By Leslii Stevens ERYT500, YACEP, Ayurveda Practitioner
So, let’s get this straight: For six months, I taught 222 yoga and group fitness classes at a studio, and I never saw a dime. Not one. While clients were paying the studio, other teachers were getting their checks, and employees were cashing in, I—someone who has poured my heart and soul into teaching—was left hanging. And this isn’t the first time this has happened.
Flashback to 2020. Remember that little thing called a global pandemic? Well, I was one of those yoga teachers who made the transition to Zoom classes. For five and a half months, I logged into Zoom four times a week, showing up for my students, keeping the community alive, helping them stay grounded during one of the most chaotic times in recent history. The studio? Oh, they were still charging students. And did I get paid for all that hard work? Nope. Not a single cent. And let’s not forget, this same studio got federal and state aid to “help them stay afloat” during COVID. Funny how they managed to stay afloat while I was sinking, unpaid, drowning in bills with no unemployment to fall back on.
I’m an independent contractor, which in yoga-speak means no job security, no health insurance, no paid vacation, no 401k—just me hustling from one studio to the next, hoping to get enough classes to make ends meet. No unemployment checks to catch me when things go south, either. It’s a hustle, and not a cheap one at that. Yoga teachers, if you didn’t know, are required to carry their own liability insurance just to teach at gyms or studios. Oh, and you better have your CPR certification in case someone decides to pass out in your class (it happens). All that comes out of our pockets. We have to be covered before we even step foot in a studio. And for what? So some studios can take advantage of our passion for teaching?
But let me back up. Teaching yoga and fitness isn’t just an hour-long gig. Sure, the class might last an hour, but we’re at the studio early, setting up, chatting with students, making sure everyone is taken care of. Afterward, we’re cleaning, answering more questions, and making sure the space is in shape for the next group. It’s more like two hours of work per class, and that’s not counting the time spent off the mat and not in the classroom prepping. You think we just roll into class and wing it? Nope. I spend hours planning sequences, researching modifications for different students, creating flows that make sense and help my students feel strong, balanced, and capable. And then there’s the travel. We’re not 9-to-5 W-2 workers who clock in, get benefits, and go home. No, we’re driving from one gym to the next, one studio to another, often an hour apart, sometimes teaching three classes a day. Ever try teaching 13 to 15 classes in a week? Let me tell you, my body feels every single bit of it!
And still, I keep showing up. I keep hustling. Why? Because teaching yoga is not just a job—it’s a calling. But calling or not, I’ve got bills to pay. I’m a single parent. This is how I provide for my family. And it blows my mind that some studios, the ones supposedly built on values of community and care, can look someone like me in the face and just… not pay me.
I didn’t walk into these studios asking for free handouts. I invested in my education, clocking over 3,000 hours in yoga training and over 3,500 hours teaching. I’ve got experience, expertise, and a deep passion for what I do. So, why is it okay for these studios to just brush off the fact that this is my livelihood? It’s not like I’m out here asking for charity. I show up. I put in the work. I expect to be paid for it—just like anyone else in any other job.
Here’s the kicker though: This isn’t just my story. It’s a story I’ve heard too many times, from other yoga teachers, fitness instructors, even musicians. Yep, musicians. You wouldn’t believe how many bands have been stiffed by venues and managers, working their butts off and seeing nothing in return. The parallels between the yoga world and the music industry are scary. Both are fueled by passion, creativity, and this relentless drive to share your gift with others. But too often, the people who benefit from our work don’t think twice about leaving us high and dry.
So, why am I sharing this? Because this is part of my journey as a yoga teacher. And honestly, I’m not looking for sympathy here. I’m looking for change. If you take anything away from this, let it be this: Yoga teachers, fitness instructors, musicians—we deserve to be paid for our time, our energy, our skills, and our expertise. This is real work, and it’s worth something.
I’m just here to remind everyone that the hustle is real. The wear and tear on our bodies, our cars, our wallets, and our minds—it’s not a joke. It’s not “just a yoga class.” It’s a career, and it’s a tough one at that. So the next time you’re rolling out your mat or taking a group fitness class, remember: we love what we do, but we also deserve to be compensated fairly for it.
Teaching yoga isn’t just a passion—it’s a profession that deserves respect and fair compensation. It’s about time the industry starts valuing the teachers who dedicate their lives to helping others find balance, strength, and peace—because we’re hustling hard, and we deserve to be paid for it.
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