There is a question that strikes mild but immediate dread into the heart of many yoga teachers.

It sounds innocent enough.

Perfectly reasonable.
Almost polite.

“What kind of yoga do you teach?”

Now, I understand why people ask this. They are simply trying to work out whether they will enjoy the class or whether it will involve holding plank while regretting all their life choices.

But internally, whenever I hear the question, a small part of me dies inside.

Because answering it properly would require either:

• lying

• oversimplifying

• launching into a forty-minute philosophical explanation about the nature of yoga, human beings, and the weather.

And nobody wants that while standing in a village hall doorway with their yoga mat.

So most yoga teachers panic slightly and say something vague like:

“Ah… a bit of everything really.”

Which sounds evasive.

But is also the closest thing to the truth.

My Slight Suspicion About the Question

Over the years I have developed a theory.

When people ask “What kind of yoga do you teach?”, what they often mean is:

“Please say the type I already like so I can feel reassured.”

Or sometimes:

“Please say the type I once tried in 2007 and hated so I can rule you out immediately.”

For example:

If I say Vinyasa, someone will say:

“Oh no I hate flow yoga.”

If I say Yin, someone will say:

“Oh I can't possibly lie still for that long.”

If I say Hatha, someone will say:

“Oh that sounds a bit slow.”

At this point the only safe answer left is probably:

“Yoga where you mostly sit on a chair eating biscuits.”

Which, to be honest, would probably sell out.

The Trouble With Yoga Labels

The real problem is that yoga labels are wildly reductive.

They try to squeeze something vast and evolving into neat little categories.

Vinyasa.
Yin.
Power.
Hatha.
Restorative.

Pick one. Stay in your lane.

But yoga — real yoga — doesn’t work like that.

Imagine if someone asked:

“What kind of movement do you do?”

And you said:

“Walking.”

And they replied:

“Oh I hate walking.”

Which walking?

• The gentle stroll through a park

• The determined march when you’re late for the train

• The quiet wander along a beach

• The 15-mile charity hike

• Pacing the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil

Same activity.

Very different experience.

Yoga is exactly the same.

Yoga Changes With… Everything

A sensible yoga practice should change depending on all sorts of things.

Your energy.
Your mood.
Your health.
Your injuries.
Your fitness.
The time of day.
The season.
Whether you've slept well.
Whether you've just eaten a large lasagne.

Sometimes the body needs strength.

Sometimes it needs softness.

Sometimes it needs to lie on the floor and breathe for ten minutes while reconsidering its life choices.

Good yoga should be responsive.

Alive.

Not trapped in a narrow band simply because someone once gave it a label.

My Other Problem With the Question

There is another small issue.

If I answer too neatly, people start to put you in a box.

“Oh right. She teaches that kind of yoga.”

And suddenly that becomes the lane you're expected to stay in forever.

But the best teachers are still students.

Still experimenting.
Still learning.
Still discovering new ways of moving, breathing and practicing

If I had decided five years ago that I was only one type of teacher, I would have missed half the things I now love about yoga.

And yoga itself would probably be bored rigid.

So What Kind of Yoga Do I Teach?

If someone absolutely insists on a proper answer, the most honest thing I can say is this:

I teach yoga for real people with real bodies.

Sometimes it's strong.
Sometimes it's slow.
Sometimes it's flowing.
Sometimes it's restorative.

But the aim is always the same.

To help people move better, feel stronger, calm their nervous systems, and occasionally laugh at themselves while wobbling out of a balance.

Because if yoga teaches us anything, it’s this:

You don’t need the perfect label.

You just need to show up, breathe, and begin.

Preferably without the lasagna.