When I first started writing this, I titled it “An OT’s Guide to Curating Your Home Yoga Space.” It was essentially a checklist of all the things you should consider in order to make space for your practice at home. It felt oddly prescriptive, and when I searched Google, I found many other guides all saying the same thing.

So instead of telling you what to do, I’m here to share with you what I did to make my home yoga space practical, personal, and supportive of my practice.

I practice yoga to feel good, not to look good or check a box on a self-care to-do list. I wanted a space that matched that energy. I wanted a space that felt both like a container for my practice and a reflection of it.

I knew my practice space had to be accessible and friction-free, or I would never get on my mat (I’m looking at you, ADHD). The only space in my 675-square-foot apartment that fits a mat is my living room, and that’s only when the coffee table is moved out of the way. I’m not going to lie: at first, I found it frustrating to move the coffee table and roll out my mat. But once I started viewing this as part of the practice itself, my perspective shifted.

Ritualizing the act of scooting the coffee table against the couch and rolling out my mat now serves as a welcomed transition out of my day and into my practice. My props became part of my living room décor because I kept them nearby. Once my home practice became easier to initiate, I became more consistent. I gave myself permission to just get on my mat and let that be enough.

Through my OT and yoga trainings, and a personal deep dive into Polyvagal Theory, I gained a deeper understanding of the nervous system and learned to speak the language of sensation and regulation. This insight led me to reevaluate my yoga practice space by considering our external senses (exteroception), how they affect us internally (interoception), and how the brain interprets these signals as safe, dangerous, or life-threatening (neuroception).

I know that sounds dramatic, but bear with me.

Visual Sense: See

The visual elements of my space were the easiest place to start. I gathered items throughout my home that reflected back to me what I wanted out of my practice and quietly communicated, this is a safe space to practice yoga.

I gathered candles, a monstera plant, a photo of my younger self, and an assortment of childhood collectibles (rocks and shells stored in an upcycled candle vessel). I placed the monstera next to a thrifted-blanket-draped chair in front of my mat. Beneath that chair sits my cat’s bed, next to a series of perches mounted to the glass balcony door that faces my apartment’s courtyard (hello sunshine).

I hoped she’d join me for the occasional cat-cow. Her gentle, curious presence offers opportunities for co-regulation (something I’ll explore more deeply another time).

Turning off the scary overhead light (I know you relate), switching on the soft glow of lamps, and lighting a candle or two became part of my ritual. Eventually, I added a sunset lamp that fills the room with golden-hour warmth regardless of the time of day.

Over time, my coffee table became something of an altar for my practice. It’s a place where I also sit to meditate, journal, and write, like I am now.

Olfactory Sense: Smell 

As I integrated candle-lighting into my practice, I began to notice how scent impacted my internal state. I’m rather sensitive to smells, so discovering that I love the fragrance of amber changed the game for me. I now light an amber candle and occasionally dab a bit of lavender essential oil on my wrists to support grounded presence through my olfactory senses.

Tactile Sense: Touch

Through trial and error, I learned what clothing works best for me—almost always loose, prioritizing comfort and mobility over aesthetics.

I practice on a Manduka Pro mat that my boyfriend kindly gifted me. It cushions my sensitive knees and wrists while still offering enough firmness for balance and strength work. It’s slightly cooler than room temperature at first, which I enjoy, and it warms with my practice.

My foam blocks carry battle scars (cat scratch marks), but they’re soft and supportive exactly where I need them—which is often. My bolster has a cotton cover, soft yet firm, holding its shape beautifully for seated meditation, yin, or restorative poses. I’ve also found some creative ways to use it that I’m excited to share in the future.

While yoga props can be substituted with household items, I’ve never regretted investing in these affordable (for me), good-quality supports.

Auditory Sense: Hear 

My apartment is nestled between neighbors on all sides. Occasionally, I hear them during practice, which mostly reminds me that I’m a human doing yoga while they’re humans doing human things. There’s something grounding about that.

I often turn on the ceiling fan (raise your hand if you’re heat-sensitive) for its predictable hum. I usually play music that matches the style of practice I’m moving through, and sometimes I enjoy guided audio or video practices. When I do use video, I keep the screen dim and positioned at the top corner of my mat so I can glance without orienting fully away from myself.

And sometimes, especially when I feel overstimulated, silence is what brings me home.

Now, none of this is required to begin a home yoga practice.

Your practice space can be transient, simple, and ever-evolving. And please don’t think I created this space in a day. It has developed slowly over the two years I’ve lived here, and I continue to adjust it as I go.

This isn’t meant to encourage you to buy new things. Social media and capitalism already do that well enough. Instead, I invite you to look around at what you already have—what might be reused, repurposed, or reclaimed as an intentional detail in your space.

Now, back to those two lesser-known senses: interoception and neuroception.

You might be wondering how you decide what’s supportive or regulating. I’m here to remind you that your body, specifically your nervous system, already knows, even if your cognitive awareness hasn’t caught up yet.

When considering my space, I pay attention to interoceptive cues: the quality of my breath, my heart rate, tension, temperature, and a felt sense of does this feel safe? does this sit right with me? does this move me toward or away from practice?

It’s taken time to develop this awareness, and yoga has been the conduit for landing where I am today.

You can do this too.

Instead of asking How do I want my space to look? try asking How do I want my space to make me feel? Then take small, gentle actions that move you toward that felt sense. There is no ideal end result. There is no pressure to post or share your space. Your home yoga space is simply the space in your home where you choose to practice.

My Gentle Invitation

If this reflection resonated, this is the lens I bring into my teaching.

In Slow Sunday Yoga Club, we explore practice that is accessible, adaptable, and responsive to the nervous system. We move slowly enough to notice sensation, breath, and what feels supportive for you. It’s a space to practice without performance, to experiment without pressure, and to reconnect with your body in a way that fits your real life.

If you feel called to explore these ideas through guided practice and shared experience, I’d love to have you there. Click here to learn more.

And whether or not you change anything about your space, I hope this reflection helped you feel a little more permission, curiosity, and ease around your practice.