Confessing my illegitimacy as a yoga teacher

Confessing my illegitimacy as a yoga teacher

I’m coming out as a kind of a fraud: I have an image of what a yoga teacher is, and I don’t measure up to it.

In this moment, writing this, pausing, and taking it in, my eyes tear up and my throat constricts a little.

A part of me says, “I should be teaching tons of asana (posture) classes. I should have many more hours of training. I should have a vigorous physical practice of my own for at least an hour every day, along with chanting, prayer and meditation for another hour total. I should be more physically fit. I should be able to completely get rid of my chronic pain and  fibromyalgia through my practice. I should be integrating yoga postures more into my psychotherapeutic work with clients. I should remember to use asana and pranayama throughout my day to care for myself. I should be going on retreat more. I should have more students. I should be more visible. I should be having more of an impact in the world.”

Writing that paragraph, above, and pausing to take it in, I feel the distress of the part of me that is the target of all those shoulds. I’m taking a moment now to place a gentle hand on my heart-space and say hello to this tender, bewildered part of me that is so umm…. (pausing until the right word comes)… shmushed by all these shoulds…. Doing this, I see how hard I am on myself, in general and in this moment.


Reading it back a second time, I find myself grinning. Yikes! What an ego! What a story! So identified with creating stature and legitimacy, and tying OK-ness to it. I laugh a little. It’s funny to see that, although I think of myself as someone who is relatively unidentified with a role or public persona, there is a part of me that is fully identified. I see that and offer myself a little kindness. I say to myself, “Awwww, look. There goes that selfing process again.” And I gain a bit of distance from the distress.

The reality of my life as a householder yogini and yoga teacher is that I have had, since I started, an on-and-off practice. I go a year or two practicing every day and then months practicing sporadically. Some weeks I don’t engage in formal practice at all because of fatigue and other physical challenges. When I do asana, my practice is not physically vigorous; it’s adapted to my life stage and physical needs. (Aside: I just this moment noticed how I’m oppressing myself with a memory of how I practiced when I was younger and with thoughts of how other folks practice. I’m reminding myself that my tradition of study and practice honours viniyoga, an approach that adapts practice to each person’s unique conditions, needs and interests. It feels good to remember that.)

At the time of this writing, I teach one class and it’s not an asana class. In this class, we are inquiring into aparigraha. This morning in my home practice, I was holding aparigraha and its related concepts of impermanence and letting go. I saw the story I was telling myself about me as a yoga teacher. I saw how some of my self-worth was tied to living out this story for acceptance from, or legitimacy in the eyes of others. I saw the distress I was causing inside me. I decided, in the name of aparigraha, to write about this in order to see clearly and embrace the reality of my actual practice, and let go of creating a sense of self, of identity, from the illusory story about “being a yoga teacher.”

It came to me in my practice on the mat this morning that if I can embrace how things truly are with yoga and me, then I can deepen my concept of the whole of my living as practice, as long as I attend to the conditions of that practice.

Life as usual, repeating the same patterns, doesn’t qualify. But a life lived awake and aware, and using that experience for transformation, does. Like with formal posture, meditation and/or breathing practice, I need structures and support to keep me on track: a teacher, regular time set aside for reflexive practice, and a community, to list just a few.

These supports are already in place in my life, but I discount them because they don’t fit the story. They also don’t “make me look good,” or like certain other famous and accomplished teachers. But I’m not them. My practice is not theirs. My work now is to continue to see this clearly, and accept it; to be fierce about loving myself so I can be fierce about looking at myself and my life, and about using what I see to transform and continue to grow. This is what I’m reaching for, to fully embrace and rest into the truth of how my life is, as well as how my practice is. That’s why I’m confessing that I don’t live up to my story: so I can let it go.

What is your experience with “self-ing” and suffering? What is your experience with letting things go? I’d enjoy conversation on this topic so I invite you to add your comments below.


  1. Thank you, Shulamit, for sharing your story–and your practice of letting go of your story. Your honesty and authenticity are inspiring…as is your movement toward seeing clearly in order to see what is truly needed.

    Interesting, how addictive “our story” or “our identity” can be. My partner has a saying I’ve adopted for myself and with clients from time to time: Addiction is belief.

    Shedding light on that “hook” opens so, so much space…and supports aparigraha. Thank you for the reminder today!

    • Hey Dana! Yes, my stories and identities, in my experience, are very compelling. And yes, I agree, unexamined beliefs cause me trouble! I experienced that this morning even. I’m basking right now in the clarity that comes from seeing how a particular belief is operating to limit me.

      Thanks for your comments. I’m enjoying getting to know you through our conversations here and on your blog too. 🙂


  2. There is such beauty in vulnerability. Thank you for your willingness to be so open. I too have shared similar thoughts about myself and this helps me be gentler with myself.

    • Thank you for commenting Ramona 🙂 This kind of truth-seeing and vulnerability is an instance of the kind of world in which I want to live, where we truly see ourselves (and one another), in a caring and gentle way, as a means to create connection and growth. I agree: sharing vulnerably does help me to be gentler with myself.


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