Lessons from teaching yoga
down dog was just the beginning
As of Saturday July 5, 2025, I have officially retired from my post as a yoga teacher.
About a year and some ago, I quit my fancy job in the pursuit of helping others feel better in their bodies. Tired of existing in environments that valued output over physical and mental wellbeing, I set out to create spaces and experiences that prioritised what I saw being overlooked.
Wellness retreats were my north star (more on that later), yet more than I could have imagined blossomed within this pocket of time. Here’s a snippet of what came into fruition (spoiler alert: much more than proper alignment and kapalabhati breath).
Yoga is not a performative practice, it’s an informative practice.
I didn’t know what I got into when I first stepped into Antonia’ Lingeman’s class. I had spontaneously booked a yoga class at this gorgeous studio close to my boyfriend’s house to kill some time before we could hang out and drink more wine together.
“Centered” the class was called. It was weird from the beginning: all of the mats were in a circle, facing one another. Antonia, the teacher and now good friend, was propped off to the side, next to what seemed like a tower of props.
Before the class commenced, Antonia asked us all for our names. How odd, maybe she is just friendly (weird if we remember that this all took place in Germany). The class began on all fours. Typical, however setting up the seemingly simple posture took more legwork than anticipated: taking a yoga block, we had to measure out right angles from our forearms to the floor, and then our thighs to the floor — okay maybe she is really German then.
Turns out, this class was a Katonah class. Katonah is a Hatha style of yoga that relies on sacred geometry (hence the block measuring) and Chinese medicine as a backbone of the practice. The mats all face the center of the room to put us all in community with one another. A Katonah class is very interesting because it challenges many preconceived notions of what a yoga class should or shouldn’t be — for a novice teacher like myself, this practice was a goldmine.
And then the cats and cows started: much faster than typical, this style of movement was more a breath work practice than a simple undulation of the spine. A close friend of mine calls the Katonah style of cat cows: “The exorcism cat cows.” Once you see it, you’ll know what I mean.
Throughout the class, we were encouraged to look at others, taking inspiration from techniques that were not our own. The thinking being that coming to class is an opportunity to learn not only from the teacher, but also from those around you.
Coming from a ballet background, yoga was a second-cousin-once-removed style of movement: it scratched a similar itch, without the ballet-adjacent drama. It was only in the Katonah configuration, did I realise how unnecessary tendencies from ballet had leaked into my yoga practice. A key being, the performance of it all.
In ballet, there is a right way and a wrong way of doing something. The former is praised, and the latter is punished. In yoga, there is also a right and a wrong way to do things, yet the pursuit is much more exploratory.
There is no performance in yoga — the act of moving one’s body through various postures is done purely for the betterment of oneself — no one else has a stake in the process. The amazing thing about yoga is that it gives us a roadmap for where we can go, but it leaves the outcome of the experience in our own hands.
From this class onwards, I pursued a Katonah certification. A different mat configuration may have been the key that helped me stop searching outside myself for answers — and instead start looking within.
Practice after practice, Yoga became more than just a way to move my body. It became a time for me to get to know myself — both on and off the yoga mat.
Bend your knees, find your feet
Simple, yet surprisingly versatile, this simple cue comes in handy more often than one would expect. It first landed on me during a yoga retreat in Portugal, in a class taught by my good friend and goddess-of-a-human, Brooklyn Reardon. The thing about Brooklyn’s classes, is that they all feel like a bit of a mind trip. In most classes it’s easy to place where you are in time and space, but with Brooklyn leading, one just has to blindly trust that we will make it to the other side.
One dewy morning in the south of Portugal, bend your knees, find your feet, served as the literal and figurative anchor to the class. It was only after the third or fourth time that I realised my way of standing in the world was actually quite unstable.
Anatomically speaking, when the knee is locked, the legs are fully extended, which limits the body’s ability to respond to (inevitable) shifts in balance. Think of the body like a skyscraper. These large structures are built to bend when faced with extremities like earthquakes or strong winds. The body is no different. When you bend your knees, the body is better suited to respond to uneven surfaces or unexpected extremities, while also easing pressure on your joints. It’s a great trick to keep in mind particularly when standing on the train.
In middle school we used to have these assemblies that would for whatever reason require immense amounts of standing. After many hours of doing so, my twelve year old mind discovered that locking my knees created a funny sort of sensation, which then served as my form of entertainment as the minutes drooped past. Unnoticeable to any onlookers, it was the perfect tick to develop. Many years later, however, that habit seemed to have stuck and the outcome may not have served me in the same way it did back in 2012.
Standing in the world with locked knees gave me nothing but a false sense of stability. Thanks to B, I’ve been able to sandpaper over my harsh edges, find my feet, and actually use them to go after what I want: sans fear that I’ll fall over and break. Turns out, a little bend in the knees will take your a lot further than you’d expect.
Eliminate the need to hurry
A good teacher is one that leaves the door open for you to arrive in your own time, in your own way. Steph Cusack teaches in a way where patience and consideration are sewn into every sequence. How grateful I am to have met Steph. She is really the whole reason why I fell down the yoga-teaching-retreat-leading rabbit hole.
It all started at my old office job. As motivation to complete mundane tasks, I would pepper my workflows with pockets of pleasure — at the time this meant either glancing over at A (this was before we were dating), or doomscrolling Linkedin. The former unfolded into a separate path, but the latter was truly a pursuit of escapism. Trapped in a career path with clearly marked points of progression, the rebel in me would research firms and organisations doing things that felt dangerously cool. It only took a short amount of time for me (and my algorithms) to lump my interests into two categories: food and wellness *shocker*.
Food is always, and will forever be a point of interest. However a short stint in the wine world turned my taste sour, so I decided that I’d rather not mix business and pleasure in this regard.
Wellness on the other hand, was an unknown world: ripe with potential yet so dangerously on the other end of my current line of work. We always want what we can’t have, yet as I entered into adulthood, I thought I’d shoot my shot.
My shot took the form of numerous emails (and I mean numerous) addressed to retreat houses, apothecary brands, natural perfumes, and pesticide free experiences. I received a total of three responses — all of which declined my overly-wordy-yet-vague-invitation to “help out where I can.”
It was around this time that A and I began our story together, which led to the exploration of a new side of town: Kreuzberg — the Brooklyn, or what Brooklyn used to be, of Berlin. Me being me, a new zip code meant new eateries, walks, cafes, and the very best: workout classes.
A was at work (same firm), and I was holding down the fort at his place, having just begun a newly remote job. Lunchtime rolled around, and having exhausted the rice cooker, I set out to do some yoga — at none other than Original Feelings.
It’s always a joy exploring Berlin-based establishments. The infrastructure here is unlike Tokyo nor Los Angeles — the seemingly mundane apartment facades do no justice to the treasures that lay beyond its walls. Original Feelings was no exception — the studio is jaw-dropingly gorgeous. After removing your shoes at the door (green flag), you make your way into a space that seems to transcend the laws of physics — the entire interior seems to continue on and on and on, far beyond the clouds.
At the front desk, were two women — one who looked like she could be my sister. We both looked at each other, not a word was needed to explain the mutual feeling or understanding that this encounter was a rarity for both parties in this city.
The time sensitive nature of a yoga class means that conversations pre-class carry a different depth compared to those post-class. The former exchanges tread at the surface level, strings kept in plain sight to tie up the conversations when necessary. Post class is a different story — the interactions are unbound by an agreed upon expiry date.
Back then, these nuances didn’t matter because at the time, I kept my interactions with others to a minimal: slithering in and out of situations because I had imaginary deadlines to adhere to. Sounds silly in retrospect, but I used to truly shy away from interacting with others.
The look between myself and Steph broke that barrier. After class, for whatever reason, she threw the conversation ball my way and I managed to catch it. Turns out, she is Chinese and Australian, which is as close to a German Japanese mix that I had met in a while (My previous job, I was surrounded by many Christophs and Klauses — I seemed to stick out like a sore thumb no matter where I went).
After some laughs, our conversation took an odd serendipitous turn when she told me that she recognised my name from a cold email I addressed to her retreat collective. She told me she was just about to draft a response — they were looking for help.
Plop! Down the rabbit hole I went.
In time, Steph turned into my mentor, business partner, and close confidant for all things life, career, and everything in between.
Truth be told, I wrote that cold email to Steph many months before our first interaction. It makes me giggle to think of how desperately I longed for a career that felt more aligned. Like a child wishing for a Christmas present in June, I wanted my dream job to fall into my lap by the following day — without having any idea of what the dream position would actually entail.
Teaching yoga may not have been my dream job in the long run, but it certainly was for a point in time. Zooming out, the pivot served as a step in the right direction.
There’s a saying in Japanese,
「花は自分の時に咲く」
Hana wa jibun no toki ni saku — Flowers will bloom in their own time.
The elimination of hurry is a lesson that Steph not only taught in her classes, but also carried with her through our every interaction. Meeting her opened the door to what life could be if I actually slowed down and soaked it all in. There’s no need to rush through life in pursuit of the perfect career, perfect relationship, perfect apartment. In fact, the process of unfolding may be more beautiful than the destination.
Alas here we are. The beginning of the end — a new city and vocation are just on the horizon. Lucky for me, I still have time to save my Spotify wrapped (last year it was all hand pans and tuning forks).
The pursuit of yoga was the first time I truly took the reins of my own life. Scary? Absolutely. For the first few months of teaching, my body would quiver like December without a down jacket as I made my way to the studio. I had never felt nerves to that extent before. Despite that, week after week I’d rinse and repeat the same routine, with a different sequence and numerous hours of rehearsal under my shaking belt.
When things got really jittery, I’d put on Rihanna and tell myself: maybe it’s a good thing I’m feeling this way — walking straight into the fire with my head held high. In hindsight, it was all a blessing in disguise: my “walks to the office” pulsed with a kind of vibrancy that far overtook what I had felt in my first few years as a working adult.
As this chapter comes to a close, rather than gripping onto teaching and make the claim that I will continue to teach following my move, I wish to wipe the slate clean and move forward without the answer.
Now, the job is to look back into the review mirror and smile. It’s only in the act of reflection where the motivation for new pursuits truly begins to sow.
What an honour it has been.
Special thanks to the following:
Anton, Tony, and Grace from the 200 hour training at the Sacred Fig
Karlie, Steph, Antonia, Brooklyn, Leanne, Alex, and the rest of the team at Original Feelings
Abbie and Ty from The Studio
Jackie from Beyond Studio
A: my partner in crime and biggest cheerleader. I’ll never forget the time we practiced my sequence six times in one day to prepare for my first class.
And finally, thank you to everyone who I’ve had the pleasure to cross paths with on a yoga mat. What a joy it has been.
See you in the next one.
xo
P
You left the yoga pants phase out 😂But A new chapter a new adventure!
Can’t wait to hear ..
「はなが咲くのは自分の時間」- perfect! Also love "a little bend in the knees will take you a lot further than you’d expect."