Teaching From the Gut or the Grid?
How neurodivergent sensitivity and structured intelligence shapes the future of yoga...
Last week I must have had ten coffees. Far too many for my system, but when I’m researching, I want to be with people. I want to sit across from them, hear their stories, feel their energy, and see their skin. Coffee keeps me alert in a way tea never quite manages. A story for another time. Anyway, what struck me wasn’t the caffeine - I was in a placebo mostly from decaf. It was that every single teacher I met shared, so casually yet so vulnerably, their diagnosis of neurodivergence and how it affects their everyday existence.
I’m no stranger to this; one of my closest friends openly shares her “episodes” with me. I’ve never judged her. I accept her; however, she turns up. But hearing teacher after teacher speak on this, I realised something:
Neurodivergence is becoming more visible everywhere, yet it remains rarely discussed or acknowledged in the yoga space. This gap forms the core of my current insights and musings that the yoga world needs to recognise and honour the neurodivergence present among its teachers.
We talk endlessly about alignment, breath, sequencing… but we rarely talk about the teacher’s nervous system. We are expected to turn up, be a constant stream of energetic light, teach with unwavering presence and precision, and pack our entire humanity away in some locker that no one ever needs to open. It’s fascinating to me the compassion yoga teachers give, but very rarely is this received or given generously despite our consistent dedication to propping up daily classes, keeping spirits high and travelling to Timbuktu (metaphorically) to share this sacred practice.
There are days that are better than others, that’s for sure. The days when London transport isn’t playing ball so we get to the class five mins late but then management want to give us headache about something we had little control over. There are days when we cannot get cover to teach because we broke up with our partners, or received some bad news but we turn up with sweetness and light and deliver.
What happens on the days our executive function collapses?
The days we can’t tolerate interruptions, rushing, noise, or unpredictability? Or the days our sensitivity spikes? These aren’t character flaws. They’re human realities. But what if these things happen almost every day? Because of the conversations I had, I’m realising that this is the daily reality of a neurodivergent teacher or individual.
And as I sat with these teachers talking, laughing, drinking far too much caffeine/decaf, I began to notice something in their descriptions of neurodivergence that felt… familiar.
I found myself thinking that most people are neurodivergent. Hell. I might be neurodivergent as well. Will I ever get tested? No. That’s just not my style. I have a few mantras, one being that “I will not be defined by the rules and definitions of society”. I’m a live-and-let-live person, so no that will not be happening. But it does strike me that I possess a lot of the traits they speak of. For instance, I set out to write about intuitive vs structured teachers, but quickly found a deeper, juicier layer—this neurospiciness (a term I can’t claim but adore). Is following the thread good journalism, neurodivergence, or intuition? Does it need a name? hmmmm…
What I’m discovering is this:
There are two archetypes that kept appearing in my research on the yoga space…
The Medicine Mover - Intuitive, somatic, responsive and The Sacred Architect - structured, intentional, master of the grid. The one who lands and feels. The one who plans and builds. Both potent. Both sacred, both necessary.
But beneath these archetypes lies an unspoken truth: many intuitive teachers carry traits that echo neurodivergence. Not always. Not exclusively. But often enough to notice. Examples include being unable to stick to the confines of time, unable to follow strict rules and formats in general. There are other nuanced traits like not understanding or gauging spacial awareness (clumsiness), losing a sense of direction even though the map was followed… there are many but what I’d like to say here is that this can happen to absolutely anyone. What makes it different is that these things happen daily in the life of someone described as neurodivergent.
Because the world we are trained in, the world of the rigid “neurotypical”, anything outside of this is container is considered “different”, why? Most of the systems that we have come to identify as societal norms, are now crumbling in real time. They are masculine. Built mostly by men. No hate. Just truth. When we really consider what neurodivergence is in basic terms, it’s a way of thinking that doesn’t conform to the societal norm. Thats basically it. So who on earth gave the authority to someone to name and categorise someone who doesn’t think in straight lines? Who is the authority on thinking and why did we just accept rigidity as the standard and only way of existence?
We are witnessing institutions, industries, and political giants collapsing under their own weight. It’s obvious that we are no longer moving in straight lines. We are moving in softer spirals. We are unfurling in circles. The newer generations are built for this new paradigm. They are more aware than ever and confident in expressing their fluidity whichever way it manifests in their body. The earth is moving from this process-led structure to a more receptive, right-brained, nonlinear, imaginative way of being. And in a world shifting toward intuition, sensitivity, and inner listening… I wonder if the neuro-spicy among us are the early access holders? Are they the ones already wired for the new landscape?
A little on intuition
Intuition gets thrown around quite frivolously in new-age circles, but its roots aren’t spiritual, they’re neurological. It’s the body’s built-in guidance system, an internal GPS that constantly offers possibilities, warnings, and answers long before the mind catches up. The difference lies in how we relate to it. Some of us respond to that inner signal with instinct and trust. Others override it with logic, social pressure, or the endless “what will they think?” soundtrack. Those who lean into intuition often perceive the world through a slightly different wiring. They pick up subtle shifts others overlook, changes in tone, energy, atmosphere, breath. This isn’t fantasy; it’s a form of embodied pattern recognition. A knowing stored in the nervous system long before it becomes a conscious thought.
Science calls intuition unconscious learning: lived experience processed beneath awareness, resurfacing as a felt sense. The body recognises a pattern, the heart rate shifts, the gut tightens or softens, the sacral centre whispers yes or no. It’s somatic intelligence a sensory clarity that activates before the mind can name, and yet… even with all the science, I still believe intuition holds a kind of quiet magic. A shimmer in the unseen.
So with that in mind, let’s look deeper into these archetypes and see what they reveal.
The Medicine Mover: The intuitive teacher / the sensitive listener
When these teachers walk into a room they feel everything. The atmosphere, the emotional tone, the breath quality and the nervous system rhythms. This isn’t guessing. It’s pattern-recognition that runs deeper than conscious awareness.
Traits often seen in intuitive teachers:
• heightened empathy
• interoceptive sensitivity
• nonlinear thought patterns
• body-first information processing
• improvisation as second nature
• difficulty with rigidity, but mastery in the moment
They can often riff in the moment, seemingly without a plan. They’re not unprepared. Their preparation is present in their bodies, not in their notebooks. The teaching is always alive. It’s somatic and atmospheric and presents often as soulful. A form of intelligence that can’t be learned, only lived. Even writing this gives me goosebumps. Because these teachers don’t just teach; they transmit.
The Sacred Architect: The structured teacher/ the keeper of the grid
These are teachers who thrive in systems, sequencing, and intentional arcs. Astanga springs to mind. Their practices are temples built with precision, clarity, and care. They are the protectors of line, form, and containment. They think in pathways rather than spirals. Their brilliance is in the safety they create. Students feel held and supported as they are guided with reliability and purpose. It isn’t rigidity - it’s devotion to the container they have created. If you wanna do your own thing go practice in another room or stay at home vibes. I was once in a class and someone started doing handstands. The teacher said that’s not what I’m teaching can you stay with the class please? I liked it. Authority and leadership. But rigidity isn’t far from those pathways. Sometimes something just feels good and you want to go with it.
Some may follow rules because they’ve been told to. Others because the structure feels sacred to them. For instance, is there a reason why some Astanga teachers don’t allow students to use blocks - ever? Is this a rigid rule passed down from a structure they have chosen to push through, have they assessed if it’s relevant for the modern day practitioner? Have they experientially tried, tested and declined their use? It’s interesting, isn’t it?
So where do these approaches meet/overlap?
The truth is, neither archetype exists in isolation every teacher contains both, though they present differently. The grid teacher isn’t there to soak up the atmosphere or be subject to what comes up; it’s quite functional and deliberate. They have a plan to deliver answers by hook or by crook. They will adjust in real time, but can get annoyed when required to go off piste, I’ve seen this happen, and it was fascinating to watch! The gut-led teacher also has an inner architecture in varying degrees, but it’s less rigid in general. When something new arises in class, the intuitive will go with it…
The real artistry emerges when intuition is honoured, structure is respected, and personal gifts are embraced as superpowers to be cultivated. Each teacher’s unique approach is an elixir the world needs.
Of course yoga studios cannot create schedules just for those teachers who cannot adhere to time - it is after all a business but maybe they can create spaciousness. Space for the teacher to flourish should they suddenly have ideas during their session for deeper transmissions? It would take away the pressure to finish hard on the hour for the next class to come in. I’m not sure what the answer is but I know that teaching yoga is not about the notes we bring to class in case we forget something or even spontaneity; it’s more about perception, attunement, response, and leadership. For many intuitive teachers, a beautifully divergent nervous system shapes their perception, serving as a strength rather than a limitation when it comes to the practice.
As we move deeper into this era of uncertainty and transformation, the way we deliver yoga is changing because students themselves are changing. Their minds are shifting, their needs evolving. They’re no longer satisfied with the familiar, predictable class structures that once defined the studio experience. More people are craving community, richness, and practices that feel eclectic, embodied, and awakening. They want to be moved, not just taught. They want depth, empowerment, and a kind of awareness they can’t access through rigid sequences or surface-level cues.
And this is exactly where our beautifully divergent teachers step in.
These teachers, intuitive, sensitive, pattern-seeing, neuro-spicy in the best way, carry a kind of medicine that the new era is quietly calling forward. They offer nuance, presence, and creative intelligence that can’t be scripted or templated. They sense what the collective needs before the room even realises it. They are a resource we cannot afford to overlook.
If studios want to stay relevant, resonant, and truly supportive of their communities, these teachers must be integrated into the vision of what comes next. Because the new age of yoga isn’t built on uniformity, it’s built on attunement, diversity, and courageous, divergent wisdom.