Every December, I watch yoga teachers do the same thing. They look at their unfilled teaching schedule, their unfinished training applications, their unrecorded workshop ideas, and they beat themselves up for what they didn’t accomplish.
But here’s what I’ve learned after two decades of teaching and training yoga teachers: You’re probably measuring the wrong things.
You’re counting the workshops you didn’t lead instead of the students who kept showing up to your Tuesday night class. You’re focused on the certification you didn’t complete instead of the cueing adjustment that finally clicked for you in October. You’re measuring Instagram followers instead of the invisible growth that actually matters—the way your voice got steadier, the way you started seeing student needs faster, the way you recovered more quickly when something didn’t go as planned.
And because you’re measuring the wrong things, you’re designing your 2026 with the wrong information.
The Problem with How We Review Our Teaching Years
Here’s what typically happens at the end of a teaching year. You look at your calendar and think about what you taught. You notice you made less money than you hoped, or didn’t get hired at that studio you applied to, or your social media didn’t grow the way you wanted.
Then you set resolutions for next year: “I’ll teach more classes. I’ll finish that training. I’ll post more consistently. I’ll build my following.”
But you’re skipping the most important step. You’re not actually looking at what worked. You’re not identifying what you want to keep, what you’re ready to drop, and what you’re curious to add. You’re not asking what lessons this year taught you about your teaching.
In the gardening world, they call this roses, thorns, and buds. What bloomed? What hurt? What’s ready to grow?
In the teaching world, I think of it as Keep, Drop, Add.
Most teachers jump straight to “I should do more” without ever examining what “more” means or whether the “more” they’re chasing actually aligns with what makes them good teachers.
Why Reflection Actually Matters for Your Teaching
Let me tell you what happens when you skip the reflection step.
You keep doing things that drain you because you think you’re supposed to. You drop things that were actually working because you didn’t recognize their value. And you add new commitments that sound impressive but don’t fit your actual teaching life.
I’ve watched teachers do this for years. They’ll say, “I want to teach more workshops in 2026,” but when we dig into their 2025, they realize the two workshops they did teach were exhausting and poorly attended. What they actually enjoyed was their consistent Tuesday night class where students kept showing up and their cueing kept getting clearer.
But because they never paused to identify that pattern—that consistency and clarity are their strengths—they set a 2026 goal that works against their actual gifts.
Or they’ll say, “I need another certification,” but when we look at their year, they grew more from troubleshooting a student’s knee issue than from the last training they took. What they actually need isn’t another certificate. It’s time to practice the skills they already have.
This is why reflection matters. Because you can’t design a sustainable teaching year if you don’t know what you’re building on.
And here’s the deeper truth: Most teachers underestimate how much they’ve actually grown. They focus on the dramatic transformations—the workshop they launched, the training they completed—but they miss the invisible growth. This growth is real. It’s valuable. And if you don’t acknowledge it, you’ll keep chasing external validation instead of building on your actual foundation.
How to Actually Reflect on Your Teaching Year
Let me walk you through the framework I use in my mentorship programs. You can do this work on your own, or join me for the free live calls I’m hosting in December and January.
Step One: Identify What Actually Mattered
Forget about your Instagram. Forget about the workshops you didn’t lead or the classes you didn’t get hired for.
Instead, ask yourself: What are the moments from 2025 when I felt like a real teacher?
Not when you felt impressive. Not when you got compliments. When you felt like you were actually teaching—seeing students, adjusting for their needs, making a difference.
Maybe it was the day you modified a sequence on the fly because half your class had sore shoulders. Maybe it was when you finally nailed the cue for warrior two that had been eluding you all year. Maybe it was just showing up consistently every Tuesday night, even when your confidence was low.
Write these moments down. Three to five of them. They don’t have to be dramatic. They just have to be true.
Here’s what you’re looking for: evidence that you were teaching, not performing.
Your best teaching moments probably weren’t the ones that looked impressive from the outside. They were the ones where you were fully present with your students, solving real problems, building real trust.
That’s your roses. That’s what bloomed.
Step Two: Identify What You Learned from What Didn’t Work
Now let’s look at the thorns. But we’re not going to wallow in them. We’re going to examine what they taught you.
Ask yourself: What didn’t work in my teaching this year, and what did I learn from it?
Maybe you said yes to teaching a class time that never felt sustainable. Maybe you tried a new sequencing approach that confused your students. Maybe you invested in a training that didn’t give you what you needed.
These aren’t failures. They’re data.
What did each thorn teach you about your teaching? If the early morning class drained you, maybe you learned you teach better when you’re rested. If the fancy sequencing confused students, maybe you learned your strength is clarity, not complexity. If the training didn’t deliver, maybe you learned you need practical skills more than philosophical theory.
Write down what you learned. Not what you did wrong. What you learned.
Because here’s what I know from 20 years of teaching: The lessons from what didn’t work are often more valuable than the wins.
Step Three: Identify Your Four Dimensions of Growth
Now let’s look at growth you might not be seeing.
I teach my mentorship members about the Four Dimensions of Teaching Growth:
Consistency — Did you show up? Did you teach regularly, even when it was hard?
Connection — Did you see your students? Did you adjust for their actual needs?
Competence — Did your skills develop? Did your sequencing get clearer, your cueing sharper, your understanding deeper?
Confidence — Did you trust yourself more? Did you recover faster from mistakes? Did you need less external validation?
Most teachers only measure competence—what they learned, what certifications they earned. But the other three dimensions are just as important.
You might have grown enormously in consistency this year. You showed up every week, even when you were tired. That’s real growth, even if it doesn’t come with a certificate.
You might have grown in connection. You started seeing when students were struggling and adjusting before they even asked. That’s mastery, even if no one notices but you.
You might have grown in confidence. You stopped apologizing when things went differently than planned. You started trusting that you could handle whatever showed up in class.
Ask yourself: Which of these four dimensions did I grow in this year?
Pick at least one. Own it. That’s part of your foundation.
Step Four: Create Your Bridge Statement
Now here’s where we build the bridge from 2025 to 2026.
This is the keep, drop, add framework. This is your roses, thorns, and buds. This is what you’re carrying forward.
What are you keeping? What worked so well that you want to protect it, build on it, center it in 2026?
Maybe it’s your consistent teaching schedule. Maybe it’s your approach to cueing. Maybe it’s the workshop format that actually filled. Maybe it’s the boundary you set about not teaching more than a certain number of classes per week.
Write it down: “In 2026, I’m keeping…”
What are you dropping? What didn’t serve you, your students, or your sustainability?
Maybe it’s the class time that never worked. Maybe it’s the sequencing style that felt forced. Maybe it’s the social media pressure. Maybe it’s saying yes to every opportunity even when it drains you.
Write it down: “In 2026, I’m releasing…” or “In 2026, I’m letting go of…”
What are you curious to add? What’s the bud? What wants to grow?
This isn’t a should. This isn’t a resolution. This is genuine curiosity about what might serve your teaching and your students.
Maybe you’re curious about teaching athletes. Maybe you’re curious about workshop design. Maybe you’re curious about a more sustainable planning system. Maybe you’re curious about slowing down your teaching style.
Write it down: “In 2026, I’m curious about…” or “In 2026, I’m exploring…”
This is your Bridge Statement. This is what you’re carrying from 2025 into 2026.
And notice: It’s built on what actually happened, not what you wish had happened.
How to Turn Reflection into Intention
So you’ve done the reflection. You’ve identified your roses, thorns, and buds. You know what you’re keeping, dropping, and adding.
Now what?
Here’s where most teachers make a mistake: They turn their curiosity into rigid goals.
They say, “I’m curious about teaching workshops” and immediately commit to leading six workshops in 2026. They say, “I’m curious about athletes” and sign up for three different trainings before they’ve even taught one athlete.
But that’s not how sustainable teaching works.
Instead, we’re going to turn your reflection into intentions, not resolutions.
Here’s the difference: Resolutions are outcome-focused. They’re impressive. They often fail. Intentions are process-focused. They’re sustainable. They build on your actual strengths.
So instead of “I will teach six workshops in 2026,” the intention might be “I will explore workshop design by developing one workshop outline each quarter.”
Instead of “I will finish three trainings,” the intention might be “I will deepen my understanding of working with athletes by teaching one athlete per week and noting what I learn.”
Instead of “I will post on Instagram every day,” the intention might be “I will share my teaching insights once a week in a way that feels authentic.”
Do you see the difference? Resolutions set you up to measure success or failure. Intentions set you up to learn and grow.
The Three-Part Intention Framework
In my live calls in January, we’re going to build three specific intentions:
Your Structural Intention — This is how you’ll organize your teaching. Your planning rhythm. Your schedule. Your systems. Maybe your structural intention is: “I will plan my sequences monthly using a modular approach so I’m not starting from scratch every week.”
Your Skill Intention — This is what you’ll develop. The one area you’re curious about from your reflection. Maybe your skill intention is: “I will deepen my ability to teach athletes by learning how to modify poses for tight hamstrings and offering more functional movement.” Pick one. Not three. One.
Your Self-Care Intention — This is the boundary that protects your sustainability. Maybe your self-care intention is: “I will not teach more than eight classes per week, no matter what opportunities come up.” This is the intention that keeps you from burning out while chasing the first two.
Bringing It All Together
Here’s what this looks like in practice.
You do your reflection. You identify what you’re keeping—consistency, connection with students, clear cueing. You identify what you’re dropping—the early morning class that drains you, the pressure to post daily on social media. You identify what you’re curious about—teaching workshops, working with athletes.
Then you build your three intentions. Structural: “I will use a monthly planning rhythm to create consistent, clear sequences.” Skill: “I will explore teaching athletes by offering one athlete-focused class per month and learning from what works.” Self-Care: “I will protect my energy by keeping my teaching schedule to six classes per week maximum.”
That’s it. That’s your 2026 teaching plan.
Not a list of impressive resolutions. Not a pile of certifications you should complete. Just three clear intentions built on what you’re actually good at and what you’re genuinely curious about.
Join the Free Live Calls
If you want to do this work together—with guidance, with community, with accountability—I’m hosting two free live calls in The Zone at Comfort Zone Yoga.
Call One: Your 2025 Teaching Year in Review is Thursday, December 18th at 2 p.m. Eastern. We’ll spend 60 minutes reflecting on your year, identifying what actually mattered, and creating your Bridge Statement. You’ll leave with clarity about what you’re keeping, dropping, and adding.
Call Two: Designing Your 2026 Teaching with Intention Setting is Thursday, January 15th at 2 p.m. Eastern. We’ll take your Bridge Statement and turn it into a realistic, sustainable teaching plan using the Three-Part Intention Framework. We’ll match you with an accountability partner and set up quarterly check-ins so your intentions don’t fizzle by February.
Both calls are completely free. Both include workbooks. Both will have replays if you can’t make it live.
You don’t need another certification to be a better teacher in 2026. You don’t need to teach more classes or post more on social media or launch some big impressive program. What you need is to see what you’ve already built—to acknowledge your roses, examine your thorns, and nurture your buds. And then you need to design a teaching year that honors all of that instead of working against it.
Take 30 minutes before the end of December and actually look at your teaching year. Write your Bridge Statement. And then build your 2026 intentions on what you’re keeping, not what you’re dropping.
Don’t design next year as a reaction to this year’s disappointments. Design it as an expansion of this year’s strengths.
That’s how sustainable teaching works.
Want to dive deeper into this framework? Listen to the full episode of Yoga Teacher Confidential: Your Teaching Year in Review.
