Students of yoga often react when I tell them that yoga is about controlling the mind. It challenges their understanding. The mind cannot be controlled.

But the mind is at the heart of the yogic path. Interestingly, neuroscience is also beginning to echo what yogis have long known.

I wasn’t surprised when I heard neuroscientist Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, famous for her TED Talk “My Stroke of Insight,” share this interesting information:

“When we have an emotional reaction, the chemical surge it creates in the body lasts only about 90 seconds. That’s it.” After that, if we’re still feeling the emotion, it’s no longer the raw experience—it’s the story we’re telling ourselves that keeps it alive.

Ninety seconds! Isn’t that amazing?

This insight deeply resonates with the principles of yoga philosophy: Thoughts and emotions rise and fall like waves. It’s our attachment and identification with our story that causes suffering. The practice of yoga teaches us to be the witness rather than cling to our thoughts and emotions.

In yogic philosophy, this concept is explained through the principles of smṛti (memory) and saṃskāra (impressions). These are mental imprints in the mind, habits of thought shaped by past experiences. They continue to play out unless we consciously choose to stop them.

Emotions are, by nature, temporary. They rise, they peak, and if we allow them, they pass. Whereas what often lingers isn’t the emotion; it’s the story we attach to it. Recognizing that we can control our minds empowers us to manage our emotional lives effectively.

We all experience emotions. Something happens, and suddenly, we’re spiralling. But more often than not, the event itself isn’t the problem. It’s what our mind does with it. Can you identify with this?

We have a mental chatter that can keep us stuck for hours or days, and for some people, it lasts a lifetime. Think of individuals who hold grudges and those who harbour jealousy and revenge. The original wave has already passed, but the wheel of the mind keeps stirring. Not by choice; it’s just the way an untrained mind works.

But here’s the good news: according to yogic science, you can train your mind.

Patañjali’s Yoga Sūtras offers a simple and powerful teaching: “Yogah cittavṛtti nirodhah” — Yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind (Sūtra 1.2).

Controlling the mind is the essence of yoga. Not only what we do on the mat but how we meet life and how we react. Every time we pause before indulging in the story, every time we observe a thought instead of letting it go, we’re practicing yoga.

Remember that our emotions are just sensations, energy, and vibration, acknowledging that they are a natural part of life. When we establish ourselves as the witness, the observer of the emotions, the draṣṭā, we step out of the storm and into stillness.

Yoga also teaches us svādhyāya, self-inquiry, the practice of introspection and self-reflection, and Viveka, the ability to discern between what is real and what is not.

I remember being younger and feeling that all-too-familiar tightness in my chest when someone didn’t get back to me. My mind would race: “Did I say too much?” “Maybe they’re pulling away.”

When those old waves arise, please don’t follow them. Pause. Breathe. Remind yourself, “This is just a feeling. It’ll pass.” And it does, every time. That’s abhyāsa, practice. It’s about making a repeated effort not to get caught up in the story but to observe the feeling and let it pass. And it works. Believe me. It has worked for me.

How can one differentiate between a genuine emotional experience and a story created by the mind?

A real emotional experience is felt in the body. It’s immediate, it’s present, and if you give it space, it moves through you. But the story created by your mind loops and spirals. It’s mentally repetitive and often draws you into the past or the future.

We don’t need to suppress our emotions. We don’t need to fix them either. We need to let them flow. By practicing pratyāhāra, turning inward and withdrawing the senses, such as taking a moment of silence when feeling overwhelmed, or by focusing on your breath or a calming mantra, we can create a space for the emotion to pass through without getting entangled in it.

Here’s what I do when a strong emotion arises:

First, I pause.

There’s no need to react, explain, or analyze. Just stop.

This is śama — the yogic principle of calm restraint, the quiet inner stillness that interrupts the cycle of reactivity.

Then I return to my breath.

Even one conscious breath brings me back to the present moment.

This is prāṇa-dhāraṇā — holding the life force with awareness. The breath steadies the mind like a rudder guiding a boat through waves.

Next, I name what I feel.

“This is sadness.” “This is frustration.”

This is a form of svādhyāya — self-inquiry. Naming gently separates the feeling from the self, allowing it to be held with compassion without becoming a part of it.

Finally, I observe my body.

Where is the emotion showing up? What does it feel like — heat, tightness, heaviness?

This is pratyāhāra in action — turning the senses inward, attuning to the subtle language of the body, rather than being swept away by the outer world.

And above all, remember:

You are not your emotions.

You are the space they move through.

You are the witness, not the wave.

“Tadā draṣṭuḥ svarūpe’vasthānam” — Then the Seer rests in their own true nature (Yoga Sūtra 1.3). When we can observe our emotions without getting entangled in them, we are resting in our true nature, which is beyond the transient waves of emotions. This is a state of freedom and peace that we can all aspire to.

So next time something lingers, gently ask yourself:

Am I still feeling it, or am I feeding it?

And more tenderly still:

Can I let this pass without becoming the storm?

There’s so much peace in letting go.

So much strength in presence.

So much yoga in simply being.