgehammer, thanks.

As a yoga teacher, I’m supposed to tell you to tap into your “Divine Feminine.” I’m supposed to invite you into a women’s circle to talk about softness and “flow.”

No thanks.

As a Neurodivergent intersectional feminist, I see the “Divine Feminine” for what it often is: A weaponised gender stereotype.

It’s a performance of “softness” that has no room for unmasked neurodivergent rage, the complexities of CPTSD, or the raw reality of menopause.

Using “Divine Feminine” as a tool for intersectional feminism is a paradox because that narrative usually centres on a very specific, white, neurotypical, able-bodied, “soft” womanhood that ignores neurodivergence, rage, and the systemic realities of CPTSD in a world full of patriarchal oppression that demands our female passivity. Also, the modern Divine Feminine often masks colonial erasure by centering white, middle-class aesthetics.

I’m not here to be a “goddess.”

I’m here to be Unmasked.

Being AuDHD means I can’t pretend and can only be my raw authentic self. And sometimes that means too much social interaction cause burn-out.

🧠⚡️My practice isn’t about “finding your light”—it’s about:

❌ Rejecting the performative (including “aesthetic” yoga poses such as arm balances and handstands).

❌ Dismantling the pressure to be quiet, nurturing, and “agreeable.”

✅ Validating the anger that comes with being a neurodivergent woman in a world not built for us.

I teach ‘Defiant Feminine’ yoga. It’s logical, it’s grounded in anatomy, and it’s for anyone who is tired of being told to “soften” when they actually need to solidify. 🛠️

Let’s stop performing. Let’s start being real.

Who else is done with the “Divine” and ready to be Defiant?

Drop a ✊ in the comments.

They say the body remembers, but sometimes the heart gets a beautiful reminder too.

🥹📖Today, a former student, who is now an amazing teacher shared this with me for “Favourite Teacher Day,” she dressed up as… me! I taught her over 20 years ago, yet the “story” we started in that classroom is still being told.

In my Yoga Therapy practice, I often talk about the narratives we carry. Seeing this reminded me that the seeds of regulation, creativity, and connection we plant decades ago never truly stop growing.

Teaching has always been about more than just lesson plans—it’s about connection. From the classroom to the yoga mat, the goal remains the same: helping others find their voice and feel at home in their own skin. If I inspired her then, she’s certainly inspiring me today.

🌿To my “mini-me”: thank you for reminding me why I do this work. Whether through a book or a breath, the impact we have on each other is a lifelong practice.

Ever feel like your body is holding a story your voice can’t find?

I see it everywhere: the ‘static.’ The neurodivergent and neurotypical student frozen over their revision and educational studies.

The adult who has talked or unable to discuss through their trauma but feels ‘stuck’ in their skin wanting to give voice to boundaries and reach self-empowerment.

We’ve been taught that English Literature is for the head and Yoga is for the mat and body. But what if literature is the key to the body? So, I’m bringing the Word and the Body together.

I am merging these two paths to create The Somatic Word.

I’ll be using the raw power of writers alongside somatic tools to help you find your unshakeable voice. It is for:

👨‍🎓Students: We’re going to use regulation to
unlock your highest grades.

🧘‍♂️Adults: We’re going to use literature as a
map for your own somatic healing.

No more ‘static.’ No more compartmentalising.

Just deep, integrated power. This is, after all, the holistic power of yoga.

I’m curious—do you find it easier to ‘speak’ your truth or ‘feel’ it? Let’s talk below.

When I look back at the ‘reviews’ of my life—the feedback from jobs, the internal self-critique, and the physical exhaustion—they tell a story of someone constantly trying to overcome a world not built for them.

As a yoga therapist, I was trained to help others overcome challenges. But for a long time, I was ignoring the sensory overwhelm and the rejection sensitivity (RSD) that were quietly breaking me down.

We need to talk about why this journey is so hard. For many undiagnosed neurodivergents, trauma is the shadow that follows us because we’ve spent decades in a state of high-alert, trying to mask our differences in a world that structurally doesn’t support us.

I am moving forward now, but I am doing it with a new set of rules.

🕥 Low Demand: I am choosing work that doesn’t demand I sacrifice my nervous system. I cannot work full-time, and that is a boundary, not a failure.

🏃‍♀️Pacing: I am no longer sprinting to keep up with neurotypical standards.

I used to think ‘overcoming’ meant becoming ‘normal.’ Now I know it means overcoming the shame of being different; it’s about finding the space where I can finally breathe as my full, unmasked self.

I’m not just a therapist; I’m a fellow traveller on 🧠 ADHD + ASD Journey.

Watch my story on why I’m moving forward with a new toolkit that prioritises sensory safety and nervous system regulation over the neurotypical hustle.

We are not broken. We’re just operating a different manual. Let’s find it together.

If you’re late-diagnosed, what was your biggest ‘aha’ moment?