Alice In Yoga Pants

There was a time when getting dressed felt like a negotiation, between comfort and appearance, between what I needed and what I thought I was allowed to choose. That tension used to live right at the start of the day. It doesn’t now. I wake up and move slowly, not because I’m fragile, but because I don’t need to rush past myself. A fresh diaper. Soft plastic pants. Leggings that feel familiar in my hands. These aren’t decisions that require courage anymore. They’re part of the order of things, like brushing my teeth or tying my shoes. Getting dressed is quiet. There’s no mirror moment that demands commentary. No checking to see if I look “acceptable.” I pull things on the way I always do, adjusting fabric with practiced ease. Comfort settles first. Everything else follows. This is what living softly looks like in the morning, not ceremony, not self-care theater. Just care, built into the routine. The house feels calm when I’m calm. Light comes in through the windows. My tote wait...

After release comes choice. After choice comes something even quieter: listening . For many incontinent yogis, the hardest part of practice isn’t strength or flexibility, it’s learning to trust the signals of a body that once felt unpredictable, embarrassing, or unsafe. Leaks, urgency, protection, and vigilance can teach us to override sensation instead of respond to it. This post is about undoing that habit, slowly, kindly, and without pressure. When the Body Learned Not to Speak If you live with incontinence, chances are your body learned some protective strategies that made sense at the time: Clenching before you move Bracing “just in case” Ignoring early signals Distrusting softness These aren’t failures. They’re adaptations. But yoga invites something different, not control, but conversation. Listening is how that conversation begins. What “Listening” Actually Means in Practice Listening isn’t waiting for perfection or clarity. It’s noticing without rush...

I don’t feel the need to explain myself as much anymore. Not because the questions stopped, but because the answers have settled into my body. Soft Strength did that. It taught me that I don’t need to brace before being seen, and I don’t need to harden in order to move through the world. What I’m noticing now is quieter. My days begin gently. I get dressed without negotiating with myself. A fresh diaper. Soft plastic pants. Leggings pulled on with familiarity, not ceremony. Comfort is no longer a decision I debate; it’s something I reach for the way other people reach for coffee in the morning. Automatically. Without commentary. There’s nothing dramatic about it anymore. And that feels like progress. This isn’t confidence in the loud sense. It’s something steadier. It’s presence. I leave the house already settled. I don’t scan for reflections as often. I don’t rehearse explanations in my head. I carry my tote, move through errands, step into studios and cafés the way I step into my ...

If you read Release Before You Strengthen and felt seen, you’re not alone. That post stayed with people because it named something many of us already knew in our bodies: that forcing strength without safety doesn’t work, especially when you live padded, tender, or vigilant. But release isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning of choice . Once your body knows it’s allowed to soften, something remarkable happens: you gain options. You’re no longer clenching out of fear or bracing out of habit. You can decide, moment by moment, whether to rest, support, or gently engage. That’s integration. And it’s where confidence quietly grows. What “Integrated” Pelvic Floor Practice Really Means An integrated pelvic floor isn’t strong all the time. It’s responsive . It can: Soften when you sit, rest, or breathe Support when you stand, lift, or move Let go again without panic For incontinent bodies, this adaptability matters more than raw strength ever could. You’re not training for control. You...

Part of the Soft Strength Series by Alice in Yoga Pants For a long time, I thought softness was something I had to earn, or worse, something I had to hide. Softness felt risky. Softness felt visible. Softness felt like it might undo whatever strength I was supposed to have. And leggings? They felt like the most obvious symbol of that risk. What I didn’t understand yet was this: Softness didn’t weaken my masculinity. It clarified it. What I Was Taught Strength Looked Like Like many men, I learned early that strength was about: pushing through discomfort staying contained not needing too much not showing softness You hold it together. You endure. You don’t adjust the world around you; you adapt to it. Living with incontinence quietly challenged all of that. Because my body didn’t respond to force or denial. It responded to care. Leggings Were Not a Rejection of Strength When I started wearing leggings, it wasn’t about fashion or rebellion. It was about...

When I say that I adopt a feminine and androgynous presentation, I’m not talking about labels, identities, or performance. I’m talking about how I hold myself in the world, and what allows me to function with clarity, calm, and integrity. I’m Alice. I’m a man. And the way I present myself is a deliberate choice, not a confusion. Feminine and androgynous presentation, for me, means choosing softness where rigidity once existed. It means allowing flow, balance, and care into how I dress, move, and occupy space. It’s not about becoming something else; it’s about becoming more aligned. I’m not attempting to imitate womanhood, nor am I rejecting masculinity. I’m stepping away from a version of masculinity that never fit me well, one built on hardness, suppression, and constant performance. In its place, I choose a presentation that supports steadiness, emotional literacy, and presence. This shows up practically. In clothing that prioritizes comfort and gentle structure, leggings, yoga ...