Satya & Svadhyaya: A Neurocomplex Take on Yogic Truth & Self-Study
A trauma-informed look at these yogic limbs—for anyone who’s ever found themselves seeking a more aligned, truthful version of Self.
Yoga’s been a lifeline for me since I was 19.
What started out as a hobby in a fitness phase, ended up becoming a true special interest. A place I’ve returned to again and again through burnout, depression, addiction recovery, identity collapse, and the slow rebuilds that follow. Before I ever knew I was Autistic and ADHD.
This was me—newly trained yoga teacher, freshly certified, diving headfirst into a life that felt closer to truth.
I’d just finished my 200hr YTT, quit my 9–5, and landed in the Costa Rican jungle mid-pandemic—trying to outrun heartbreak after a painful relationship ending in NYC. Teaching yoga after practicing it for 15 years felt natural. I’d always been an educator.
But looking back? It wasn’t quite it. More of a stepping stone. A classic AuDHD moment of “trying on” a path, hoping it would feel like home.
It didn’t end in bliss. I burned out. Hard. Eventually moved home to Australia with my mum to heal. Still here — Thanks, Mum!
And still—this chapter was sacred.
After years of chasing highs, it taught me to slow down.
To listen.
To begin remembering… myself. My truth.
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For sensitive, neurocomplex humans like me, practices like yoga aren’t just nice to have. They become portals. Lifelines. Anchors in a world that often feels too loud, too fast, and too full of expectations we never agreed to.
And among the tools it’s gifted me, two have become central to how I live, write, relate, and heal:
Satya (Truth) and Svadhyaya (Self-Study).
These are two limbs of the yogic path—and two pillars of what I now see as deeply neuroaffirming practices when approached through a trauma-informed, compassionate lens.
Because taken out of context—or filtered through a capitalist, ableist, or wounded perfectionist mindset—these very same practices can easily be twisted into tools of pressure, performance, or self-judgment. I’ve seen it. Been it. Lived it.
But at their core, Satya and Svadhyaya were never meant to push us harder or make us more “productive.” They’re invitations to come home to ourselves. Gently. Honestly. In our own time.
I love bridging worlds—so let’s dive in…
🕊 Satya: When Truth Is a Nervous System Thing
In yogic philosophy, Satya means truthfulness. But we’re not just talking “don’t tell lies.” This is about living in alignment with your unshakeable truth—your atma. That deep, unchanging essence underneath all the conditioning, masks, trauma, and people-pleasing.
Which, if you’re neurodivergent, you might know all too well.
Because we’ve spent years contorting ourselves into what’s expected. Performing palatable versions of ourselves to be accepted. And often… forgetting who we were before all the scripts.
For me, Satya came crashing into my life the year my nervous system gave out. A real slap in the face — Satya often is.
I’d been a primary school teacher for 7 years. The first few? Beautiful. I worked in a school where my values were seen. I thrived. But then I moved to London and spent 4 years pretending I could adapt to a system that was the exact opposite of my truth.
While I see it as vital learning and soul level growth, it broke me.
I fainted in classrooms. Had daily panic attacks. Hyperventilated in the classroom closets. Worked inhumane hours. Spent weekends self-destructing, chasing dopamine highs to escape.
But I stayed. Monday to Friday, I pushed down, and pushed through.
Because I’d internalised a lie: If I just try harder… I’ll finally be good enough.
Spoiler: I wasn’t. Not because I was broken, but because the system was never designed for people like me. And my body—bless her loyal, screaming wisdom—knew it long before I did.
Eventually—after repeated meltdowns, skin rashes, workplace bullying, and multiple stress leaves—I cracked.
Or rather, I got honest.
I admitted that I couldn’t keep betraying myself just to survive.
Walking away from teaching in London wasn’t failure.
It was truth.
It was my Satya in action.
It’s taken years—of trialling jobs, cities, hobbies, and identities—to slowly edge closer to a life that feels more honest.
My life now reflects more of who I am.
More nervous system alignment.
More creative joy.
More integrity.
More internal peace.
And way less performing.
And while I’ve had to accept that my window of tolerance is much smaller than I once believed—back when I was running on fumes—I’ve also learned to love my lower capacity for bullshit.
Because that’s what it is… noise.
Now, I have to be discerning.
About how I spend my time.
Who I share my energy with.
What I let into my world.
And what’s left?
Is actually what I love.
What nourishes me.
Thank you, Satya!
🧘♀️ Satya on the Mat: The Lie of “One More Pose”
This isn’t just philosophical. Satya shows up on the mat, too.
Especially when you’re in a packed city yoga class, clocking the handstand girl in the front row while your dodgy shoulder whispers “ummm, absolutely not.”
Been there. My first yoga experience was full-series Ashtanga. I came from the gym world—a dopamine seeker hungry for intensity but yogi curious—so this style of yoga felt like the perfect bridge between gym junkie and peaceful yoga girlie.
I got to push myself, but also began learning the subtle art of listening and observing the ego. In those early years, I was obsessed. Totally addicted to chasing the “advanced” shapes. I craved the high in every class. My hypermobile limbs relished the bending and stretching, and my ego relished being “good” at certain poses.
Which eventually, led to chronic lower back and shoulder pain.
At one point, even simply lying on my back in savasana hurt.
Why? Because I was lying to myself about what my body needed. I wasn’t listening. I was performing. I was competing. I wasn’t a yogi. I was a perfectionist in stretchy pants with something to prove (gulp, satya slap!).
It took injury (classic ND life lesson delivery system) to teach me that truth on the mat = meeting yourself as you are. Not where you think you should be. Not where your ego wishes you were.
Satya, in asana (poses), is checking in honestly, practicing restraint when needed, and knowing that discipline includes knowing when not to push. We got there eventually…
🔍 Svadhyaya: Studying the Self (Capital S)
Enter Svadhyaya—the practice of self-study.
Self-study isn’t just reading spiritual texts (though I do love me a good Bhagavad Gita moment). It’s about watching yourself with curiosity instead of criticism. It’s noticing patterns, triggers, and beliefs… but the key is to do so, without shame.
It’s getting real about what’s yours and what’s conditioning. Observing yourself, your behaviours, your triggers, and truly listening. It’s shadow work.
A simple example for you: 2020 Lockdown life in NYC. My partner at the time very gently asked if I could maybe… put my clothes away sometimes.
My response? INTERNAL RAGE APOCALYPSE!!
Cue rejection sensitivity dysphoria… fiery chest, defensive snark, and a sudden need to make him the villain in a very dramatic inner monologue.
But then something happened.
I paused. Stepped away. Breathed. And a tiny voice inside me whispered:
This isn’t about him.
I meditated. Reflected. And realised: I had an old, painful identity wound around being “the messy one.” — Classic unrecognized AuDHD’er. Always being told “I was messy” by my caregivers, teachers. Something that got embedded in childhood. And now? It was surfacing to be witnessed, with an opportunity for healing.
That’s Svadhyaya.
Noticing the story.
Pausing before reacting.
Sitting with the discomfort of being seen.
And slowly, rewriting the script.
Neuroaffirming disclaimer —
Here’s the thing, when you’re late-diagnosed, deeply masked, and only just beginning to unlearn a lifetime of fawning and self-erasure… self-study gets complicated. And one must tread carefully…
If you’ve spent your life letting people put you down, shrinking yourself to stay safe, or carrying an internalised shame spiral that pins everything on you—then “taking full responsibility” can actually reinforce harm. Especially when what you're blaming yourself for might be rooted in a very real, very valid disability.
This has been one of my biggest lessons: learning to discern the difference between accountability and shame. Between what’s mine to own—and what’s just a trauma echo or the result of unmet neurodivergent needs.
It’s a delicate balance. And I’m still learning. But Svadhyaya, done gently, helps me separate truth from conditioning. With love, not punishment.
Satya + Svadhyaya = Coming Home to Yourself
These two yogic principles don’t just live on your mat. They’re nervous system, heart-centred tools. Lighthouses for unmasking and re-aligning.
Satya asks: What’s real?
Svadhyaya asks: What do I notice?
And together, they gently guide you back to your Self.
Not the masked, coping, overachieving one.
The deep, wise, authentic one.
The one who’s been waiting for you all along.
Dearest reader, thank you for being here.
May your journey home be guided by truth, softened by compassion, and anchored in the knowing that you were never broken, just becoming.
— Nicole
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I loved learning about Satya in action! I need to reread this again because there is so much to learn from this post that it will take several reads for it to sink in.
Umph…so many points of OMGs YES. Just…so many.