At 13, a spinal surgeon told me my scoliosis wouldn't ruin my life "unless you want to do bikini modeling." That comment stuck with me, framing my condition as a disfigurement to hide. I declined surgery, but shame took root.
My scoliosis was discovered by a dance teacher who noticed my uneven hips. Hospital visits confirmed a thoracolumbar curve, tilting my pelvis and making my right hip higher. Under clothes, it's subtle, but in summer wear, my hips sit lopsided. The surgeon's words echoed every time I tied a bikini bow.
For years, I felt lesser. I sought validation through academics, spending my GCSE years studying obsessively. A therapist suggested yoga for stress. I tried a class and fell in love with the rhythmic movements.
Yoga became my salvation through university, the pandemic, and my journalism career. After long days in press pens, I'd end with downward dog—anywhere with a mat. In 2025, I took a break from journalism to qualify as a yoga instructor. Training emphasized consistent practice, something my scoliosis had already given me through years of daily physio.
For the first time, I felt grateful for my wonky spine. It became my motivator, not a flaw. Now I teach hot yoga, and I've posted photos of my Lycra-clad body online. It's not bikini modeling, but it's close enough.