The Reality of Teaching Yoga No One Talks About

What would I tell my past self, starting teacher training all starry-eyed and hopeful? What would I tell someone who has just signed up for teacher training?

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I was wrong about a lot of things when I started my first yoga teacher training. I thought I would be the oldest student (I wasn’t), I thought I would never actually teach as a full-time career (wrong again), and I thought I would hate the philosophy (I absolutely don’t). But oh Lord, was my head in the clouds! I thought I’d qualify and be in demand — booked and busy, driving from packed class to packed class, looking fabulous, only stopping for açai bowls and smoothies. The sun was always shining in my fantasy.

I never even researched the average studio class compensation package or class rate. On the final day of teacher training, when we discussed marketing and business, I was shocked to hear the financial reality. If I only cared about money, I would have stayed in my corporate career. But I did expect to earn more than a living wage — I expected to be an abundant yoga teacher.

It didn’t take me too long to discover that driving from class to class actually meant packed motorways, flat tyres, and a lot of diesel. Zero glamour. I also discovered that I could not physically teach as many classes in a week as other teachers half my age. I had to evolve once again, and my idea of my yoga career had to evolve too. I now teach very little for studios. I’m lucky enough to have a small home studio, and I rent spaces when needed. This comes with its own set of issues, though. No route is the perfect one.

I didn’t anticipate the emotional labour either — what holding space actually feels like over time. I learned I need to look after myself first, invest in myself, protect my energy, pace myself, and even sage myself. Boundaries were learned the hard way. And knowing my limitations — I am not a doctor or a therapist — and communicating that kindly and supportively.

Doing my own thing, going it alone, means facing pricing discomfort. I always want to give value for money, but my time and expertise need to be valued too. Self-employment is massively unstable: no holiday or sick pay, and a cost-of-living crisis to boot. The sheer amount of admin, including cancellations, bookings, marketing, and logistics, means I’m at my laptop more often than on my mat. Luckily, I actually enjoy admin, and I have marketing qualifications — that really helps.

People see you differently when you’re a yoga teacher, even if you know you are fully rooted in the practical side. They often expect you to teach for free, to not have any bad habits, and to know everything about anatomy. The pressure to embody their idea, their projection, can be felt, but I am slowly rejecting it, gently, as no one can live up to it. People think you practice asana for hours a day. To be honest, it’s very easy to let your own practice slip. Going to class starts to feel like a busman’s holiday. I turned to Pilates — mat and reformer — as my hobby now, as I don’t have to think about teaching. It takes a lot of effort to keep my own yoga practice alive. Now I often choose Bhakti Yoga — the yoga of devotion: chanting, kirtan, mantra — over taking an asana class. My physical body needs more rest.

So, what would I tell my past self, starting teacher training all starry-eyed and hopeful? What would I tell someone who has just signed up for teacher training? Not too much actually. I’d give them a hug and tell them that they are brave to begin. They will learn that heart is more important than headstands. That attitude trumps age when holding space. To give the philosophy a chance, persevere, because your whole worldview is about to expand. Grab your mala beads and get ready.