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If you are a fellow yoga teacher, you know the truth that not all the world recognizes: we are just as angry, sad, wild, and flawed as everyone else. When I first started practicing yoga in my 20s while living in Asia and seeking spiritual awakening, I really thought a strong meditation and yoga practice were going to create this zenned-out, blissful, and enlightened version of myself.
Twenty years and countless hours of yoga, meditation, mindfulness, sound healing, and chakra balancing later? I’m still flipping people off on the highway, having a cigarette when I have a cocktail, and struggling to be consistent with my practice.
That’s right. I’ve devoted these last 10 years to teaching people yoga, facilitating wellness sessions in corporate environments, and educating youth and adults about how to regulate their nervous system. I’ve also constantly messed up doing the things I teach—and I admit it to my students.
Why, you ask? It’s because when I was first starting to practice yoga in the United States when I moved back from Korea, I was so intimidated by the studios, by the perfect bodies, by the expensive outfits, by the healthy perfect students and teachers I saw daily. I still went to class—I had grown to love yoga and needed the practice after all—but it was a challenge.
I remember the day I went out to dinner with one of my favorite teachers and she ordered a steak, lit a cigarette, and dropped four F-bombs in 20 minutes. In the course of a meal, it was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. She was a normal human who happened to teach and do yoga. Sometimes she was drinking green juice, hitting her meditation pillow, and practicing daily. And sometimes she was not. That was okay.
After that, I never felt out of place at the studio. I became a regular and finally did a formal 200 hour training to learn even more. I aspired to be nothing but me no matter where I showed up. And while it’s not for everyone, when it is for someone, I know my flaws are just as important as my successes.
So the next time you see me in traffic, muttering under my breath at someone’s terrible merge, just remember: I’m not a failed yogi. I’m a human being who happens to teach yoga. Maybe that’s exactly the kind of teacher the world needs more of.
