Rosa Stark

Do you lead groups or guide individuals? How does this responsibility impact you? Ever feel like you should do more, know more, be different?
Depending on the context, the people involved, and the subject matter, I experience guiding others as either exhilarating, or a delicate dance with impostor syndrome. Often, it is a blend of both, encompassing curiosity, insecurities, passion, presence, etc.
Years ago, a teacher of mine emphasized the importance of keeping our personal matters separate from our role as teachers. Undoubtedly, holding space requires the ability to contain ourselves and fully engage with our students' experiences. Plus, some students may appreciate a teacher who stays at a distance.
I am not that type of student. I thrive in my own learning when I can relate to someone as a genuine human being with both strengths and challenges. A mentor who knows their subject matter and maintains professional boundaries on the one hand, but who is not afraid to show vulnerability, to express personal opinions (while acknowledging their subjectivity) on the other hand; Someone who remains open to revising their views based on the feedback they receive. It is this type of sincere and respectful teacher-student relationship that I trust instinctively. Thanks to this trust, I take away the greatest amount of learning.

From a remarkable sequencing strategy to what can feel like x-ray vision, has a lot of knowledge to offer. After three weekends with her, I’ve certainly jotted down tons of new ideas and tricks. Beyond that, I’m grateful to have a mentor who portrays balancing professional competence with personal authenticity. Observing Annie grant herself permission to be herself in a teaching context encourages me to do the same. Learning about some of her struggles, hearing her respond "I don't know,” from time to time, and witnessing her genuine interest in her students' points of view contribute to finding more ease in my own teaching practice: Her example helps me soothe my insecurities and remind myself that, while there is always more to learn, I am already enough.

Rest your hands on your thighs. In your right hand, feel your strength, your efforts, your ability to show up. In your left hand, feel your ease, your ability to accept.

Slowly, lift your hands.
Let your palms face one another. Maybe bring them together, maybe allow a little space between them. Stay with it for a moment.

Loved this play with effort and ease at the end of last Saturday's morning practice with (who may have used slightly different words). Picture by .

If you teach me something, I'll relate it to you. Yoga, Chemistry, languages; My memory links content to people.
Put me in a Yoga pose, and I'll immediately hear the sound of my teachers' voices.
Pick a ligament and I'll tell you which one of my fellow students I memorized it with.
Give me a violin and I'll name the people who taught me a specific technique 20 years ago.

In various contexts, I've watched my teachers model instructing, think critically, and be human. By chosing their role, they've invited me to project a bit of my baggage on to them and own it in the process; on top of that, they've taught me the content I came to them for. Being offered a safe space to grow is maybe the biggest gift there is (to me).

11 years ago, I started teaching Yoga. Although I was aware of my fondness for my own teachers, I had no idea about the kind of love I was going to feel for my students: Witnessing the individual journeys over the years, being trusted to guide something as intimate as breathing, and swimming in oxytocin co-highs while sitting with a group in Savasana -- experiencing the other end of the relationship has been as incredible as it has been humbling.
By means of their authenticity and their commitment, my students have taught me more than I could have hoped to learn in any training or course.