On *Finally* Finding My Voice as a Yoga Teacher {After 7 Years of Teaching!}

As of last month, I've been teaching yoga for 7 years. That means hours and hours (and hours and hours!) of cueing students into down dog, child's pose, chaturanga, and half moon. It means days and days of staring at peoples' bodies in extended side angle and warrior 1, buckets of sweat lost, too many playlists made, and countless readings picked out + shared with my students while they rest on their right sides. 

In all of this time, I've obviously changed a lot and learned quite a bit about who I am as a yoga teacher; I wouldn't say that I have everything figured out and I'm definitely not an expert at teaching (always a student!), but one thing that I've recently realized is that I do finally feel comfortable with my voice as a teacher. Most of the time. 

What do I mean by that? Well, when teaching a yoga class, it can be hard to figure out what to say, how to say it, and how to stay true to who you are as a person while speaking about the asanas and/or yogic philosophy for an entire class.

I've had incredible teachers who can say things like, "Reach up towards the heavens as you inhale, bring heaven down to earth as you exhale" or, "Bloom your sitting bones towards the sky and unfurl like a spring blossom into the sun" and sound inspiring, beautiful, and normal, but if I tried to say those kinds of things, I would sound ridiculous [and feel even more ridiculous].

Similarly, I am not a super commanding, direct, unapologetic person (like it or not, I'm the opposite), so although I love teachers who are no-nonsense and cut-to-the-chase, I can't be like that, either.  

And despite reading and taking many courses on The Yoga Sutras and The Bhagavad Gita, I still don't feel knowledgeable enough on these subjects to weave deep yogic philosophy or history into my classes, and don't feel that I can do either of these texts justice on the base level at which I understand them, so I don't fill my classes with old world wisdom, either. 

When I first started teaching, I struggled a lot with the fact that I wasn't able to be the kind of teacher who did the aforementioned things while teaching. I had a hard time figuring out what "my" teaching language was going to be if it wasn't flowery, super direct, or steeped in philosophical lessons.

What did I have to offer? How should my voice sound? How could I use metaphors in my teaching and not cringe internally as I said them? How could I give precise cues and still be warm and welcoming? How could I teach my students something about themselves without getting in over my head or revealing how little I actually knew? 

But over the years, I've settled into what I have now come to realize is my teaching voice. It's not super flowery, it's not super direct, it's not super simple, it's just me. I don't share a lot about my own experience, I don't tell lots of stories (I wish I could, but they always come out wrong), I don't weave super deep spiritual themes into my classes (again, I wish I could but it doesn't feel authentic), I don't make my classes into anatomy lessons (argh, I wish I could do this, too!); I just teach the asanas, try to hold the space as best I can, and remind my students to check-in with their minds, their bodies, and their breath at regular intervals throughout class. 

And I *think* that after 7 years, I'm finally okay with this.

I don't mean to say that I've become complacent and am going to stop challenging myself as a teacher or stop learning how to speak and guide in a clearer, more precise, more inspiring way, but that I'm finally starting to accept that my authentic voice is a valid one, even if it's different from the voices of the teachers that I admire.

I'm learning to accept that the space and opportunities that we create for our students through our sequences, our silence, our readings, and our sensory touches are just as important--if not more important, sometimes--than the words we say or the way in which we say them. 

And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that this lesson applies to life outside of the yoga studio, too (I mean, don't they all?). Learning to feel comfortable with who you are and what you have to offer, instead of beating yourself up for what you lack, is a pretty great skill to master.

What you say is obviously important, but the way in which you show up, the body language you use, and the energy that you bring to the relationships and activities in your life are often just as important as your words and the meaning behind them.

{Especially when you regularly say silly nonsense things like, "Energize all 3 quadrants of the body," as I did in a class last week. Cringe.} 

So, for my fellow yoga teachers: I hope this post reminds you that your voice is valid, even if it isn't as experienced or poetic as some of your teachers. My wish for you is that it doesn't take you 7 years of teaching to stop comparing your voice to others and accept your authentic voice as a part of who you are. 

And for my fellow yoga students: remember that your teachers are forever students, too. I encourage you to take classes from lots of different teachers so that you can experience different voices, different teachings, and different energies and hopefully, learn something different from them all.