Can you do it on your own?

There’s a quiet strength in the way we show up—on our mats, in our lives, and as teachers. I’ve been reflecting a lot lately, especially on the role of a teacher in the Mysore room. What does it mean to hold space? What does it mean to support—not push—a student toward their own awakening?

This reflection was sparked in part by witnessing how my Mysore teacher shows up for her students. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s presence. It’s consistency. It’s a deep trust in the practice and in the students’ capacity to meet themselves fully—even when it’s hard.

And it is hard sometimes. Because so often, we’re looking outward for inspiration—for someone to tell us what to do, for a shape to achieve, for a fire to be lit. And while those external sources can offer a spark, they’re not what sustains us.

That’s an inside job.

As yoga teacher who specializes in the Mysore-style of teaching, one of my responsibilities is to observe. To notice whether a student has developed the foundation to regulate their nervous system when approaching more challenging asanas. To see if they are practicing in a way that fosters inner steadiness, not just outer progress.

And yes, sometimes my role is to stoke the fire. But it’s not my job to keep the fire burning. That responsibility belongs to the student.

That’s where the deeper work begins.

It’s disheartening, at times, to see students lose steam when they can’t find that fire on their own. Not because they aren’t capable—but because they haven’t yet learned to trust themselves. They haven’t yet discovered how to be fully in their body. To anchor into their breath. To let the ritual within the ritual of asana reveal what’s already within them.

I say this with empathy. Because I’ve been there.

I used to be the teacher who cracked the whip. Who asked students to do it again and again and again. And while discipline has its place, what I’ve learned is this: we can’t rely on being pushed. We have to know how to pull ourselves forward—especially when no one is watching.

There will be seasons when it’s harder to make it to the mat. I’m in one of those seasons right now. Life has changed. My rhythm has shifted. And yes, part of me wonders if that energy is spilling into the classroom. But I don’t think it is. I think I’ve simply become a gentler teacher—one who believes in agency and autonomy. One who upholds the rituals of this lineage while trusting students to find their own way in.