What an accidental yoga retreat in Mexico taught me about seeing students
I got “stuck” in the Riviera Maya for 10 extra days—and accidentally found exactly what I needed.
My husband and I had planned a week’s vacation in mid-January. A respite from the cold, a treat after a long 2025 when we moved house and worked a lot. Then Winter Storm Fern loomed, and facing the prospect of arriving home to ice and days without power, we thought: why not push our flights out one week and stay?
We wound up at the Waldorf Astoria Riviera Maya, in large part because they had vacancy and we had American Express points. I didn’t know I’d find myself in a private yoga retreat with Verónica, the resort’s wellness instructor.
I didn’t expect much.
In 20-plus years of teaching and 30 years of practice, I’ve taken a lot of classes. Resort yoga tends to be generic—fine, pleasant, forgettable. I figured I’d be glad I went but ultimately unimpressed.
I was wrong within the first five minutes.
She Wasn’t Who I Expected
We started with a little centering, and then moved into clearly guided pranayama—which isn’t typical for most resort-style classes. That small choice signaled something: intentionality. This wasn’t a script being read. Someone was actually teaching.
I kept my teacher identity to myself. This is something I call letting others drive the bus. When you’re a bus driver, you don’t want to have to drive the bus to get yourself home. You want a practice that’s genuinely for you—not one filtered through the teacher’s awareness that you’re watching with professional eyes.
I didn’t want Verónica to feel judged. I didn’t want her to perform for me. I wanted to experience her class as a student.
And that’s when something remarkable happened: she saw me anyway.
Seen Without Being Fixed
Before I revealed anything about my background, Verónica commented on how I’d adjusted Janu Sirsasana—placing my arm underneath my extended leg so the knee didn’t hyperextend. “You know what to do,” she said.
She’d noticed. She was watching.
Not to correct me. Not to fix me. Just . . . witnessing.
That’s the difference between being seen and being fixed. Being fixed feels like someone is trying to solve you—like you’re a problem. Being seen feels like someone is simply present with you, noticing what’s true without needing to change it.
Over more than a week of classes—sometimes alone, sometimes with my husband, sometimes with other guests—I felt held by Verónica’s teaching. She was grounded, steady, intuitive, responsive. Each class was slightly different, but always within the same container. The structure was consistent; the variations were intentional.
This is something I teach: repetition matters. For the teacher, it builds confidence. For the student, it creates safety. Verónica embodied this beautifully.
The Synchronicities
Toward the end of most classes, Verónica would invite us to call to mind three things we were grateful for.
One day midweek, I was reflecting on my five senses. Everything in Mexico was sensory—the scent of aromatherapy drifting from the spa, the texture of the sheets, the coolness of the travertine floor under my feet, the bright taste of every meal, the sound of tropical birds and distant spa music. I was feeling profoundly grateful for my senses.
And then Verónica said: “You might look to your five senses to find things you’re grateful for.”
I felt like she was in my head.
On my last day, it was just the two of us. When she offered the gratitude prompt, I was thinking: I’m grateful for myself, for making time to practice as a student. I’m grateful for my husband, for going on this extended adventure with me. And I’m grateful for Verónica, for being my teacher all week. When I get back to the room, I’m going to pull out my journal and write this down.
I took a breath.
And Verónica said: “You might visualize yourself writing down these gratitudes.”
I can’t explain it. I don’t need to. Some connections just are.
The most uncanny moment came when Verónica shared that her yoga name is Sanvistara—from santosha (contentment) and vistara (expansion). That week, my intention had been: I expand my comfort zone.
Contentment. Expansion. Exactly what I’d been practicing—and, as it turned out, exactly what the universe had been arranging. A second storm on our rescheduled departure day expanded our weeklong vacation to 17 days.
What This Means for Our Teaching
Being in Verónica’s classes reminded me what it feels like to be truly held by a teacher—to be met exactly where I was each day. Not fixed. Not performed at. Just . . . seen.
That’s the gift we get to offer our own students.
Not perfection. Not performance. Presence.
We never know who’s in our classes. We never know exactly what they’re carrying, what they need, or how much our simple attention might mean. That student who quietly adjusts a pose to suit their body? They might have 30 years of practice. Or they might be brand new and learning to trust themselves. It doesn’t matter.
What matters is that we notice. That we witness. That we create the kind of space where people can stumble into exactly what they need—even when they didn’t know they needed it.
I went to Mexico for a vacation. I came home with a renewed commitment to this work: helping the helpers who provide peace and calm in a turbulent world.
And a deep appreciation for the synchronicities that find us when we’re in the flow.
Your students are looking for this kind of presence. If you want support building the systems and confidence to show up fully in your teaching—without burning out on class planning—join us in The Prep Station.
