The Difference Between Good and Great Yoga Teachers

I have heard that what makes a good yoga teacher is their playlist. Or their ability to perform advanced asanas. They use Sanskrit, but not too much Sanskrit. A good teacher knows that Patanjali was a curator, not a creator. Their classes are trauma-informed. They are brand ambassadors. Or they might live a quiet, remote, traditional life of purity. They can answer any question you have about the chakras. They only teach within their scope of practice. They inspire you to try new things. Good teachers have soft, strong voices that reach beyond ears to touch the mind and heart.

All of these things may or may not add to what makes a good teacher. But what makes a great yoga teacher, in my opinion, is the embodiment of unity. 

In my childhood, I had Yosemite Sam-levels of anger that got me in all sorts of trouble. Of course, it hadn’t developed out of nowhere. I was carrying an immense amount of pain– but growing up in Texas, the surrounding religious culture was quick to teach me to demonize the fire within.

I remember asking, “But didn’t Jesus flip a table out of anger when they commercialized the temple?” It’s one of my favorite parts of the entire text because wow, he was such a badass.

They replied, yes– Jesus had been displaying righteous anger, but whatever I was experiencing was definitely not righteous. 

Enter, shame. Or in other words, fuel to my fire.

I forced every so-called negative thought and feeling down into the shameful pit of fire in my belly, internalizing the burns until I felt nothing at all.

Ah, yes, now I have reached righteousness.

At age eighteen, yoga came into my life as a means to recover from a serious sports injury. And man, was I upset with myself for getting injured in the first place.

Once I accepted my fate, asana became part of my Monday routine after school. The cool, refreshing changes I felt in my body and mind gradually trickled down into my ever burning pit, not to put out the fire, but to keep it from burning down the temple.

Yoga taught me that separation is an illusion. In order to feel joy, love, peace, excitement, I also must feel sadness, fear, anger. It is not that any of these feelings are positive or negative, but simply that one does not exist without the other.

We know joy because we know sadness.

We know love because we know heartbreak.

We know peace because we know anxiety.

We know calm because we know anger.

You will not experience unity until you learn to love the parts of the human experience that you have deemed as unacceptable or undeserving of love. Great yoga teachers understand that they cannot separate themselves from everything else– regardless of how the ego continues to try. Duality is our perception, unity is our reality.

For many of us, what starts as a deep love and appreciation for the practice evolves into a curiosity that can only be met with introspection and dedication. It doesn’t take most practitioners very long to realize that the yoga practice is really just life practice, and that everything we do on the mat, with our breath, in our minds and hearts, translates to how we behave at work, how we function in relationships, how we eat and drink.

Great yoga teachers accept all parts of the human experience as beautiful, valid, and necessary. When we become the unity we teach, our students can’t help but consider the same ideas within the context of their own lives. 

I believe it is ultimately up to the student to create the experience they want for themselves during a yoga class. 

I believe that good teachers can add to the experience with intentional content, timing, and transmission. 

I believe that great teachers will tell you where to look, but not what to see.

When a student falls out of a balancing posture and is visibly frustrated, there are at least two directions I could go:

“Avoid getting frustrated with yourself when you’re trying something new. Come back to your breath, try again.” Though the intention is to encourage, this ultimately attempts to separate the student from their experience, as if frustration is something to avoid or ignore. It also negates the fact that they will inevitably experience this emotion again at some point in the future, and may avoid it all together as that’s what they’ve practiced.

Or…

“Notice what you feel when things don’t go as planned. Do you feel it somewhere specifically in your body? Inhale into that space, exhale, settle in.” This is much more open ended– showing versus telling– and offers space and acceptance for whatever experience your students are having.

As Rumi said, invite in every feeling that knocks. Ask them to sit, kick their feet up, stay a while– like you would any guest in your home. Do not suggest how they might sit on your couch, or how they might show up the next time. Sit next to them as they are, as you are. This is duality and unity in simultaneous action.

Our playlists help create the vibe. Using Sanskrit is preservation. Teaching in a trauma-informed way will help cultivate a sense of safety. But ultimately, creating a unifying experience for our students comes from consistently creating a unifying experience within ourselves.