Hi everyone, it's Rosie. Welcome to Radio Headspace and to Tuesday.

So a few years ago, I found myself wandering through a dense forest in the Pacific Northwest,

surrounded by towering trees and a gentle mist swirling through the air. In that serene setting,

I stumbled upon a hidden clearing filled with vibrant flowers in bloom. As I stood there taking

in the beauty of nature, a subtle but undeniable realization washed over me, I began to reflect

on my journey of self-acceptance. I noticed that, like those flowers, each with its unique shape,

color and imperfections, the idea of self-acceptance is about honoring the beauty of our own

uniqueness without judgment or comparison. If you listened yesterday, you know that we're continuing

to talk about self-acceptance, what it is, and techniques to help us tap into it. For me,

the journey towards self-acceptance was not always smooth. There were moments when self-doubt

cast its shadows when I felt like an impostered my own skin and the weight of expectations threatened

to consume me. So today, I'm going to talk about one of those times and how I realized that

self-acceptance is a journey, not a destination. When I first started teaching yoga and meditation,

it was difficult standing in front of a classroom of people waiting for me to guide them.

I had practiced countless times, yet the first time when faced with actual faces staring right at me,

I froze. I stumbled all over my words and it took every fiber of my being to not run out of the room.

But deep down, I knew that running away was not an option. My training taught me to embrace the

vulnerability I felt. So I started with acknowledging my emotions, fear, anxiety, and self-doubt.

Then I remembered what had brought me to this moment. I studied, trained, and did the work.

Yes, I had self-doubt, but I also held the knowledge to get the job done,

and I accepted that both those thoughts can exist simultaneously. From there, I felt a sense of

clarity. The class started and nobody left. Nothing catastrophic happened. Afterwards,

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