Finding trust and safety within: my 300-hour yoga teacher training experience

The warm wind kissed my skin as the scooter zoomed ahead, and then it hit me—no, not a bug this time (thankfully)—but a deep knowing. I had to leave the island. A lesson had sunk in, one I couldn’t unlearn. Staying might’ve been fun, but something inside had made the decision for me. Only a week before, I was leading my final class in the 300-hour yoga teacher training, talking about “inner wisdom.” And yet, when it came to my own decision of what to do next, I couldn’t tap into that wisdom. Nope. Stuck in the classic mind-flip—fickle, indecisive, as if I hadn’t just preached about the clarity of inner wisdom for hours.

Patanjali says yoga is the cessation of the mind’s fluctuations, but let’s be real—we’re not nearly there just by practicing some yoga. During this yoga teacher training meditation played a major role. Most yoga schools put asana on a pedestal, but I had picked this school especially for their focus on the deeper meaning of yoga. And meditation? It’s always felt like home to me. I was meditating long before I even knew what it was. As a kid, by age 10, I’d already learned to escape into myself when being around other kids all day got overwhelming. I’d close my eyes and watch the swirl of colours behind my eyelids settle.
I wasn’t raised spiritual, though—quite the opposite. Growing up atheist with a front-row seat to the pain religion could cause (thanks to a family torn by Jehovah’s Witnesses’ excommunication practices), I never saw my quiet moments as anything spiritual. They were just… survival. But even then, I was fascinated by belief. In fact, I picked a Christian secondary school, not because I believed, but because I wanted to understand devotion. There was something beautiful in deep surrender. Unfortunately, that school only confirmed all the dogma and hypocrisy I’d heard about. Still, I kept coming back to myself, unaware that my silent moments were shaping something deeper.

And then, life happened. I ticked all the boxes—house, business, partner, adorable dog, stunning surroundings. On paper, I had it all. But right when everything should’ve been perfect, I realised I’d been muting my own inner voice. My happiness, or rather, the lack of it, was the loudest whisper I couldn’t ignore anymore. At one of my lowest points, something happened during meditation that I can’t quite put into words. I tapped into a self that felt constant, unshakeable, and in that moment, I knew—I couldn’t die. It wasn’t some dramatic epiphany, but more like a quiet, undeniable truth sinking in and it made me (at least temporarily) fearless. That experience flipped my life upside down. I gave up everything—house, job, the whole shebang—and hit the reset button. From there, I dove into yoga and meditation with a seriousness I hadn’t felt before.

Meditation suddenly wasn’t just a good mental workout anymore; it had taken on a spiritual depth I never expected. What started as something for my brain turned into something that touched my soul. And that was the beginning of the real journey.

Fast forward to my 300-hour yoga teacher training. I had already done the 200-hour course with the same school, which was healing and beautiful. I met wonderful souls, felt myself opening up to life again, gained confidence, and even patched up some old wounds. For the first time in a long while, I believed in a future. Naturally, I expected this next training to be a similar experience—yes, I know, living in the now and all that, but let’s face it, we humans do tend to carry a few expectations with us.

I expected close-knit connections, lots of new insights, but the first three weeks were… unsettling. I felt alone, impatient to learn more, but instead, we were mostly just meditating. And sure, I had a solid meditation practice at home, so I thought, “How much more can this really do for me?” I was hungry for new knowledge, and I wanted it now—before the course ended! Sensitive to the energy around me, I struggled to feel safe in the group, but I kept pushing forward, giving it everything I had and enjoying every moment of beauty I find in yoga.

But disappointments came. Complicated emotions, confusing dynamics, and relationships that didn’t make sense. And then there was the one thing that didn’t change—meditation. By the last week, the lesson finally clicked. I had placed the yoga school, and its teachers, on a pedestal. I saw it as the perfect place, the only place where I could truly be safe and myself. So when I realised it wasn’t as safe as I’d imagined, it felt like my heart shattered and my world collapsed. Had I fallen for yet another false reality and was my 200-hour experience even real?

But after that collapse, came a realisation—deep and worth every bit of the pain. Safety was never outside of me. No bubble, no perfect person was ever going to make me feel secure. I had believed I needed to find good—maybe even perfect—people to trust. But it was their imperfections that taught me the real lesson: true safety and trust come from within. It’s when I’m connected to my inner wisdom that I am safe.

Luckily, as the weeks went by, something beautiful and unexpected happened—I made deep connections with some of my fellow students, the kind that sneak up on you. These are the friendships that stick, the ones that feel like they’re built to last a lifetime. We went through similar struggles, shared a common outlook on life, and that made our bond something unique. In fact, I learned more from them than any course or textbook could ever teach me. Of course, it wasn’t all meditation—I did pick up a few more skills along the way, and for that, I’m thankful to my teachers. But in the end, it was the friendships and the whole experience of 6 weeks being in that one place that truly shaped my experience.

The lesson hit me as I rode my rented motorbike the day after graduation. It was clear: the island wasn’t the place for me anymore. My time there had taught me what I needed, but it wasn’t the sanctuary I’d hoped for my growth, and my heart told me it wouldn’t make any sense to stay. First, I returned to my new home in Thailand, then life threw me a curveball with an unexpected trip to Cambodia. And in the midst of it all, life surprised me with a sweetness I never saw coming. The new found trust within myself has opened me to the world in ways I never thought possible, allowing me to experience a deeper love for people and life than ever before. And my gratitude? It belongs to the silence. To the meditation that stills the mind just enough to hear that inner guru.