I’m A Plus-Size Yogi. Here’s What I Hate About The Yoga Community

Almost 10 years ago, I walked into a yoga studio in my new home, Sydney, for the first time. I was stressed out, exhausted, and looking for some inner peace. I immediately felt like an elephant in the room compared to all the yogis.

“Over the years I tried to attend yoga regularly, only to feel completely out of place and unwelcome.”

I’m a size 16 black woman who stands tall at 5’9″. No one else in that studio looked like me. What felt like a million eyes watched as I walked across the studio and rolled out my mat coyly at the back of the class. Around me was a sea of willowy bodied women, in the latest yoga attire, bending their bodies into Celtic knots and whipping up a glistening power yoga sweat.

Being physically fit, I managed to keep up with the instructor but felt ignored and isolated from the lack of options for my level of experience (zero) and my body shape. After 45 minutes of intense movements, I was dripping with sweat and out of breath. The instructor advised us to come to our mats for savasana.

So I did as I was told: I lay on my mat, my breath beginning to calm, and I lay there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Though sadly, that was the best part of the class. Tears rolled down the sides of my face and I realised that these had been the only 15 minutes I had to myself all week.

Over the years I tried to attend yoga regularly, only to feel completely out of place and unwelcome. I tried many studios; some had so many students that you literally had to climb over bodies to find a sliver of floor for your mat. Others had gaggles of women who had their cliques and pretty much ignored anyone new who dared to show her face. I would use introductory passes for these studios and then never go back.

While traveling overseas, I found myself on the volcanic shores of Lake Atitlán in the small town of San Marcos in Guatemala. Here, I spent more than a month practicing yoga, meditation, and mysticism in a supportive and loving environment. This is where I decided that if I wanted to feel welcome, at ease, and a part of a community, I would have to create it myself.

And so, in October 2014, I decided to pursue yoga teacher training, and I signed up for a three-month intensive teacher training program, where I practiced yoga intensely for about six hours a day.

I was prepared for my body to be tired and sore from the hours of asana practice, and it was. Each Sunday morning my body let me know that I had put my size-16 frame through hours of yoga the day before, hardly able to sit up and get out of bed in the morning, only to have to repeat it all again.

But I had not considered the depth of ferocious feelings that would surface. With each lunge, fold, and arch of my body, more and more anger emerged. I wasn’t just angry at how I’d been treated in the yoga community. Something more profound was happening: a lifetime of hurt, anger, disappointment, and self-judgment was leaving my being.

I realized that for years I had been searching for a feeling I was finding in that yoga studio. I had been craving the ability to turn up and focus on my mat and myself, a place where I didn’t have to worry about where my yoga pants were from or where to buy the best soy chai latte after class.

All along, it was me who had to let go of wanting to fit into the expectations of others, and, luckily for me, I found a studio that created such a warm and safe space for that shift to occur. The studio consisted of a group of yogis who were so diverse in age, shape, and size — students AND teachers. Everyone was warm and open and didn’t look one certain way.

What I learned from my journey to becoming a yoga teacher is that yoga isn’t only asana. Yoga isn’t about how perfectly you can mold your body into a pose.

Yoga is about meeting yourself, exactly where you are in that moment and accepting yourself, right there and then. There are always going to be poses that you need to adjust for yourself, but if you can be gentle with yourself, surrender to the moment, and connect to yourself, then your yoga practice will continue to develop.

Our role as yoga teachers is to provide a space where our students feel welcome and safe to experience whatever decides to show up in their practice that day — without expectation or judgement. That is my intention for each and every class I have the honor of teaching.

This article was first published on Mind Body Green as a part of the Real Talk series on 15th December 2015.

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Hi, I'm Alisha

I coach women (and businesses) how to value themselves and their female talent. I guide women through a process of releasing limiting beliefs, building their personal wealth and how to navigate the parental transition journey to create a truly flourishing life.

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What Bali Taught Me (That I Already Knew But Needed to Remember)

What Bali Taught Me (That I Already Knew But Needed to Remember)

I’m writing this from Bali, somewhere between a freshly squeezed juice, a pool and a wedding.

And something has already shifted. It always does when I genuinely stop.

I want to share what came up. Not because it’s unique to Bali. Because I think it’s available to all of us, if we let it be.

The Last Time I Was Here

The last time I came to Bali I was single, no kids, and deep in a Kundalini yoga and meditation phase of my life. I spent the first half of the trip in full spiritual immersion and the second half, because I’ve always loved a bit of balance, drinking cocktails on the beach and dancing under the stars until the early hours.

Both halves were exactly right for who I was then.

This time I arrived with a husband, two boys, and a wedding to celebrate. And yes, there was still a dance floor involved at some point. Some things are just non-negotiable. 💃🏾

What struck me most wasn’t how different this trip felt. It was how much of me felt exactly the same underneath all of it. The same woman who needs stillness and movement in equal measure. Who finds clarity near water. Who comes alive on a dance floor and also genuinely loves a morning of complete quiet.

Returning to a place at a different point in your life has a way of showing you who you’ve stayed.

What the Quiet Taught Me

When you step away from the noise long enough, things become clear that were impossible to see up close.

For me this trip it was this: I’d let the pace creep back in. Gradually, quietly, the way it always does. The early mornings on the phone. The evenings half-present. The low-level hum of tasks that never quite switched off.

Nothing dramatic. Just the slow drift back toward a version of myself I’d worked hard to move away from.

Bali reminded me of the difference between functioning and flourishing. I’d been functioning beautifully. I hadn’t been flourishing.

That’s useful information. And I wouldn’t have had access to it without stopping long enough to hear it.

What I’m Taking Home

A renewed commitment to the structures I know work for me.

Movement scheduled like a meeting, non-negotiable. Two email windows a day instead of a constantly open inbox. Evenings that belong to my family, not my business. And the regular, protected breaks that make all of it sustainable.

These aren’t new practices. But the trip reminded me what it actually feels like when I honour them. And that reminder is worth more than any new productivity system I could have come home with.

Something Coming in July

I’m coming home with something brewing.

Reset & Rise is on 24 July. It’s a 90-minute online masterclass for women who know something needs to change but aren’t quite sure where to start.

We work through what’s keeping you stuck, what needs to shift, and what the next real step looks like. It’s practical, personal, and it works.

Details dropping very soon. If you want to be first to know, book a Discovery Call and I’ll make sure you hear about it before anyone else.

Book your free Discovery Call here: https://calendly.com/alishawaterman/exploration-session

In joy, Alisha

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What Happens When You Actually Stop

Tomorrow I’m flying to Bali with my family.

And I want to write something honest before I go.

About what it actually feels like to step away. Not the Instagram version. The real one.

The First 48 Hours

I won’t pretend it feels completely natural from the start.

There’s always a low-level restlessness in the first couple of days. A quiet voice asking whether something important needs you. Whether things are okay without you.

I’ve learned not to fill it. Not to manage it or scroll through it or replace it with productivity.

Just to let it be there.

That’s harder than it sounds. For women who are wired for achievement, stillness can feel almost dangerous. Like falling behind. Like failing. The discomfort of it is real.

But it’s temporary. And what comes after it is worth every uncomfortable moment.

What Comes After

Around day three, something settles.

The thoughts slow down. The background hum of responsibilities quiets. You start sleeping deeply. Finishing conversations without half your attention somewhere else.

And then clarity starts arriving.

Not forced clarity. Not the kind you squeeze out of a journaling session at 6am before the house wakes up. The kind that just shows up when you’ve finally created enough space for it.

This is what real rest does. It doesn’t just restore you to where you were. It recalibrates you. Shows you what you’ve been too close to see clearly.

What I’m Expecting to Find

The last time I was in Bali I was single, no kids, deep in my Kundalini yoga and meditation phase. I spent the first half of the trip in full spiritual immersion and the second half, because balance has always been my thing, drinking cocktails on the beach and dancing under the stars until the early hours.

Both halves were perfect.

This time I’m arriving with a husband, two boys, and a wedding to celebrate. Completely different chapter. Same woman underneath, just with a lot more life packed in since then.

I’m expecting Bali to do what it always does. Slow me down enough to hear myself think. Remind me what I’m doing all of this for. Send me home clearer than when I left.

And I’ll be sharing what comes up when I’m back.

You Don’t Need to Go to Bali

I’m not telling you to book a holiday. I know that’s not available to everyone right now.

What I am saying is that somewhere in your life, there is a version of genuine rest available to you. An hour on a Sunday morning with no agenda. A weekend afternoon you protect from productivity. Ten minutes of actual stillness every day.

The question isn’t whether you can afford to rest. It’s whether you can afford not to.

And whether you believe, in your body not just your head, that you are allowed to stop.

Because for so many of us, that’s the real work.

If this resonated and you’d like to explore what building more space into your life could look like, I’d love to have a conversation.

Book your free Discovery Call here: https://calendly.com/alishawaterman/exploration-session

In joy, Alisha

If Your Business Stops When You Stop, You Haven't Built a Business

If Your Business Stops When You Stop, You Haven't Built a Business

I’m getting ready to step away from my business for a couple of weeks.

And my business will keep running while I’m gone.

Not by accident. Because I’ve built it that way.

This isn’t a post about having it all figured out. It’s about something I had to learn the hard way, and something I think matters for every woman building a business or a career she actually wants to sustain.

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If your business stops the moment you stop, it’s not really a business yet. It’s a job that you happen to own.

There’s no judgment in that. Most of us start there. But it’s worth naming, because it points to the work that needs doing.

A business that can run without you for two weeks doesn’t happen by accident. It requires systems, scheduled content, automated processes, clear client communication, and the willingness to trust what you’ve built.

None of that is complicated. But it does require a decision made in advance that your time away is non-negotiable.

Because if it’s not non-negotiable, everything else will fill the space. Everything else is always there.

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Straightforward on paper. But it also required something less logistical.

It required me to actually trust that things would hold without me actively holding them.

That’s the part nobody talks about. The inner work of stepping back. The voice that says what if something goes wrong, what if someone needs me, what if it all falls apart without me there.

That voice is not evidence that you need to stay. It’s evidence that you haven’t yet fully trusted what you’ve built.

And trust, like most things, comes from evidence. From stepping away once and seeing that things held. Then again. And again.

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Being able to step away is not a sign that you’re not needed. It’s a sign that you’ve built something real.

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There was a time I would have been stressed out at the thought of leaving for a week. Overthinking, overfunctioning, preparing for every possible scenario, and then not really switching off while I was away because part of me was already bracing for the chaos waiting on my return.

I am genuinely not that person anymore. And the freedom of that is hard to overstate.

What would need to be in place for you to step away for two weeks? That’s a useful question to sit with.

Because you deserve breaks that feel like actual breaks. Not working holidays dressed up as rest.

If you’re ready to build a business and a life that can sustain you, I’d love to have a conversation.

Book your free Discovery Call here: https://calendly.com/alishawaterman/exploration-session

In joy, Alisha

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June.

We are almost exactly halfway through the year.

And before you scroll past that fact, I want to ask you to sit with it for a moment.

Not to audit your progress. Not to tally up the goals you haven’t hit. But to give yourself a genuine, honest mid-year check-in.

The January Version of You

The intentions you set in January were made by a version of you who didn’t know what this year would bring.

She didn’t know which relationships would shift, which opportunities would arrive, which things would turn out to matter less than she thought.

So before you measure yourself against those goals, it’s worth asking: do they still fit? Are they still the right things for the life you’re actually living right now?

Some will be. Some won’t. Both are completely valid.

A Kinder Way to Check In

Instead of asking did I hit my goals, try asking these three questions.

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What have I learned about myself that I didn’t know in January?

What do I want the second half of this year to feel like?

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Your Second Half Starts Now

You don’t need to wait for a new year, a new month, or a Monday.

The second half of this year starts right now, with whatever you decide today.

If the first half was harder than you expected, that’s not failure. That’s information. Use it.

If you’ve drifted from the person you wanted to be this year, you haven’t lost her. She’s still available to you. The question is just what small step brings you back.

I’ll be honest with you. There have been moments in the first half of this year where I’ve had to come back to myself too. Where the pace crept back in, where I caught myself running on residual energy again, where I had to deliberately choose to reset rather than push through.

The difference now is that I catch it faster. And I know what to do when I do.

That’s what the work builds. Not perfection. Awareness and the tools to come back.

The second half of this year is yours. All of it.

What’s one thing you want to be true by December that isn’t true today?

Start there.

If you’d like some support figuring out what that looks like for you, I’d love to have a conversation.

Book your free Discovery Call here: https://calendly.com/alishawaterman/exploration-session

In joy, Alisha