What Teaching Taught Me

There’s a certain satisfaction in crafting the perfect class plan.
The timings. The transitions. The playlist syncing with the slowest 4-count.
Everything intentional, everything mapped.

But then you walk into the room.

And suddenly, that perfect sequence you spent hours curating?
It doesn't fit.
Not because the moves were wrong – but because the energy’s off.
Like puzzle pieces from two different sets.

Maybe the regulars don’t have the energy they usually do.
Maybe the room is full of first-timers.
Maybe no one slept well. Maybe it’s just... one of those days.
The vibe, the capacity, the mood – it all shifts.
And if you don’t shift with it, things fall flat.

Here’s what I’ve learned in the past months:
Reading the room beats reading the plan. Every time.

And that includes reading yourself.

Because as much as the group matters – so do you.
If I’m not centered, it shows.
If I walk in overwhelmed, tired, distracted – that carries into the space too.
The cues land differently. The rhythm slips.
The room feels it, even if no one says it.

Teaching has made that clear:
You can’t hide. Not up there. Not in front of people who’ve chosen to give you their trust and their time.
You are visible. Before class. After class.
In how you speak, move, hold space – even in silence.

I’ve always been a structured person – especially at work.
I love a plan. I trust a system.
So in the beginning, it felt hard to let go of that.
To not stick rigidly to the class I had mapped out.
To allow space, not just structure.

But now – a year into teaching – I find myself more relaxed in class.
More open. More present.
And surprisingly, that shift hasn’t just changed how I teach – it’s changed how I live.
There’s more softness. More trust. More room to breathe.

I still write my plans. I still care about structure.
But I hold it all a little more loosely now.
Because the real work isn’t just about what you teach – it’s about how you show up.

And that’s what people feel.
And that’s what stays.