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Sometimes we move through life
without noticing that we stopped living somewhere along the way.
We walk, we answer messages,
we finish tasks,
we do what “needs to get done”…
but inside, everything feels muted.
And the truth is:
we get used to living like that—
with a soft emptiness,
with half-presence,
as if we were here
only pretending to be here.
It’s not sadness.
It’s not depression.
It’s something quieter:
autopilot mode.
In neuroscience, this state has a name:
the Default Mode Network (DMN).
It switches on when you’re not really present—
when your mind drifts to the past or the future,
when your days blur together,
and your life keeps moving
but you’re no longer inside it.
The DMN isn’t “bad.”
It’s part of being human.
It helps you function without overthinking every step.
But when it becomes your main mode…
it dims you.
And the hardest part is that you rarely notice
when it started.
One day you just wake up
and realize it’s been a long time
since you felt like yourself.
I’ve been there.
In that place where you do a lot
but feel very little.
Where you laugh but it doesn’t feel real.
Where you move forward… but without soul.
Where you stop asking yourself
what you want, what you need, what you feel,
because you don’t even have room to hear the answer.
For me, it happened during seasons
where I was carrying too much.
Trying to be strong for everyone,
holding everything together,
pushing past my limits—
Until something inside simply shut down.
It was like my nervous system said:
“I can’t hold all of this. I’m disconnecting.”
In psychology, it’s called the freeze response.
You don’t fight.
You don’t run.
You just… shut off.
A survival mechanism
for when your body can’t take any more.
And when you shut down, without noticing,
you drift away from yourself.
You breathe less.
You feel less.
You watch your life from the outside.
And you convince yourself it’s “normal,”
that “this is adulthood,”
that “nothing’s wrong.”
Until something—
a practice, a moment, a pause—
touches you from within
and reminds you that you can come back.
For me, that something was yoga.
It brought me back slowly.
Back to my body,
my breath,
my inner voice,
to a version of myself that felt alive again.
Yoga activates a different network in the brain:
the Dorsal Attention Network (DAN)—
the network of presence.
The one that anchors you into this exact moment.
The one that quiets the noise
and turns your inner lights back on.
Harvard research on mindfulness and conscious movement shows that consistent practice:
- reduces overactivity in the DMN
- strengthens the prefrontal cortex (focus, decision-making)
- lowers amygdala reactivity (fear, anxiety)
- improves emotional regulation
- increases the sense of “being here”
Every conscious breath,
every posture you hold,
every moment you stay with yourself even when it’s uncomfortable,
inhibits the Default Mode Network.
In other words:
you step out of autopilot.
And that’s where neuroplasticity comes in:
“What you repeat, you reinforce.”
If you repeat disconnection → your brain treats it as normal.
If you repeat presence → your brain learns to come home.
That’s why consistency matters more than intensity.
Because it literally reorganizes your nervous system.
Every time you return to your mat, you strengthen networks that support:
• calm
• focus
• self-awareness
• intentional choice
• mental energy
• emotional regulation
And weaken the ones that reinforce:
• avoidance
• numbness
• “I’m fine” when you’re not
• living on autopilot
And that’s when life begins to shift
beyond the mat.
You sleep better.
You eat more intuitively.
You stop punishing yourself for not being perfect.
You notice your signals before you explode.
You become more honest, more aware, more you.
Yoga lit a light inside me
that had been off for years.
It didn’t turn me into “someone new.”
It brought me back to myself.
Maybe you’ve felt it too:
Days that pass without you actually living them.
Laughs that don’t feel fully yours.
Moments where your body is there
but your presence… isn’t.
Expectations you carry that were never yours.
Silences that weigh on you.
A tiredness that feels ancient.
That quiet sense of:
“I don’t know when I stopped feeling like me.”
You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re not failing.
Your nervous system is simply asking
to come back home.
Yoga is that doorway.
A way to switch the lights back on.
To feel again.
To inhabit yourself again.
Not to become perfect—
but to become real.
To become you.
If you’re moving through life on autopilot,
if you’re ready to wake up again…
I’m waiting for you at Niyat.
Here, we practice returning.
We practice waking up.
We practice living again.
Breathe.
Light up.
Come back to yourself.
