Your Yoga Teacher Might Be Lonely.
I was.
For so many years.
Let me explain.
Yoga in the West has become an industry that sells what is essentially internal, personal work as an external experience. We slide into our rooms to share wisdom in short snippets with our students. But those spaces—so full of ritual and breath—often lack deep discussion and genuine connection.
Even when we make time for longer conversations, being a teacher to another human isn’t the same as having a friend. Sometimes these roles overlap (and I won’t dive into the ethical complications here), but often students either place teachers on a pedestal or pity them. Then they return week after week out of compassion—or curiosity—as much as for the yoga itself.
Neither of those dynamics is healthy. Both create a cultish environment where the teacher is seen as part mystic, part tragic figure.
That alone could fill a book, but it’s such a common theme that comedian Marc Maron even joked about it in his special End Times Fun:
“I’m not gonna make fun of yoga instructors ’cause that’s different. That’s sort of the last stop for them… You wanna be nice to them, you don’t know how they got there—it’s probably a harrowing tale—but you know that being in their class is as important to them as it is to you. Like, if it doesn’t work out for the trainer, he’ll figure something else out. The yoga instructor—we really don’t know where that goes.”
The truth is, he’s right. And that teacher he’s talking about? She’s probably lonely—and wishes she had someone she could actually talk to about it.
The Myth of “Community”
In the Western yoga world, we talk endlessly about “community.” It’s become a buzzword—proof that what we create is special, unique, transformative.
But as Casper ter Kuile writes in The Power of Ritual (and said on the And She Spoke podcast), there’s a crucial difference between being of a community (as a participant) and being for a community (as its leader).
And we haven’t done enough to support yoga teachers who lead sacred communities without realizing how lonely that role can be.
The Pandemic Shift
I’ve written and talked on my podcast Working In Yoga about how deeply COVID reshaped the yoga industry. Wellness and fitness businesses didn’t receive the same relief that other industries did.
The teachers and studios that survived—barely—have reopened their doors for now. But every new variant still threatens to close them again.
There are far fewer teachers teaching today. Many of us have spent years working almost exclusively online. While remote work suits some industries, yoga lacks the virtual team huddles, Slack chats, or surprise game nights that make remote life bearable elsewhere.
Our “team meetings” are our classes—and maintaining boundaries means we (hopefully) don’t share our professional struggles with students.
We also exist without a water cooler.
Yoga teachers love to talk about “good vibes,” but it’s perfectly normal to feel lost in your professional life. What we don’t have are mentorship programs—or even spaces for casual, low-stakes connection. Places to vent, ask questions, or make the kind of “weak-tie” friendships that keep us grounded.
The Importance of Weak Ties
Sociologist Mark Granovetter coined the term “weak-tie relationships” in the 1970s. You know your close friends—your inner circle—but weak ties are the acquaintances who connect you to opportunity, information, and a broader sense of belonging.
The pandemic decimated those weak ties, a loss so profound that The Atlantic wrote about it.
Charles Duhigg, in The Power of Habit, notes that Rosa Parks helped ignite the Montgomery Bus Boycott not just through her close friends, but through those wider weak-tie connections.
Yoga teachers rarely get that kind of network. Our jobs are inherently solitary, and our post-class conversations are always shaped by the teacher-student dynamic.
The Industry Isn’t Paying Attention
Leadership in our field is inconsistent on the best of days. Most conversations about teacher well-being focus on physical injuries or, tragically, sexual misconduct.
But what about happiness? Satisfaction? Nourishment?
If you’re a yoga teacher, ask yourself:
Are you happy?
Do you feel connected to your peers?
Do you have a support network that will catch you when you stumble?
Are you seen—as a person, not just a teacher?
I’ve taught yoga for twenty years, and I didn’t feel that kind of support until 2018. For years, I worked in environments that were isolating and cult-like. I was told this loneliness was part of the “process.”
Well, I call bullshit on that.
Marc Maron was right—we’ve all got our harrowing tales. But loneliness doesn’t have to be part of our spiritual growth.
The Real Cost of Loneliness
Loneliness isn’t just sad—it’s dangerous. It contributes to high blood pressure, heart disease, obesity, weakened immunity, anxiety, depression, cognitive decline, Alzheimer’s, and even early death.
And yet, yoga—so often sold as the antidote to all those ailments—may be quietly perpetuating them among its own teachers.
Can we really call this “balance”?
Scarcity and Competition
In wellness, we love to talk about abundance. But in practice, scarcity drives so much of our behavior.
In many yoga communities, teachers feel pressured to stay “loyal” to one studio, where competition for students is fierce. Trust among peers is low. Undermining and even cutthroat behavior often gets rewarded—especially when owners themselves are struggling to survive.
That scarcity mindset trickles down. Studio owners feel threatened when teachers look for peer connection outside their walls. And so, community—the real kind—becomes even harder to find.
Many teachers turn to social media for connection, only to find the same toxic patterns: divisive debates, performative vulnerability, and constant selling disguised as support.
So What Can We Do?
If you’re a yoga teacher reading this and feeling seen, here are three ways to start shifting the pattern.
1. Find a Mentor.
Seek out teachers you admire. Some may offer mentoring, coaching, or small-group programs. Be willing to pay for their time—but start with a short call or coffee chat to see if it’s a fit.
Look for mentors who:
Have taught for a significant period, not just long enough to launch a training or open a studio.
Maintain a personal practice.
Have a hobby outside yoga.
If someone can’t name a hobby—photography, hiking, underwater basket weaving—maybe they’re not the best model for work/life balance.
2. Find Community Online—But Off Social Media.
My business mastermind group has been invaluable. It includes yoga professionals and people from other industries, and it’s a space where I can be honest—without worrying about comments, followers, or stolen ideas.
Find a group like that. It doesn’t have to be yoga-exclusive, but it helps if members understand freelance or gig-based work.
3. Find One Accountability Friend.
Start with one person. Someone you can talk yoga with, grab tea with, or hop on a Zoom call with that somehow lasts 90 minutes. This doesn’t have to be your best friend—just someone who gets it.
Over the years, I’ve had several of these friends, and they’ve been invaluable.
So, thank you—Allison, Jessica, Jo, Amanda, Jiya, Kate, Laree, Jennifer, Michele, Lindsay, and so many more—for turning what was once a lonely job into something special.
Because your yoga teacher might be lonely. But she doesn’t have to be.
Author’s Note — 2025
When I first wrote this essay in early 2022, we were still figuring out how to re-enter community life after years of separation. Three years later, some things have changed—and some haven’t.
I see more teachers talking openly about burnout, pay equity, and the emotional toll of teaching. I see studios trying (and sometimes failing) to create more supportive spaces for their staff. And I see new networks forming—podcasts, mentorship groups, and even trade magazines—where yoga professionals can connect beyond the mat.
But loneliness still lingers. The work of teaching yoga remains deeply human, deeply relational, and often deeply isolating.
If you’re reading this now—teacher, trainer, or lifelong student—remember that behind every cue and playlist and sacred offering, there’s a person doing their best to stay connected. Reach out. Ask how they’re doing.
Because connection is still the most impactful practice we have.
— R