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Am I Culturally Appropriating Yoga? Or Simply Teaching It From the Heart?

I’m a yoga teacher who now, predominantly chooses not to use Sanskrit asana names in my classes.


That might surprise some people. After all, I’ve spent hours studying, chanting, and memorising Sanskrit terms. I’ve chanted with joy, felt the beauty of the language resonate in my body, and yes I still use Sanskrit occasionally, especially when an asana name feels meaningful or familiar to the group. But for the most part, I’ve chosen not to.

© Naomi Hurst


When I first stepped into a yoga class, the teacher used Sanskrit asana names almost exclusively; and I have to admit I was totally lost! I didn’t know what the words meant, I didn’t know what to do, and I felt alienated in a space that was supposed to feel welcoming. I never want my students to feel that way.


I also have dyslexia. Planning and teaching already require a huge amount of my mental energy. I choose to use that energy to create thoughtful, inclusive sequences that help people feel into their bodies, rather than worrying about whether I’ve remembered the right Sanskrit word or pronounced it perfectly.


I don’t believe an asana name defines yoga. Yoga is not about replicating a perfect shape. It’s about awareness, presence, breath, connection. Repeating a string of unfamiliar asana names can yank students out of their bodies instead of drawing them deeper in.


I say this gently, without judgment: teachers can sometimes hide behind Sanskrit or rigid cueing without fully understanding the deeper intention of what they’re guiding. I’ve been there too. I practised Ashtanga religiously for years and learned so much from it. The discipline, the devotion, the tradition, it shaped me.


But over time, through my own teaching and the incredible students I’ve met, my understanding has shifted. I’ve found more space. More permission to explore. More clarity in teaching people, not asanas.


One of my most treasured teachers, someone I respect deeply, who trained directly with B.K.S. Iyengar once told me:


“Don’t turn your yoga into something they see on social media. Protect its heritage.”


Those words have stayed with me.


I hope I’ve done him proud. I hope my choices to use plain language, to prioritise feeling over form, to speak from the heart rather than script, are a way of honouring that heritage, not watering it down.


Am I culturally appropriating yoga?


I don’t know. Maybe. I sit with that question honestly and often.


What I do know is this: I love yoga. I love its roots. I’ve had the deep privilege of living and studying in India. It’s a place that changed me; and if I could go back tomorrow, no questions asked, I would. It still feels like home to a part of me.


And so, I walk this line, between respect and accessibility, between tradition and authenticity. I choose to teach in a way that reflects my own lived experience, my neurodivergence, my values, and my intention to help others come home to themselves.


Cultural appropriation is real. Yoga has been commercialised, repackaged, and sometimes distorted beyond recognition. But I believe there’s space to teach it with integrity, even if we don’t get everything perfect. I believe we can honour yoga’s roots and meet people where they are.


This isn’t about abandoning tradition. It’s about living it, mindfully, respectfully, and in a way that is true to who we are.


If this resonates, or challenges you, I’d love to hear your thoughts.


Naomi Hurst


 
 
 

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