The Nerves That Never Go Away: A Yoga Teacher’s Journey

Every time I step into a yoga hall/studio to teach, I feel a familiar flutter in my stomach. You might think that after teaching so many classes, those nerves would have disappeared by now. But the truth is, they haven’t—and I’m starting to realise that maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

The Nervous Energy Before Teaching

Each time I prepare to lead a class, there’s a moment when I feel a wave of nervous energy. It’s a mix of excitement and uncertainty, a quickening of my heart as I anticipate stepping in front of my students. I often find myself wondering, “Will I be able to connect with everyone? Will the class resonate?”

Those feelings take me right back to my first time teaching—an emotional rollercoaster of doubt, adrenaline, and vulnerability. And even now, after repeating this experience week after week, the nerves haven’t disappeared. They’ve just changed shape.

But recently, those nerves have been layered with something deeper.

Stepping Into the Unknown

Not long ago, I was faced with something completely unexpected—taking voluntary redundancy. It wasn’t really a choice, more something that was put upon me. And suddenly, I found myself standing at a crossroads.

Do I play it safe? Or do I step fully into the thing I love?

Choosing to become a full-time yoga teacher felt like stepping into the unknown. There was fear, uncertainty, and so many unanswered questions.

Will this work?

Will it be easier now I can fully commit to this path?

There were moments where the fear felt loud—almost loud enough to stop me moving forward, to keep me small, to keep me inside the comfort of what I knew.

Fear, Nerves, and Growth

Fear can be powerful. It can try to convince us to stay exactly where we are. To not take the leap. To not do the thing we feel called to do.

But I’ve realised something important: fear isn’t the problem. It’s what we do with it that matters.

I couldn’t let fear hold me back or dominate me to the point where I felt paralysed. I couldn’t avoid doing the very thing I wanted—teaching, connecting, growing—just because I felt scared.

So instead, I chose to use it.

I stepped out of my comfortable bubble with a sense of confidence, clarity, and inner trust—even if that trust felt small at times. I allowed fear to come with me, but not lead me.

Because those nerves? That fear? They mean I care. They keep me accountable. They push me to keep learning, to keep showing up, to keep becoming a better version of myself—both as a teacher and as a person.

The Power of Support

Something I’ve come to appreciate even more through this transition is the strength of my support network.

I haven’t done this alone.

Matt has been my constant cheerleader—encouraging me when I’ve doubted myself, reminding me of what I’m capable of, and standing beside me as I’ve taken this leap into the unknown. His belief in me has grounded me on the days where things have felt uncertain.

And my parents… their unwavering belief has been something I’ve carried with me every step of the way. Knowing they fully trust in me and what I’m building has given me a deeper sense of confidence, even when my own wobbles creep in.

That kind of support does something powerful—it lifts you. It reminds you that even when things feel uncertain, you’re not doing it alone. And in many ways, their belief in me has helped strengthen my belief in myself.

A Shift I Didn’t Expect

And now that I’ve stepped into it—fully—I’ve noticed something I didn’t quite expect.

I feel lighter.

More at ease.

There’s a sense of alignment that I didn’t realise I was missing before. And perhaps the biggest reflection of that shift has come from the people around me—my kids saying that I seem happier.

That says everything.

It doesn’t mean the nerves have gone. They’re still there before I teach, that familiar flutter reminding me that this matters. But now, they sit alongside something else—trust.

Trust that I’m on the right path.

Trust that I can figure it out.

Trust that even in the unknown, I am exactly where I need to be.

Still a Journey

This journey is still unfolding. I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But what I do know is this:

Growth doesn’t happen inside comfort.

And sometimes the things that feel the most uncertain… are the very things that lead us home to ourselves.

So I’ll keep showing up—with the nerves, with the fear, but also with courage, passion, and a deep love for what I do.

Because that’s what makes it all worth it.