Who Gets to Define Yoga? A Personal Exploration of Tradition and Evolution

Who Gets to Define Yoga: Shaini doing Yoga Mudra

Yoga is immense. Rich. Ancient. It holds philosophies and practices that can engulf a lifetime of study. And for many years, I was drawn deeply into its tradition—immersing myself in the postures, the philosophy, the discipline. I practiced in the Iyengar tradition for nearly two decades, where alignment and precision met profound philosophical depth.

But somewhere along the way, I began asking questions. Not about the validity of yoga itself, but about my relationship with it. About how yoga, as I was practicing it, connected to my body, my mind, and my evolving sense of self. And most importantly, I found myself wondering: Who gets to define yoga?

When Tradition Meets Questioning

There came a point in my practice when I began to notice discomfort. Not just the kind that arises from holding a pose a little too long, but a deeper questioning of whether the way I was moving was truly serving me.

I realized that yoga, especially as I had learned it, was heavily focused on passive flexibility. And while flexibility has its place, I started to feel it was missing something. My body began to speak up—aching in places that didn’t feel like growth, but like depletion. I started to crave movement that would challenge me differently: movement that built strength, resilience, and cardiovascular health. I wanted to feel my heart beating strong, to push into heart rate zones that traditional yoga postures didn’t reach.

I found that through hiking uphill, running, surfing. I found strength in lifting weights and challenging my muscles with progressive overload. And yet, I didn’t want to leave yoga behind. There was an essence I still needed—an awareness, a mindfulness, an exploration of breath and presence.

And so the question surfaced again: who gets to define yoga? If I step outside traditional postures and start incorporating other practices, is it still yoga? And if I’m holding onto the philosophy of presence and self-awareness, does that carry the essence of yoga, even if the shape of it looks different?

Who gets to define yoga: traditional Yoga ohm depiction

The Essence I Couldn’t Let Go

Despite stepping away from some traditional practices, I never wanted to abandon what yoga had gifted me. Because for me, yoga has always been more than poses. It’s been about listening to my body, meeting it without judgment, and connecting to my breath.

And isn’t that mindfulness? Isn't that what Buddha taught? To meet each moment with awareness, without stories, without clinging or pushing away?

In fact, I’ve found that the mindfulness I cherish so deeply isn’t bound to one tradition. It flows through Buddhism, yoga, and even ancient pagan traditions—those primal, earth-bound ways of living that honored the cycles of life, death, and renewal.

So now, when I move—whether I’m lifting weights, hiking through forests, or holding a yoga posture—my focus is the same. Breath. Presence. Awareness. Listening to my body. Witnessing its strength and vulnerability without trying to force it into something it's not.

And still, the question lingers: is this yoga?

Traditional yoga pose sirsana on beach by shaini at Yogaion

Who Gets to Define Yoga?

This is the question I return to again and again. Who gets to say whether my practice is still yoga?

Is it defined by the country I was born in? The tradition I was trained in? Or is it defined by the essence I carry into every movement and breath?

If yoga is about chittivritti nirodha—stilling the fluctuations of the mind—can that happen during a high-intensity run, a strength workout, or a hike up a mountain? If yoga is about sthira sukha—finding steadiness and ease—can I not seek that balance in how I lift a weight, how I stretch my muscles, or how I surrender to the ocean's waves?

And if yoga is an exploration of self-awareness, of meeting myself honestly, does it matter if I’m on a mat, a trail, or a surfboard?

Some might say yes—it matters. That yoga is bound to its origins, its traditions, and its philosophy. And there is deep respect in that. But I wonder if yoga, like all things, can evolve. If it can travel through time and culture and still hold its essence, even as its form shifts.

Because isn’t yoga, at its heart, about union? About finding a connection within ourselves and to the world around us? And doesn’t that union look different for each of us?

Who gets to define Yoga: modern Yoga depiction

An Ongoing Exploration

I don't have a clear answer. And maybe I never will. But I keep asking the question: who gets to define yoga?

Maybe no one does. Or maybe each of us does, in our own way, through our own exploration. Maybe yoga is less about rigid definitions and more about a return to presence, no matter how that presence is found.

For me, yoga lives in my breath. In my awareness. In the way I choose to meet my body each day—whether it’s through strength, stillness, or motion. Yoga lives in the curiosity I bring to my practice, in my willingness to listen deeply and respond with care.

And maybe that’s enough.