The case for regulation in the yoga industry

Recently I've observed a shift in my thinking. While the me of the past would have recoiled at the thought, I now find myself truly contemplating the unrealized gains of a more regulated yoga industry.

I'm delighted to notice that increasingly yoga is recognized as a valuable practice to support mental health, trauma recovery, and nervous system regulation. Despite this, it remains an unregulated industry. I've seen this scene play out too many times to count: yoga practitioner falls in love with the practice, takes a 200HR YTT to become a teacher. Makes a go of a career, sometimes on the side of a day job, sometimes taking the big leap. And most realized after a few years that a career is extremely hard to make in yoga beyond survival wages. Then, the yoga teacher begins expanding their expertise, exploring other modalities, and finding one that has been "legitimized" (emphasis on the quotations) by a regulatory body - like becoming an acupuncturist, RMT, or registered clinical counsellor/therapist/psychologist.

Do these individuals have broad passions and talents? I'm sure. But I would posit that the shift has something more to do with the fact that being a yoga teacher remains a tumultuous path, one lacking in financial security, and that, I believe, largely stems from the fact that it remains an unregulated field of work. I firmly believe people would access the benefits of yoga more if they were able to trust the service they were receiving, claim it on their insurance plans, and if there was better parameters in place among service providers to define what clients can expect in each class or service.

Regulating the yoga industry is not without its controversy. I will be the first to admit. But the reasons for doing so are not to commodify it (it's already being commodified) but to protect people — and to make these practices more accessible, establish standards of service, and enable folks to apply their resources towards them.

Because something doesn't quite add up. Adjacent modalities have already crossed that bridge. Consider Acupuncture.

It began as an ancient, philosophical, and energetic practice rooted in tradition rather than randomized controlled trials. Today, it still honors those origins, but it has also evolved into a regulated profession that many people can access through extended health benefits.

It didn’t lose its lineage. It gained legitimacy and accessibility. That distinction feels important.

Because without shared standards in yoga, we create real risks — both for practitioners and for the people we serve.

Anyone can teach prenatal students without specialized training. Anyone can guide breathwork that significantly alters physiology. Anyone can work with trauma without understanding contraindications. Clients often don’t know how to evaluate competence, and organizations hesitate to invest because there’s no clear benchmark for quality or safety.

And when institutions hesitate, access suffers. The people who could benefit most — burned-out healthcare workers, first responders, parents, high-stress professionals — often can’t use their benefits or workplace programs to participate.

At the same time, there’s an understandable fear around regulation. Yoga is not simply a fitness modality. It’s a spiritual, philosophical, and cultural tradition with thousands of years of history. For many, the idea of formalizing or professionalizing yoga feels like reducing something sacred into a commodity. There’s a legitimate concern that Western systems could strip away nuance, lineage, and meaning.

That tension is real — and it deserves respect.

But perhaps the conversation isn’t about regulation versus tradition. Perhaps it’s about responsibility. To me, there’s a middle path.

We don’t need heavy-handed licensure or sanitization. I would never advocate for the erasure of a lineage or the roots of yoga. But we do need ethical professionalization. We need clear scope of practice, trauma-informed education, continuing training, first aid knowledge, liability coverage, and an understanding of when to refer out. We need standards that protect people while still honoring the depth and diversity of the practice.

Organizations like Yoga Alliance have taken steps toward voluntary registries and education frameworks, but the larger opportunity is cultural: treating yoga instruction not as a casual side gig, but as real, impactful work that carries responsibility.

And we also need humility.

Not everything valuable about yoga can — or should — be validated by Western science.

Science is a powerful tool. It helps us measure outcomes, understand mechanisms, and communicate credibility within healthcare and corporate systems. But long before research labs existed, people experienced the benefits of breath, stillness, ritual, and embodied awareness.

Tradition holds wisdom that data alone cannot capture.

We don’t have to choose one over the other.

Science can help us explain the “how.”

Lineage reminds us of the “why.”

When we integrate both, something stronger emerges: a practice that is credible without being clinical, professional without being sterile, and accessible without losing its soul.

For me, this conversation isn’t theoretical. It’s practical.

If we want yoga to support people in workplaces, healthcare settings, and public service roles — if we want it to be covered through benefits, funded by organizations, and available to those under chronic stress — then we have to meet those systems with clarity, accountability, and care.

Not to sanitize yoga.

But to steward it well.

Because professionalism doesn’t have to mean commodification.

It can simply mean this: We take the practice seriously enough to do it responsibly. And to me, that feels deeply aligned with the spirit of yoga itself.

If you work in wellness, healthcare, or corporate wellbeing, I’d love to hear your perspective. How do we raise standards while still honoring the roots and richness of this tradition?