The side of teaching I wasn't expecting.

As a student, I never once felt judged. I was encouraged, supported, challenged in good ways. I loved learning, and I loved bouncing between classes, asking endless questions, trying different styles, and soaking it all up. I thought the teaching world would feel the same.

And then I stepped into it and things felt pretty different.

The judgement of teachers

Not because anyone personally criticised me, but because the moment I began following more teachers online and engaging in those spaces, I started seeing an undercurrent I hadn’t realised was there. A sort of constant commentary from teachers about other teachers. This one shouldn’t be teaching. That one isn’t “real yoga.” This style is diluted. That teacher isn’t spiritual enough or doesn’t know enough about the philosophy. Gyms are the enemy. Western teachers are suspect. It went on and on.

There was no subtlety. It was loud, self-righteous, and bizarrely un-yogic. And I felt an immediate mix of anger, that kind of “oh fuck off” anger, followed by a softer sadness for the people writing it. Because underneath the certainty and the superiority, what I could see clearly was fear. A deep fear of not being relevant anymore. A fear of losing students, losing income, losing identity.

A note on the teachers I actually know

And I should say this too: the teachers I know in real life, the ones I’ve trained with, practised beside, laughed with, swapped cues with, shared grumbles with are mainly brilliant. Generous, thoughtful, creative, genuinely invested in the people in front of them. They’re not the voices I’m talking about here.

What I’m describing is a minority, a loud, anxious corner of the internet that doesn’t reflect the teachers who show up week after week in communities, village halls, gyms, living rooms, church halls, doing the work with sincerity and humour and actual human presence…

Panic and protection

People say some of the hurtful comments to “protect tradition,” but the tone is never protective. It’s defensive, panicked and territorial. In fact it’s the exact opposite of what the texts emphasise: non-attachment, compassion, humility, inner study. When someone writes that a 200-hour teacher “should not be teaching,” they’re not protecting yoga; they’re protecting their own insecurity.

And here’s the thing: teaching comes from personality as much as training. I’ve been me for forty-five years, with humour, warmth, precision, empathy, curiousity and fuck loads of resilience which shape my teaching far more authentically than any certificate ever could. I’m not pretending to be some enlightened being or lineage carrier. I’m just a human who loves yoga and wants to share it in the way it made sense to me when I needed it most.

And yes, I protect my joy fiercely. Social media is meant to be a place where I feel creative, a bit silly, curious, connected, not somewhere to absorb the anxiety of people who think policing others is a spiritual calling. I’ll happily let strangers who like my feet stay, and just as happily block any teacher whose content drips with judgement. Life is short, I don’t need you in it, whoever it is that you’re criticising.

Your first love doesn't have to be your last

Iyengar was my first love in yoga. It gave me discipline, alignment, and a real appreciation for the intelligence of the body. But I’m also a parent, a business owner, someone with a full, complicated life and an enjoyment of other styles too. Iyengar mentorship is incredible, but it's not so easy for someone with the schedule of a working mother. So I chose Vinyasa training, and for primarily practical reasons. Because for many, the yoga class we go to is about practicality. Where is it? What time is it on? Can I afford it? And here is the thing. I now absolutely love it and probably would choose this style over anything else, if I could, Because I understand it now and I love the impact on my body and my brain of building such strength and being so knackered at times that my brain cannot disappear up my own arse.

But on a retreat once, I mentioned to another teacher, who I liked, that I’d chosen Vinyasa because other styles would be too time-consuming right now. She said, quite matter-of-factly, that some forms of yoga wouldn’t really “allow” you to teach anything else. Not as a judgment, just as an observation. And I remember thinking how strange that was. Doctors work across specialisms all the time. Musicians cross genres. Chefs change cuisines. No one tells them their identity is corrupted by learning more. So why do a very small number of corners of yoga insist teachers live in one box forever?

Ridiculous rules

The more I saw, the more I realised yoga has pockets of gatekeeping that are completely disconnected from reality. I booked a day-long retreat once, couldn’t go, and gave the spot to a friend (also a yoga teacher). I told the studio. They refused the transfer. They said it was the teacher’s decision. The teacher said it was the studio’s. It made no sense. For a community that claims to want more people in yoga, refusing a prepaid spot out of sheer policy rigidity is an odd strategy.

And I think it all comes back to fear. Fear of losing money. Fear of dilution. Fear that yoga is changing. Fear that different personalities, newer, younger, more creative, might shift the centre of gravity. But here’s the irony: the demographic in many yoga spaces is ageing.  Older women, with a sprinkling of men and a trickle of younger people. If yoga doesn’t evolve, it will decline. Not because some Western teachers ruined it, but because the community refused to adapt.

Everything evolves. Medicine evolves. Language evolves. Human rights evolve. Culture evolves. But yoga, apparently, must stay exactly as it was taught in a specific decade by a specific man in a specific lineage, or else we’re all frauds.

Yoga in the gym

Meanwhile, gyms, which are often looked down on by the “purists”, are quietly introducing more people to yoga than many studios do. People come because they have an unexpected spare hour, or because their Body Pump class was cancelled, or because they’re curious but intimidated by studios. And then they return. They enjoy it. They become yoga people without ever intending to. I’m not saying the gym is the future of yoga, but it’s a perfect example of what happens when you stop gatekeeping and just make people feel welcome.

The truth is simple: if new teachers aren’t allowed to bring in new ideas, yoga won’t grow. It will shrink into a club for people who all look, sound, think, and judge the same. And those who fear losing income will lose it anyway, because there won’t be new students coming in behind them. And as I type this, oneof my private students, a boxer whose daughter owns a proper Leeds cafe sent me aphoto of my flyer on the cafe wall. I have never met his daughter but she sees the good it's doing her dad. Thet's the type of community I want to be part of.

I’m not tying this up with a nice bow, because the situation isn’t nice. It’s frustrating and hypocritical and, frankly, boring. Yoga belongs to everyone who practices it. Not just the loudest voices online. Not just one lineage. Not just one country or one philosophy or one “approved” training path. It belongs to real humans living real lives, finding connection in whatever way they can.

I’m not here to impress the yoga police. I’m here to teach and learn. To evolve. To welcome new people. And to hopefully make people smile and feel cared for. It's no more than anyone deserves.