How do you know you’re ready to teach yoga and meditation? A wise friend once told me people rarely feel ready. No amount of trainings or certifications or workshops will be equivalent to the experience of teaching itself. In the same way, no amount of Buddhist literature will be equivalent to the experience of meditation itself. Knowing something in the brain is not the same as knowing it in the body. Although trainings and books can be deeply enriching, it is not until we consistently water the seeds of our practice that they sprout from within.
So we practice. And practice. And practice some more. And through our practice, and the guidance of our teachers, we may unearth some wisdom, that like a fossil, had been beneath the surface all along. There are those of us, too, who spend years tilling the earth of our bodies and hearts only to unearth jagged pebbles, dry roots, and squiggling worms. Though seemingly not as grand, and at times frustrating, these too are treasures.
Discoveries are pleasant and rewarding, however, the question of readiness has little to do with how much is dug up and dusted off and displayed. Whatever is discovered, or not, the value lies in the tilling, the toil, the practice. You cannot teach someone to “fossil,” or “pebble” but you can teach them to skillfully excavate. (You can teach someone to worm, but that’s another matter…)
In my experience, the question is not: Do I know enough? But rather: Am I practiced enough? Krishnamacharya, often referred to as the father of modern yoga, said a good yoga teacher practices daily.
When I finished my first 200-hr YTT, I did not feel ready. My practice was inconsistent. It’s not that a 200-hr training doesn’t prepare students to offer something of value to their communities—many feel ready to teach immediately after certification—I just wasn’t one of those people.
With encouragement from family and friends, I set aside my inhibitions and began teaching volunteer classes at my university. I felt so unsure of myself. The day before my first class, I spent more than I could wisely afford on a matching set from Athleta. Maybe if I looked the part, I would feel the part?
The leggings I bought were designed to cover the feet. I thought I might look extra cool, and my students would recognize I was the real deal. Moments before my first class, I doubted my choice, and hastily tucked 5 inches of fabric away, the same way I had attempted to tuck my unpreparedness away by buying the leggings in the first place.
I felt like a bad teacher—and maybe I was one! The reason I felt this way was not because I was unknowledgeable. I lovingly studied the Yoga Sutras, Hatha Yoga Pradipika, and Bhagavad Gita (and continue to do so!). The reason was I did not regularly practice. In fact, the only time I practiced was during the classes I taught! Those classes were my practice—not a practice of mine I shared with others! No matching yoga set could compensate externally for what I lacked internally.
I led a group of 3-5 students, of which only one attended regularly. I often wondered why the others who came didn’t stay. Was I charismatic enough? Fit enough? Competent enough? In thinking this way, I overlooked the person who did stay. I wonder if I also overlooked my own value—something my family and friends, and that one student perhaps recognized in me.
If it was there, I could not see it. Consistency breeds competence and confidence. Inconsistency breeds deficiency and doubt. It’s only after I established a daily yoga and meditation practice that I began to feel somewhat ready.
Still, if I were to go back in time, I would change nothing. I may not have been Krishnamacharya’s definition of a good yoga teacher, or even my own definition of one, but there was at least one person who may have felt differently. While it’s important to cultivate self-belief, it is those who believe in you that decide whether or not you’re truly ready.
There’s no need to rush into teaching, and there’s no need to hold yourself back, either. To borrow a phrase from a teacher I adore, Leslie Booker, “Move at the speed of trust.”
The decision to teach is up to the individual. Krishnamacharya’s qualifier of daily practice may be a useful benchmark—but ultimately, you’ll know it in your gut. You’ll know it when people want to learn from you. The body is wise. Community is wise. Trust in them, and also in yourself.