How I almost didn’t go.

My experience with yoga doesn’t start on the mat. Oh no, it begins days before. On Saturday, I’ll spot a Monday class and immediately think of all the reasons not to go: too tired, too busy, too out of shape, too hungover, too… everything. I find ways to convince myself that yoga just isn’t for me.

Then, my inner dialogue kicks in. Wow, that’s harsh, I think. I try to counter the criticism but get sidetracked by my brain imagining embarrassing moments: What if I smell bad? What if I can’t hold a balance pose and crash into my yogi neighbor? The mental gymnastics are relentless until—squirrel—something else captures my scattered attention.

Sunday Scaries

Fast forward to Sunday night. Fueled by a multipassionate energy that often leads to impulsive decisions, I’ll register for class online. It’s like I’m punishing myself for a weekend of indulgence. Suddenly, I remember everything else I “should” do: dishes, laundry, emails, kids’ schedules. But deep down, I know these excuses won’t get done anyway.

Stop it. You’re going, I tell myself. I know how my scanner brain works: a million projects, ideas, and reasons to avoid the discomfort of committing to one thing. But today, yoga wins.

Monday morning arrives in a blur of chaos (plus I’m likely hungover).
Me: Where’s your backpack?
Me: I didn’t wear your shoes last.
Me: Yes, chocolate chips in your pancakes—fine.

Kiss, kiss, love you, love you, out the door they go. And there I am, standing in the wreckage of a weekend: dirty dishes, laundry mountains, and that red, number-filled circle on my phone. But my desire to avoid chores outweighs my fear of yoga embarrassment, so I count down—5-4-3-2-1—and swap my “pajama” yoga pants for my “workout” ones.

Let’s F’n Go

Off to the health club I go, where I inevitably run into ten people who remind me I haven’t been here in forever. I cringe as my staff pass—yep, expired—betrays my year-long absence. It’s a reminder that hits hard, but I soldier on, literally because of the many hats I wear. My scanner self is used to trying new things, so why not yoga again?

I enter the studio, only to discover that my back corner spot is taken. The audacity. The search for a less exposed area ends with me squeezed in front of a pillar. I unroll my cheap Costco mat, feeling every ounce of self-consciousness bubble up. My mind races with insecurities: Will my tampon shift in down dog? Is my coat hiding its XXL tag?

I remind myself to breathe. Breathing through life’s mess, always juggling multiple roles and fears. The instructor asks us to set an intention. Mine has always been: Don’t look at the clock. Today, I add: Let go of self-judgment.

The class begins. My multipassionate self, used to bouncing between ideas, tries hard to focus. I move through poses, sweating, flushed, and completely absorbed. And by the time my favorite part—savasana—comes, I realize something: No one else cared about my fears.

No one even noticed me.

Lying there, feeling my pulse and breath, I’m grateful I came. I reflect on how much energy I wasted worrying about others. As a scanner, I know how easy it is to dwell on a thousand insecurities. But here’s the truth: Most people are too wrapped up in their own world to worry about your belly, hair, or shaky tree pose.

This realization frees me. No one cares about you as much as you think they do. It’s liberating. We can stay in our lane and do what brings us joy. For me, that’s trying things I’m scared of—pushing through fear to discover new passions.

So what does this mean for you? It means getting out there, trying the thing you admire in someone else. It means knowing your insecurities will be loud, but doing it anyway.

You might hate it. But you might not. As someone with a multipassionate, scanner brain, I promise you: You’ll never regret the things you did, only the things you didn’t.

You think you can’t, but actually, you can.