Practice What You Preach: Thriving in a Career of Caring Through Movement
It’s April and spring has sprung, which means a few things to me. Firstly, it’s my birthday month, so there’s always some reflection and adjustment as I let go of one defining number and settle into rhythm with the next. This year is particularly interesting as I’ve turned 49 — and somehow, everywhere around me, I’m told that something major is going to shift when I turn 50 next year. I’m considering not buying into that narrative.
Secondly, it’s the month before examinations for the current cohort of students I’m mentoring toward their Pilates Teacher Qualification. Having witnessed this journey — from training, to embodying, to examining — many times now, I’m often struck by the pressure some students place on their bodies in the rush to certify within a short timeframe. Perhaps it’s a sign of our times, where we humans expect so much of ourselves, and everything must be immediate.
Before I begin to unpack what’s on my mind, I want to acknowledge the title of this post: Practice What You Preach. I’m not entirely comfortable with the word “preach” — I sincerely hope that the recommendations and guidance I offer to clients and students have never come across that way.
That said, the meaning of the idiom — behaving as you would have others behave — is a foundational concept for me, both as a movement teacher and a human. I try to be guided by it, though of course, I’m not always successful.
So, what’s prompted this reflection?
I witness students physically cramming — forcing their bodies into the most advanced movement variations in the final months before exams, even if they’re not quite ready. It’s understandable; they want to demonstrate their capability. But in doing so, they might be missing the point. If you’ve worked with me or read my previous posts, you’ll know I prioritise understanding and embodying the principles of movement over the specific variation being performed.
My aim is to help someone engage with a movement in the most efficient way for their body in that moment. These trainee teachers understand this — they try to apply it in their apprentice teaching — and yet, when it comes to themselves, we humans often skip the kindness and patience, holding ourselves to impossible standards. This can, of course, lead to injury — something I’ve unfortunately seen too often, and something we are trained to help our clients avoid.
Mastery, by its very nature, takes time. It involves repetition, patience, and presence. In movement, that means letting your body wake up, noticing held patterns, learning new ones, and gradually reorganising — which brings real strength and balance. It means understanding how to break down, modify, and build up movement for what is most effective right now.
It’s like learning a language — you don’t expect fluency overnight. You learn the vocabulary, the grammar, the accent, and slowly build from phrases to conversations.
So, here’s my first point about “practising what we preach”: can we give ourselves the time we need? And can we recognise that the time it takes is unknowable at the start? When students truly grasp this — when they become present with their own bodies and with those they teach — that’s when the magic happens.
Lately, I’ve also heard a few newly qualified teachers share how shocking it feels to transition from the self-focused “training period” into the reality of holding space for others — seeing many clients, running the business. The giving can feel relentless. So, can we instil good habits of self-care and balance from the start? How do we refill our own cup, when others come to us to fill theirs?
It made me reflect: what is it that I preach? And do I genuinely practice it?
I believe, for the most part, I do.
I already mentioned the value I place on regular practice — on exploring one’s potential in any given moment, and having the patience to see what unfolds over time. I have developed some good habits to support that.
Mondays start with an early morning Hypopressives sequence. I’ve impressed the importance of regular practice on my clients, especially when they’re first learning this technique. Daily practice is recommended for the first six weeks — a demanding ask — but once the skill is there, weekly maintenance feels effective to retain its benefits.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I work one-to-one with clients in my studio. About five years ago, I finally learnt to schedule time for myself in the diary, just as I do for them. So I, too, get full movement sessions. “Not enough time” is no longer a valid excuse.
When mentoring, I teach students to physically run through the classes they plan — does it flow? How does it feel to your body? Do you crave additional movements or changes as a “participant”? Does it feel complete, and did it build your awareness to be able to meet your potential for the challenges of the class? Each Wednesday, I teach an intermediate group class, and begin the day by running through it myself. This supports my presence when teaching and enables my personal mat practice.
On Fridays (fortnightly), I film content for my OnDemand platform. Filming means I’m fully present in my body, exploring movement with intention — and in aiming to create a quality experience for others, I also create it for myself.
I’m also currently training to qualify as a Moving Fascia teacher. Like the Pilates students I mentor, I’m in the process of absorbing a new method — indulging in learning, experimenting, and growing.
So yes, I believe I do practice what I preach.
Turning 49 this month reminded me that while I’m surprised to already be in my 50th year (as my daughters gleefully point out), I feel good. Good in my body. Stronger, more capable, and more connected to myself than at any other time.
This isn’t about how I look, but how I feel. I’m not afraid of ageing, because I know I have the tools to stay strong, able, and engaged in the life I want to live. I can move through most of the advanced Pilates repertoire with ease and control — something I couldn’t do when I first qualified in 2001, aged 25. These days, I give my DNS practice regular attention — and my function benefits greatly as a result. Through the lens of Moving Fascia, I’m beginning to unravel long-held tension patterns — stories written into my tissues — and finding more ease in places where there used to be pain. It’s also helped me restore the integrity of my abdominal wall after diastasis recti from my pregnancies. That’s a huge personal win — one deserving of a blog post of its own.
Beyond movement, I find myself offering guidance on communication and self-awareness. As an educator and mentor, I help students reflect on how they verbally cue, and whether their communication lands effectively.
Building my movement library has given me a chance to observe myself — not just moving, but cueing. Each time I edit a video, I learn something new about how I teach. I listen to my own voice (never easy!) and ask: am I communicating as I hope my students will? What does my tone, my pace, my imagery convey? I’m also allowing myself to evolve as a communicator.
As co-owner of a holistic clinical practice, I also consider my role in the wider wellness landscape. I advocate for whole body, whole life health — because we are complex beings living in complex times.
I’ve lived with a long-standing inflammatory condition, which has required me to make many non-mainstream lifestyle changes. Over the last 15 years, I’ve slowly detoxified my body and my environment. This has meant prioritising water quality, switching skincare products, making and using natural cleaning solutions, and among many other things grounding myself (literally) to counter the onslaught of electromagnetic energy that now surrounds. So yes — when I guide others in health and movement, I do feel I can say, with integrity, that I live what I teach.
That said, it’s always a work in progress. I don’t always get the balance right. But I’m grounded by the trust placed in me by those I work with.
This past year has been monumental — and yes, I demanded a lot of myself. But in alignment with what I ask of others, I’ve slowed my pace: reduced the frequency of new recordings, taken time off, woken early to move, and put my bare feet on the earth in this spring sunshine — to pause, and take my time.
