Soul Broccoli: The Student Who Made Me a Better Teacher (Against My Will)

Not Every Student is Easy to Like

Some students don’t come because they like you. They come to refine you.

Brock was one of them.

This was around 2016, back when I took over a well-loved daytime Yin class. The room had a predictable rhythm—university students half-awake on their mats, retirees who treated the class like a weekly ritual, and the occasional work-from-home unicorn before that was a normal thing. It ran smoothly... Until Brock walked in.

The Warning

The studio owner clocked him immediately and tensed. Not subtle. “That’s Brock,” she said, already bracing. “He’s very particular. Don’t touch him.” (Remember, before the plague, when hands-on assists were a thing?) Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she added, “And give him a lot of options.”

That’s the kind of warning that doesn’t calm you down; it just makes you wonder what you’re about to deal with.

Class starts. We settle into the first pose. Less than ninety seconds in, on the first side, Brock is already moving. Not small adjustments. Full shuffling, hands thudding against the floor, like the pose personally offended him. I grab props. Armed with blocks, a strap, cushions, and many options, I head over, ready to support.

He waves them off.

Then he looks at me and says, “Is this it?” gesturing at his body, in the twist.

There’s a long pause where I consider several responses, none of them useful. I glance at the clock. Eighty-eight minutes left. This is not a great start.

He follows it with, “In the 25 years I’ve been doing yoga, I’ve never been to a class like this.”

Not said as a compliment. More like your Grandpa at the trendy new restaurant when he says it's "too loud".

Adapt or Die

At that point, you have two options: defend what you’re doing or widen the container. I told him to take liberties. Adapt. Do what he needed. Go rogue if he wanted to. Then I left the pile of props beside him anyway and continued teaching the room.

After class, he repeated himself. “Never been to a class like that.” I pushed back, lightly. “Good. I try not to teach the same class as everyone else.” He gave me a vague head wobble that could’ve meant anything and left. I assumed that was the end of it.

It wasn’t... He came back the next week.

And the next.

And the next.

Every week came with a new critique. The music was wrong. (Moby’s ambient album, for the record. Not exactly chaotic.) He preferred acoustic guitar. I noted it. He returned, heard the guitar, and hated that too. He requested a standing forward fold for a long Yin hold, which doesn’t make much sense unless you enjoy unnecessary pressure in your head and neck. I explained that. He insisted. I added it. He hated it and switched himself into something else anyway.

From Personal to Pattern

This went on for weeks...

At some point, it became obvious he wasn’t going to stop attending. He wasn't going anywhere. So the variable that I had to work with was me. So that's where I started.

Up until then, I was taking it personally. Not dramatically, but enough to feel the friction. Enough to brace myself when I saw him walk in. Enough to start pre-defending choices in my head before class even began. That’s not a sustainable way to teach.

Metaphoric Vegetables

So I reframed him.

If someone has been practicing for 25 years, they’re not clueless. They might be difficult. They might have terrible delivery. But there’s information in there. I decided to treat Brock like what he actually was: consistent feedback, delivered poorly.

Call it “soul broccoli.”

Not enjoyable. But necessary for my growth.

Change the way you look at something...

Once I stopped trying to get him to like the class and started listening for what was actually being said underneath the tone, everything shifted. I didn’t agree with most of it. That wasn’t the point. I picked what made sense, ignored what didn’t, and made it clear he’d been heard.

Turns out that's all he was after. The edges softened.

Earning Trust

Not immediately, but steadily. Our post-class conversations started to extend beyond his critique. We talked about regular life. Small things at first. Then bigger things. I stopped dreading his feedback and started getting curious about it. It became something to anticipate... what would Brock bring in this week?

Then one day, after class, I told the studio owner something had happened with Brock.

Immediate panic. The colour drained from her face. “What happened? Do I need to call the lawyer?”

I reassured her it was going to be ok and told her what had happened. “He asked for a hands-on assist.”

I’ve never seen someone move from relieved to confused so fast! Brock didn’t like to be touched. That was the rule... Until that day.

Trust had been built, quietly, over time. Not by accommodating everything he said, but by choosing to respect his experience enough to allow him to share candidly with me.

Context Changes Everything

Trauma Touches Everyone

Later on, maybe a year of sharing practice, he brought his husband to class. We talked about their lives. They told me what it was like growing up in Europe as gay men in the 40s and 50s, what they had navigated, what that does to a person over time.

The rigidity I had initially experienced started to make sense. It wasn’t random. It was patterned, earned, protective. And it was softening.

Personal Inquiry (self-study)

At the same time, I was hardening in a very different way. Not in a closed-off way but in a less reactive way. Less thrown by someone's harsh tone. Less likely to interpret friction as a problem that needed to be eliminated.

There’s a line people like to repeat in yoga spaces: you can only meet others as deeply as you’ve met yourself. Most of the time, it’s used as a vague encouragement. In this case, it was practical.

The more I understood my own reactions—defensiveness, irritation, the need to be perceived a certain way—the less they controlled how I responded to him. Which meant I could actually meet him where he was, instead of where I wanted him to be.

And he met me there, too.

Not All Students Are Meant to Be Easy

Brock didn’t become easy. That’s not the point. He became understandable. And over the years, he became collaborative in his own way.

Some students come in, take the class as it’s offered, and leave quietly. You barely remember specific interactions with them.

Others rearrange deeper parts of you as a person.

Not because they’re ideal (often the opposite), but because they force you to get clearer, steadier, and less attached to being liked while you’re doing your job.

Brock was that kind of student. Uncomfortable. Consistent. Useful.

Like broccoli 🥦

In Memoriam

What Stayed

A few years after moving out of Ontario, I learned that Brock had passed away in 2024.

By that point, the dynamic between us had long since shifted. The friction that defined our early interactions had been replaced with something more mutual. It was less about critique, more about understanding.

I’m grateful I didn’t write him off when it would’ve been easy to do. It would’ve cost me more than a difficult student: It would’ve cost me one of the more formative relationships I've had as a teacher.

Not every challenging person is meant to stay in your life.

But some of them are there for a very specific reason. Perhaps to sharpen you, to expose your blind spots, or to force you to grow in ways that a comfortable room never will. Those are the ones to watch out for...

Brock was a healthy dose of soul broccoli, and I’m grateful to him for it.

FAQs

Q: How do you handle a difficult student in yoga?

By separating tone from information. Practice listening for what’s useful without taking everything personally. Sometimes easier said than done but, this is about collecting relevant “data” you can apply to up-level your teaching… essentially free mentorship!

Q: What can difficult students teach teachers?

They often reveal blind spots, challenge reactivity, and sharpen clarity in teaching. Most people aren’t out to hurt your feelings. If they’re taking the time to share feedback with you, say thanks. You don’t have to accept it all, but keep the wisdom.

Q: What is self-study (Svadhyaya) in real life?

Simply put, it's thinking about how you think & behave and bringing more awareness to the unconscious parts of ourselves. It’s learning to see (and shift) your reactions, patterns, and responses in real time… not just reflecting after the fact.

Q: Should you accommodate every student’s request?

No, not blindly. The practice is discerning what to integrate and what to leave behind without shutting the student down entirely. You're listening to hear them, not to reply.