why i quit yoga: being a white girl when you hate white girls

i quit yoga because i was the colonizer in the room—
and i knew it.

it didn’t matter how many sanskrit words i could pronounce,
or how often i said i “respected the roots.”
i was still a white woman making money off something we stripped,
watered down,
and sold back to each other for $22 a class.
that’s the story. period.

i hated us.
white women in yoga.
the whole fucking bullshit performance.

i hated the pastel matching sets.
i hated when they said dumb shit like “yoga can save you,”
when they didn’t even know what yoga was.
like, actually, factually had zero fucking clue what it meant.

i hated the ganesh tapestries ordered off amazon.
i hated the seven-minute meditations posted to instagram.
i hated the random-ass buddha statues shoved into studio corners
because it "looked zen" or whatever the fuck.
cool decor.
zero context.

one time i watched a straight-up yoga "celebrity"
throw a temper tantrum
because an indian woman called her out for blatant appropriation.
and instead of taking accountability like a grown adult,
she cried,
weaponized her whiteness,
and got the commenter’s account banned.
like a bratty little baby.

(she blocked me after i talked shit about it.)

i hated that the more “advanced” someone looked online,
the more horrific they were in real life.
some of the most “globally known” yoga people?
actual garbage humans.
narcissists with crystals and press-ups.
but hey, great engagement.

i thought yoga made people good.
i really did.

i thought it would be my version of religion—
a place where people were actually working on themselves.
actually giving a shit.

then i met my yoga icons
and watched their ethics burn to the fucking ground.
most of them weren’t even good teachers.
some of them were straight-up bad teachers—
but they were hot, so whatever.
good at branding.
loud as hell.

meanwhile?
my mom taught me more real-world morals
than this whole fucking industry combined.
and i wasn’t about to drink the kool-aid
just because y’all looked cute in a matching set.
it’s actually giving self-absorbed & unhinged from reality.

i came to yoga because my soul was starving.
i was looking for something that might save me.

what i found?
white women making pinterest boards out of someone else’s culture,
wearing turbans,
chanting shit they clearly didn’t understand.

we turned a sacred, ancient spiritual practice
into a backdrop for reverse warrior and turmeric lattes.

we didn’t want to understand it.
we wanted to wear it.
so maybe we wouldn’t feel so fucking boring.

yes, i look like them.
i benefit from the same systems.
i know that.

but i’ve lived through shit
that would break some of these bitches in five seconds.
i couldn’t relate to their entitlement.
i couldn’t sit peacefully in a studio built to make them feel safe
while everything else was rotting underneath.

so i left.
i burned down the business i built
because i wasn’t going to keep pretending.

not because yoga isn’t real.
but because what we did to it is.

mysore was crazy.
i traveled with annoying girls
who thought they were on some spiritual journey
but were really just collecting content and weird exotic clout.

these bitches were starting fights with tuk-tuk drivers over 53 cents
while wearing yoga leggings that cost half a year’s salary
in the country they were “retreating” to.

let’s never stop and ask ourselves
why so many people live in poverty here
while we bounce around like it’s a fucking white girl spiritual awakening tour.
are we seriously this removed from reality?
apparently.
the yoga is clearly working for you.

it’s almost impressive
how out of touch you have to be
to feel spiritually superior
while actively being the problem.

and honestly?
i was the problem too.

yoga didn’t fail me.
white women did.
and i didn’t want to be one of them anymore.