My Journey to Becoming a Yoga Teacher

I was 26 when I had my first experience with yoga. “Yoga” was of course a word I knew, a thing I had a general concept of (people put themselves into shapes that make them feel peaceful or something), but I had never taken a yoga class or knew anyone who practiced. It took me quite by surprise then, when a Swedish woman I was trying to hire to teach yoga at my arts center said she’d teach — as long as I came to class, too. 

Why this sweet, strong-willed woman had my number I’ll never know, but I owe her my life. I glumly sat on a borrowed mat, bemoaning the time I had to spend in class and not doing things I *needed* to be doing. I made lists in my head of to-do’s as I followed the motions....and then I blacked out. 

Or, so I like to say. What actually happened, of course, was yoga. For the first time in my life, I was guided to a place of bringing my awareness to my breath and connecting it to the movements of my body. It wasn’t until the end of class when I laid down for savasana that I realized my mind hadn’t been racing for the last hour. That, in fact, my mind was still. My breathing was even. My nervous system was calm. I was hooked. 

As any good zealot does, I jumped in headfirst, beginning a serious Ashtanga practice, arriving at my teacher’s house every morning in the dark as she taught me the primary series. I inhaled ancient texts, watched videos on YouTube, talked about yoga incessantly, and dreamt of making a living out of yoga. 

What that meant, I had no idea. But within two years I found myself in the midst of a life change. Newly moved to New Jersey and unsure of what I wanted to do with my life, I figured I might as well check out the local yoga studio. Here is the next divine moment in my yoga life, when the universe gave me Denise Orloff. 

“So, like, what’s your story?” she called out to me as I was surreptitiously trying to leave at the end. “I know you’ve got one with that hair,” she laughed. The woman wasn’t wrong (she rarely is, just ask Brian), as my usually long, thick black hair was shaved and bleached blonde. 

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It’s been seven years since that moment, which I count as one of the most pivotal in my life. Shortly after meeting Denise, I started working as a manager at a yoga studio and began my love-hate relationship with the yoga world. I loved the energy of the studio, the community it provided, the warmth of a steady practice, the structure it gave my racing mind. I couldn’t stand the obsession with handstands, the perceived pressure to be thin and wear cute outfits, the popular teachers who acted more like celebrities than yogis.

I could never reconcile the beauty of the philosophy and practice of yoga with the capitalistic industry I encountered in the US. I became embittered that something so valuable could become so easily cheapened. I dropped out of my teacher training, and stopped practicing all together (I warned you I am a bit of a zealot). 

Though I distanced myself from many of the people I once worked and hung out with, there was no dropping Denise. She was real — always ready with a smile, a laugh, maybe a glass of wine if needed, never one to stand down in the face of adversity, mistreatment, or bullshit. She had a husband, and sons, and friends, and colleagues, and employees. She understood that life is about people, about connection. She believed deeply that things were never black and white, and she knew when to tell me she expected more and she knew when to just give me a hug. 

The woman had become my most cherished mentor, able to answer any anatomy or asana question, but more likely to just answer the phone when I needed her to. She wasn’t surprised when I left yoga, and she wasn’t surprised when I came crawling back. 

It was 2019 when I came out to Melbourne to help her open LYFE. It was a dream come true for Denise, and by extension, me, too. I had seen her act as second-in-command or waiting in the wings year after year after year, her radiant gifts and incredible leadership always serving behind the scenes. I couldn’t be more excited to watch her step into her power and wanted to do whatever I could to support.

So, it was a bit surprising one morning as we sipped tea at a café in St. Kilda when she said “It’s time for you to teach.” Excuse me, what? This wasn’t supposed to be about me...we were supposed to be working on marketing materials. I wasn’t even practicing yoga at the time. 

“Baby, you’ve never stopped practicing,” she gently reminded me in her ever-insightful way. “Yoga is life. It’s not about being on your mat, it’s not about handstands. You know that, but you won’t admit it. And it’s time.”

I was speechless. I had left the yoga world years before, was well into a writing career, and was only here to help a friend; I was not looking to dive back in at all. But at that moment, Denise spoke directly to something deep in my heart; something I’d been ignoring for years. 

It’s as if I didn’t want to acknowledge that there is a way to live yoga, to share yoga outside of the elements I didn’t like, and yet — there was Denise directly across from me, embodying everything I loved about yoga. Living on each and every limb of the tree.

Denise waited until she knew I was ready, until she knew what I needed to hear, and then she empowered me. I completed my teacher training, began my 500-hour certification, and immediately started teaching...in the midst of a global pandemic. In more divine timing, my skills and gifts were ready for the world when they were needed most. 

“Your classes taught me how to breathe this year,” said one of my students recently. I am overcome with emotion because I know this feeling so well — the one of drowning, the one of being unable to breathe, the one of weight on your chest, and a lump in your throat. But it is the life practice of yoga that has allowed me to breathe, time and time again, and it is the embodiment and empowerment of yoga from Denise that has inspired me to take the seat of the teacher. It is the knowledge that my practice is something that no one else can define, and it is the absolute gift of being equipped to share it. Yoga is life, and life is unlimited. 

Caroline Joan Peixoto is an Azorean writer living and practicing yoga in the Beartooth Mountains of Montana on Apsáalooke land. She was gifted the practice of yoga in 2012 by her first teacher, Pernilla Rafiqui, when she was living in Rwanda. She has studied with Maty Ezraty, Kino McGregor, Denise Orloff, Sue Elkind, Jason Crandell, Jivana Heyman, and Amy Ippoliti. She founded The Shala, an online yoga community that is run by donations and gives back a portion of everything it receives to organizations fighting the climate crisis and for human rights. Connect with her on Instagram.