Unbecoming the Teacher.

I walked into a yoga class where nobody knew my name, nobody knew I teach, and nobody expected anything from me. I didn't realize how much I needed that.

Teaching in the wellness space is both a blessing and a strange kind of pressure. I've had students tell me years later that showing up to my classes kept them sane, anchored, sober, or alive during life events I knew absolutely nothing about at the time.

But there is another side to it too.

People often meet me as the teacher, the one with the plan. The one talking about breath, steadiness, nervous system regulation, strength, acceptance, and all the things we are supposed to remember when life gets hard.

And the truth is, I don't always live it perfectly.

My life can be pretty messy. I get overwhelmed. I second guess myself. Some days, if I'm completely honest, I feel like a fake.

Imposter syndrome is real when you spend your days teaching people tools you know work, while also knowing you don't always use them when you need them most.

The thing is, I know this stuff works. I live it every day. But knowing something and actually doing it when your life is a mess are two different things.

Maybe that's especially true right now because I'm 48 and my kids just moved out. Being a mom was a big part of my life for twenty years. Now that's changing, and I'm trying to figure out who I am when that's not the main thing anymore. There is freedom in it. There is also fear.

We recently moved from the coast. My entire time in California, I've lived and taught around Encinitas and Carlsbad, but now I live inland in Escondido. New town. Zero street credit.

So this weekend, I finally decided to step into a local spot downtown, a small studio.

And I get there and the teacher asked if I'd done yoga before.

Personally, I have a complicated relationship with that question.

Years ago, when I first moved to California, I was so excited to start practicing at the Ashtanga Yoga Center. When I walked in, the person sitting at the front desk was cold. She looked me up and down and bluntly asked, "Have you done yoga before?"

I ended up walking right back out the door.

It wasn't really the question itself. Teachers sometimes need to know about experience, especially in a class involving inversions. It was the feeling behind it. Like I needed to prove something before I had even put my mat down.

This time, at the small studio, I simply said yes.

I didn't tell her I teach. I just said yes and left it at that.

And honestly, that felt good.

When I went upstairs, the other students introduced themselves by name. They were warm and welcoming, but let's be real, stepping into a brand new room as the new person is always a little intimidating.

When I'm on the teaching end, I'm an extrovert. Put me at the front of a room and I'm completely fine. Put me on a mat in a place where I don't know anyone, and suddenly I become deeply introverted especially when the practice starts.

It doesn't matter how many years I've practiced or taught. Walking into a new studio with a teacher who has their own style means you are going to feel clueless for a minute. Their language is different, their sequence is different, their timing is different. You can know yoga well and still need time to understand how that particular teacher moves and communicates.

I tell my students this all the time. When you walk into a class with a new teacher, give it a minute to understand how they teach. Being on the student side of it reminded me how it feels when you don't know what's coming next.

As the class moved through inversion fundamentals, I started to settle in. I wasn't responsible for the class. I wasn't watching everyone else, thinking about pacing, music, transitions, or whether somebody looked uncomfortable. I didn't have to decide what came next or have the right words ready.

I could just practice.

And I think that was the part I needed most.

I spend a lot of my life in roles where I am expected to know what I'm doing. Teacher. Coach. Mom. The one with the plan. But right now, in a lot of ways, I don't have the plan. I'm trying to figure out what I want my work to look like, what I want this next part of my life to feel like, and who I am when my kids don't need me in the same way anymore.

Maybe that is why it felt so good to walk into a room where nobody knew anything about me. There was nothing to explain and nothing to live up to. For that hour and a half, I could just be there without all the usual roles attached.

No reputation. No answers to give. Just an anonymous student on a mat.