There are moments on the yoga path when something quietly but profoundly changes. Not through an attitude or a philosophy that we have been studying for years, but through a simple exchange that enters the body before the mind can organize it. A moment when the teacher becomes the student – and grace arrives unexpectedly.
Perfectionism often disguises itself as dedication. We call it responsibility, integrity, discipline. We double-check everything, over-prepare, and hold ourselves to standards we would never impose on those we love. And when we inevitably make a mistake, the internal response can be swift and brutal.
Yoga philosophy reminds us of this avidia– misunderstanding – does not mean a lack of intelligence or effort. It means that you see reality through a distorted lens. One of the most persistent distortions is the belief that our worth depends on doing things right. That care must be reflected in impeccability. That mistakes somehow diminish our worth.
Sometimes healing comes in its simplest form. In this case, it came from words spoken to me at a time when I needed them most:
“You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
When words like these are spoken with sincerity, they can soothe something that is deep-seated. They can touch places that were formed long before we had the language to question them. Many of us came to yoga through teachers who embodied rigor and discipline. While this can be empowering, it can also quietly reinforce an inner narrative that it is never enough – especially when authority and spirituality are intertwined.
The Yoga Sutras talk about it abhyasa (steady effort) and vairagya (non-attachment). These two are meant to be inseparable. Effort without softness becomes stiffness. Discipline without compassion turns into self-punishment. Real practice is not about never faltering; it’s about how we encounter ourselves when we do.
Wearing many hats is now part of the yoga teaching landscape. A yoga teacher is rarely just a yoga teacher anymore. We are often curators, administrators, bookkeepers, website designers, marketers and those who quietly crunch the numbers late at night – skills that most of us have never been formally trained in. Many of us choose to stay small and practical, not because we lack ambition, but because intimacy and authenticity are more important than scale. And yet, keeping it all alone can sometimes mean mistakes are made. Not out of carelessness, but out of deep care while playing more than one role at the same time. This is also part of being human – and part of practice.
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