A Confession From A Yoga Teacher: Struggling, Honest, and Returning to the Mat.

It gave me myself, really, and it opened up into a world of self-discovery and understanding that I never dreamed possible.

And all I wanted was to share that and to hold the door open so that maybe someone else could find their own path to understanding and healing.

The paradox of marketing yoga

But somewhere along the way (and it’s been eight years now), things shifted.

From the outset, I’ve struggled with the idea of marketing this practice. Trying to “sell” something that, at its heart, cannot really be sold.

As we live in a capitalist world, the wellness industry, like every other, has been built on a format that promises something or an outcome to the consumer. In this context, we see things like:

• Do this practice and you’ll feel this.

• Buy this course and transform your life.

• Follow this method and you’ll get this result.

But anyone who has practised with any sincerity knows these statements can never really be true. Yoga isn’t a quick transaction with guaranteed outcomes. It’s messy, surprising, and deeply personal to each individual who practices.

And alongside that, I’ve always wrestled with the idea of “branding myself.” From the start, I’ve seen myself more as a messenger, passing on what was passed to me. Sure, I have my own lived experiences and my own story of how the teachings changed my life, but I didn’t invent them, and they don’t belong to me.

Yet in every marketing course I’ve ever taken, or seen the outline for, the focus is the same: define your brand, pinpoint what makes you unique, identify your target audience, and figure out which of their problems you can solve. It all starts to sound less like sharing a practice and more like manipulating people into buying a product. And while part of me understands the need for structure in a busy world, another part of me still recoils. It feels deeply at odds with the spirit of yoga, and honestly, sometimes it still feels manipulative.

If yoga teaches us anything, it’s that change is always possible and that no two people will walk the same path. So how can anyone reduce it down into neat bullet points or sales copy just to make it palatable for the market?

It doesn’t make sense.

The wellness industry problem

And this is just one example of how I sometimes feel the industry is eating itself. Everyone is suddenly a teacher. Everyone has had some kind of awakening and now wants to package it up and sell it back to you.

Honestly? I’m bored with it. And I’m tired… and for some time have questioned if I am even part of that problem.

The personal cost as a Yoga Teacher

I’ve been trying for a long time to make yoga teaching work for me. And in many ways, it has and still does.

While living with severe chronic illness, teaching yoga has allowed me flexibility and space between my work hours to simply be. That’s something I would never have found in a standard full-time job. (Regardless of actually having the strength to work a full-time job!)

And of course, sharing this practice and witnessing how it truly supports people, the way it holds them through grief, softens their anxiety, or simply gives them space to breathe, is a blessing I never take for granted.

But if I’m honest, there’s another side. For eight years now, I’ve worked harder than I ever imagined I could, even through some of the most difficult seasons of my life. And still, my classes run smaller, my retreat days don’t sell out, my workshops feel half-full. When I look around at other teachers in my community, I can’t help but wonder, why am I the one who always seems behind?

Behind in the numbers. Behind in the marketing. Behind in whatever mysterious formula seems to fill mats elsewhere. And of course, the mind does its thing, it tells me I must be missing something, that I’m not “getting” whatever trick or strategy others are.

And maybe that is part of it. Maybe my challenge is that I can’t fully see this practice as a product to be sold. Because yoga, at its heart, isn’t a product. And yet, in a world where marketing systems are built around products, outcomes, and promises, I find myself stuck in the tension: working extremely hard, pouring everything I have in, yet still feeling the strain of trying to fit a spiritual, deeply human practice into a framework that just doesn’t quite fit.

I know I’ve helped people. I’ve seen lives change through this practice.
But at what cost? My own health? My own sense of enoughness? My own Practice?

And the truth is, I cannot sell out. I respect this practice far too much to turn it into just another product or a formula to chase numbers. That’s part of why the tension is so real, because I want to share this work fully and authentically, yet the structures around me reward marketing over meaning.

Money isn’t everything, I know that. I’ve adjusted to living modestly because I had to. But part of me longs for more stability, more ease. And I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I don’t want to keep fighting for scraps in an industry that so often feels like competition dressed up as community.

I sure as hell didn’t get into teaching to be part of some dog-eat-dog hustle. That crushing, competitive energy is the exact opposite of what I wanted for my life. I guess I was under the impression, maybe a little naïvely, that this path would offer something different. Something softer, more genuine. But the way the industry has unfolded… I was very, very wrong.

I haven’t been immune to it all, and this has been a source of my discomfort this whole time. Somewhere along the way, I got wrapped up in the hypocrisy of the system myself. I found myself focusing on filling classes, extending my online reach, tracking numbers and engagement like they were a measure of my worth. And in trying to “keep up,” I lost touch with the heart of why I started teaching in the first place. The practice that once nourished me became another thing to market, another metric to hit. And yet, I felt like I didn’t have a choice; I wanted, and still want, to make yoga my living. But in trying to survive in this industry, I lost a bit of myself along the way, my sense of ease, my authenticity, and the quiet joy that first drew me to yoga.

Where do I go from here?

I don’t have the answers yet. I’m still in the thick of it, tired, disillusioned, and at times, tempted to give up.

But I also know that the reason I started teaching still matters. The practice itself still matters. Yoga is not the problem. The problem is the way we’ve been taught to package it.

So maybe the question isn’t, “How do I sell yoga?” but “How do I keep offering it in a way that honours both the practice and myself?”

I don’t know what that looks like yet. But I know I don’t want to keep competing for pennies while sacrificing my spiritual, physical and emotional health.

Something has to shift.

And maybe, just maybe, that shift begins here, with honesty. By saying out loud that I’m tired. That I’m frustrated and that I want more for myself and the yoga industry.

Part of that shift, for me, is returning to my own practice in the fullest way I can, by becoming a student again. I’m soon to start one-to-ones with a teacher I feel confident can guide me through this challenging time because I know right now the importance of having guidance and support of my own has to take precedence.

And if yoga has taught me anything, it’s that change always begins with awareness.

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