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Almost 20 years ago and completely starry-eyed, I began teaching yoga. I had expected my new role to be the ultimate form of self-care. What I didn’t expect? How demanding it would be.
Recalling sequences and demonstrating physical postures all while trying to remain present to the needs of a roomful of students can be physically and energetically draining. And I had no idea how to make those demands more sustainable.
To make things more confusing, most of the advice I received from other teachers related to taking better care of my students. Their suggestions always began with some version of, “Here’s how to notice if students are struggling…” or “This is how to introduce pose variations…” or “You can empower students by…”. Of course, their insights were incredibly valuable. I just didn’t hear anything about how to take care of myself.
Years after I started teaching, I finally learned how to stop making my job harder than it had to be.
10 Ways I Didn’t Take Care of Myself as a New Yoga Teacher
If you’re feeling your teaching battery getting drained, the mistakes I made might offer you some clues about which aspects of your job could use a revamp so it feels more sustainable.
Here are some of the pages you shouldn’t take from my book, plus tips for new yoga teachers on navigating important aspects of your career.
1. Not Clarifying Payment
In hindsight, I am fully aware of how absurd this sounds, but I never used to ask about money during job interviews. I thought that if I showed a potential employer that I cared about being paid, I’d come across as less noble, less committed, and less of a “real” yoga teacher. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t always paid the amount I expected or when I expected—if I was paid at all.
Takeaway: Feel secure in your right to support yourself by making sure you’re clear on compensation before you start work. Your time and knowledge are valuable, and having a sense of their worth actually contributes to your professionalism.
2. Not Making Time to Eat
When I had four or five classes scattered throughout the day and needed two hours to comfortably digest, the math wasn’t math-ing as to when, exactly, I was supposed to eat. Sometimes I could hear my stomach growling in class, and my hangry self is not my best self.
Takeaway: Get creative by packing snacks, meals, even smoothies in reusable containers whenever you can. If you can schedule classes so you don’t have to eat on the run, do it. (I now avoid teaching evening classes so I can have leisurely dinners at home that help me feel grounded for the next day.)
3. Showing Up Sick
Why did I do this to myself? Admittedly, I was often in denial about how ill I felt—but my sickness became pretty undeniable when I actually had to speak and demonstrate in front of a yoga class. (It’s almost impossible to teach pranayama when you can’t breathe through your nose.) But I didn’t want to let my students or bosses down by getting a sub or canceling.
Takeaway: The classes you teach when you should be in bed are probably not going to be your best work. Your students might even have a better experience when their teacher isn’t a vector of contagion—and you definitely will. And, let’s be real, trying not to cough while students are resting in Savasana is its own particular kind of suffering.
4. Writing New Sequences for Every Class
I burned the midnight oil overhauling my sequences for the next day’s classes—and I didn’t have to. I slowly learned that many students like repetition; it leads to familiarity, which leads to a sense of ease in the practice. And even if a sequence was beginning to feel tired, I didn’t have to change everything about it; a little change would have been enough to enliven it.
Takeaway: Keeping several sequences in heavy rotation and improvising according to the needs of the room can save you from having to do sooo much yoga homework.
5. Letting Friendly Students Interfere With Prep Time
Before class, I’d often try to grab a few minutes in the studio to move through the sequence I had in mind or to settle into the space. This became difficult to do when students arrived very early, set up their mats, and started chatting with me. I often chatted right along, combatting my rising sense of impatience—which ultimately made me feel less prepared for class than I would’ve liked.
Takeaway: Prepare a few go-to responses to help you respectfully detach from student conversations and refocus on your prep. Try saying, “I would honestly love to talk, but this class will be better for you and me both if I have a few minutes to review the plan I think I have for us today,” or even, “You know, I could use just a few minutes of silence to help me get my head on straight for class. Feel free to do your own thing in the meantime.”
6. Teaching Things That Made Me Uncomfortable
The truth is, leading students in a chant makes me nervous, I hate teaching arm binds because they’ve never felt good in my body, and don’t even get me started on Bird of Paradise (in my book, “paradise” is not a fitting name). Still, I used to think I *had* to teach certain things because other teachers did. Sure, these insecurities probably merit some self-reflection, but I don’t need to work through them in front of a room full of students. And I’m a much more confident instructor when I don’t start class from a place of vulnerability.
Takeaway: Give yourself permission to teach in a way that’s grounded in your own unique authenticity. Rule of thumb: if you would feel uncomfortable saying something in “real life,” you don’t have to say it while you’re teaching yoga.
7. Taking Full Responsibility for Student Safety
I used to ask my one-on-one students to fill out long questionnaires, requesting information on any and all injuries. During group classes, I rushed to students with blocks and straps because something about their alignment looked “off” even though they seemed just fine—happy, even—where they were. I was completely taking on the burden for their safety. And, if ever a student told me they did get injured in my class, I was wracked by guilt and questioned my right to teach anyone anything.
Takeaway: This isn’t to say you shouldn’t lead an accessible practice, give lots of options, and emphasize self-awareness, but preventing student injuries doesn’t fall entirely on the yoga teacher. All movement carries some risks, and even if students are mindful and the teacher is mindful, injuries can happen. If a student was injured in your class, you can thank them for letting you know, ask if they’re okay to continue and, if not, ask the studio manager to help them. Later, you could even rethink the sequence that may have contributed to the injury. But you don’t have to rethink your entire career.
8. I Was Afraid to Say, “I Don’t Know”
If someone asked me a question I didn’t know the answer to, about, say, the story behind a Sanskrit pose name, or which of the four quadriceps muscles were engaging in a movement, I’d panic…then scramble to figure it out. In other words, I thought I had to be an expert in literally EVERYTHING. I learned a lot this way, but I would have learned a lot, too, had I shared responsibility with the inquisitive student.
Takeaway: You can ask a curious student, as I do now, “Why don’t you do some research for us on that.” You can refer them to your favorite yoga sources and say, “I’d be very curious to know what you find out!” There’s no need to play the expert. It’s a load off to not feel responsible for knowing all of yoga.
9. Not Allowing Enough Time at the End of Class
I used to teach until the very last minute of my allotted classtime, so that my closing moments with students were often chaotic, with props being thrown willy-nilly into the closet. Not to mention, something seriously happens to my brain when I just want to go home but instead have to restack 20 bolsters. Instead of putting myself in a position that virtually guaranteed I would end up overwhelmed and grouchy, I could have let my students help.
Takeaway: You can avoid the chaos by ending class with even a little time to spare. A few minutes is usually enough to remind everyone about the process for prop-stacking and for them to do this without rushing.
10. Trying to Be Perfect
I aspired never to stumble over students’ yoga blocks, fall out of Warrior 3, forget which side of a pose we just did, have a brain fart that would result in me calling Patanjali “that dude,” or walk into class with a smile full of chia seeds or a long strand of toilet paper trailing like a tail from the back of my yoga pants. But all of these things have happened, some more than once, and the world didn’t end. Students seem to even like helping me out; class becomes interactive when I call them “lifesavers” for helping make me look presentable or answering my questions like, “What side are we on?” or “Who wrote The Yoga Sutras?” They laugh when I bring the heel of my hand to my forehead (“DOH!”) or say, “I’m new.” Maybe my occasional bursts of clumsiness, forgetfulness, or ditziness actually help make the point that yoga has space enough to accommodate our imperfections. We can come as we are.
Takeaway: Notice whether you’re the victim of your own expectations. Do you have in mind what the “perfect” yoga teacher is, and are you trying to live up to this image? If you are, it can lead to feelings of failure. With time and awareness, however, you can shed the notion of a perfect, well, anything, and instead find a teaching presence that is a true reflection of you. Maybe that will even make teaching yoga feel more comfortable and energizing—like a pose in which you can deepen your breath because you’ve made it your own.
