I keep what you tell me
only as long as it serves you.

A simple promise, written out in plain English. No clever wording — only what's true.

What I collect

Only what you offer.

When you write to me through the form, I keep your name, your email, your phone, your city if you share it, and the words you wrote in the "what you're carrying" box. Nothing else.

No cookies that track you. No analytics that watch your every click. No tags sold to anyone. If you book a class or pay for one, I also keep that record — the date, the amount, the gateway reference — because I'm required to.

Why I keep it

To answer you well, and only that.

I read every inquiry myself. I keep your message so I can write back, remember you across visits, and understand your body's story over time. That's the only use.

I will not send you marketing emails. I will not add you to a list. I will not share your words with anyone — not a partner, not an algorithm, not a teacher I admire.

How long I keep it

As long as it serves you.

If you reach out and never return, your inquiry settles into rest after a while — written down, then quietly archived. If we stay in touch, your thread stays open.

If you ask me to forget you, I do, fully — every row, the whole story. To ask: write to me and say please remove me. That's all you need to do. I will confirm when it's done.

Your rights

What you can ask of me.

See what I have

Full export

I'll send you everything tied to your email.

Correct what's wrong

Edit anytime

Wrong number, wrong name, a sentence you'd write differently.

Be forgotten

Full deletion

No version kept anywhere.

Stop hearing from me

Instant opt-out

If I ever start a list, you opt out instantly.

The small print

Where things live, and how they're held.

Your data sits on Cloudflare (their D1 database), encrypted at rest, behind login. Emails are sent through Resend. Payments, when they exist, go through Razorpay or Cashfree — neither sees your message, only the transaction.

I am the only person with access to the inquiries and notes; if that ever changes, this page will tell you.

This page is dated May 2026. I'll revise it as the practice grows, and I'll tell you what changed.

If any of this feels off

Write to me. I'd rather hear from you.

The same form, the same one pair of hands.

The open hand

Privacy · May 2026 · in her words