Ahimsa: The Violence We Didn’t Hear Coming

While the world may churn with noise and division, the deepest revolution begins quietly—within our own thoughts, words, and choices.

Yoga teaches us that true change begins within.

We may not be able to end every war or heal every wound in the collective, but we can become guardians of our own minds, our own speech, and our own sacred ecosystems.

Every time we choose peace over projection, presence over gossip, and compassion over reaction, we make the whole more whole.

There’s a kind of violence that doesn’t look like violence at all.
It slides in through the backdoor of our minds, disguised as conversation, "concern," or “just being real.”

I’ve been working intensely with Ahimsa (non-violence), the first Yama—the very first principle on the Eight-Limbed Path of Yoga.

We often think of non-violence in terms of action or speech: don’t lash out, don’t speak harshly. But I’ve started to see that what we allow ourselves to hear can be just as dangerous.

Recently, I found myself pulling away from a powerful woman in my field. Not because of anything she’d done to me, but because of the stories others were telling. Whispered things. Emotional projections dressed up as warnings. And I listened.

I didn’t speak them out loud. But I let them in.
And that was enough to change my thoughts, my choices, my energy—enough to silence my own voice.

That’s where Ahimsa meets the throat chakra:
When we absorb speech laced with judgment, resentment, or unhealed pain, it doesn’t just harm the subject.
It harms us.
It tightens the throat. Muddies our reality. Undermines trust.
Steals opportunities.

If I want to live in alignment with Ahimsa, I have to take responsibility not only for my words but also for what I consume.
And when someone comes to me speaking harmfully of another, I now feel a deeper call:
To encourage them to go directly to the source.
To not be a container for resentment that isn’t mine.
To protect my mind and heart the same way I protect my body—by refusing to ingest what doesn’t nourish.

And if the judgment is coming from within—even when it’s a really vile act by another—I no longer feel justified in feeding my judgment. Instead, I flip it into gratitude that, by the grace of God, that isn’t me today.

We say we want unity. We say we support one another.
But I’ve seen this too often: even the biggest cheerleaders collapse when confronted by another person’s power. Especially when it’s a woman.
Instead of rising to meet it, we tear it down.

Sometimes, we judge those who triggered us—when really, we didn’t look in the mirror.
We abandoned ourselves, our power, our own voices in the moment, and later try to make sense of that by attacking someone else’s.

When we harm one, we fracture the whole.
Every judgment cast, every whisper of doubt ripples through the collective—because there is no ‘other.’
To speak against another is to speak against the divine in ourselves.

This is what I’m unlearning.
This is my yoga.

May we all take deeper responsibility for what we say, what we hear, and what we carry.

Thank you to my readers - you are the real ones, shaping a new world through your courage and responsibility.

A special thank you to my dear friend Cora Thomason— because none of us succeed in life on our own.

You've been a steady lighthouse in stormy waters. Your presence, your perspective, and your unwavering truth have helped me return to myself more times than I can count.

You don’t just reflect the light—you remind me that it was always mine to begin with.

Thank you for inspiring me to write. 

Thank you for challenging me when it would be easier to cosign my bullshit.

Thank you for holding space as I continue to unravel the knots between my head and heart, and weave them back into alignment. 

May you all be blessed with a love and an abundance beyond your wildest dreams.

Love & Light,
Amanda