The Yoga of Leadership:
[Self] Awareness for Leaders
This page anchors our work on the yoga and leadership, which is based on content found in our Guide to Yoga.
Yoga For Leadership: When Leadership is No Longer a Strategy for Self-Protection
Strictly speaking, yoga has no interest in leadership; the purpose of yoga was never to produce better leaders. Rather, it is interested in awareness. And leadership demands awareness—when the next step isn’t obvious, when leadership can no longer be automatic, and especially when the stakes are high and the self is implicated. Yoga is concerned with waking up—in becoming aware of what is motivating you, before you are motivated by it. The yoga of leadership is not about leading better—it’s about seeing what is leading you. It is about awareness.
What disrupts our presence and judgment isn’t the presence of emotion, or even fear or avoidance or desire.—but is the absence of awareness—our inability to notice what is shaping us before it possesses our perception, thinking, feeling, and decisions. Awareness doesn’t prescribe action, nor does it eliminate uncertainty. It doesn’t tell us what’s “right” or provide a rule for decision-making. It doesn’t make a decision for us but rather reveals how we were already deciding—how our patterns, instincts, preferences, interpretations, and assumptions shape our choices before we even realize it, including—perhaps most importantly—the craving to succeed, the fear of being exposed, the desire to prove that you’re irreplaceable. Awareness doesn’t give us a new leadership method or philosophy, but it becomes essential the moment leadership becomes personal—when autopilot fails, and composure can’t be performed, and when we recognise that the way we act in uncertainty is shaped by what we’re trying not to feel or reveal. Awareness is the condition for seeing leverage where others see only risk.
The instinctive self—not the self we want to be or think/hope we are, not our stated purpose/values/vision—arrives on the scene of high-pressure and ambiguity/uncertainty before our conscious self does. It is the unthinking habits of this self—and its self-preserving instincts—of which yoga demands that we become aware. Our habits of avoidance organize not just what we feel, but how we think, behave, and even perceive. We may stay in roles, relationships, or patterns that no longer serve us, not out of strategy, but to avoid the discomfort of disruption. This hidden cost is rarely measured, but often shapes the arc of a leader’s career.
Whether we like it or not, our unwanted thoughts and painful emotions shape our choices—not because they’re present, but because we try to keep them absent. The capacity to become aware of discomfort before being consumed by it is the difference between choice and compulsion. What we do with this awareness is up to us.
These moments don’t just require competence—they require composure. In these moments, clarity is often highjacked by what they’re trying not to feel: exposure, inadequacy, irrelevance, powerlessness. And in these moments, leadership is treated as a way of securing the self rather than responding to the demands of the situation (even when what is demanded is self-sacrifice); in other words, clarity if often possessed by what we try not to feel: exposure, inadequacy, irrelevance, powerlessness.
We don’t become resilient—or composed—by mastering our fear. We become composed as we stop organizing our lives around the need to avoid the feelings we fear. Procrastination, perfectionism, hesitation—these are rarely about strategy; they’re protective moves, designed to shield us from precisely what clarity would require we confront.
Sometimes, self-protection doesn’t look like withdrawal or dominance. Sometimes it looks like overextension—like taking full responsibility, being the one who absorbs impact, who ensures nothing breaks. And yet even this can be a way of securing identity: as the one who is needed, the one who holds it together, the one who can’t be replaced. And so what we might call “self-sacrifice”, in these cases, isn’t the absence of ego but is, rather, its armour.
Unexamined, this reflex to self-preservation can distort everything, including the urgency of a decision, the intensity of a reaction, and even the weight of a risk. Whereas a leader may think they’re actually solving a reputational problem, or a succession dilemma, or a communication gap—they’re often simply managing discomfort that they don’t yet know they’re avoiding. The craving for recognition, the fear of judgment, the need to be right, respected, remembered, or untouched—these motives aren’t always visible. But they determine how pressure feels, how urgency is interpreted, and which options even appear on the table.
What is required isn’t emotional management or self-help, but refusal to be ruled by what you haven’t yet seen. It’s the recognition that most decision fatigue isn’t about volume—it’s about how much the decision has come to mean. That reactivity often isn’t about stress—it’s about what stress would seem to reveal. And that clarity isn’t a trait—it’s what remains once you stop needing the outcome to protect your identity.
Awareness isn’t a technique for composure, but the basis for seeing what is shaping our presence in real time. We cultivate awareness so that we may become aware of—before becoming consumed by—the very patterns that disrupt effective leadership. Self-awareness is not self-improvement. It’s not a quest for emotional invincibility, but a willingness to see how we are being shaped—by craving, by aversion, by avoidance—before we are determined by them. The quest for self-mastery only reinforces the sense of lack it’s trying to eliminate.
Leadership doesn't always demand a new tool. Sometimes it demands a moment of waking up. Not to make the moment easier, but to see it clearly. Because even the most decisive leader loses freedom when their choices are pre-shaped by what they still refuse to feel. Deeper composure also enables spontaneity and improvisation—making it possible to act with clarity in the unknown, to sense timing, and respond to subtle shifts before they’re obvious to others.
But note that this kind of work—this invitation to [self] awareness—can be subtly overtaken by the very instinct it's meant to illuminate. Leaders wired for action may hear it as a new optimization project: fix avoidance, master triggers, dominate discomfort. Those drawn to introspection may hear it as a deeper purification: uncover more layers, cleanse the mind, resolve the pain. But both are strategies of control. Both are ways of trying to secure the self.
The point is not to master the reaction—but to see the part of you trying to master. Not to escape outward or inward, but to see the very impulse to escape. And the moment the impulse is seen clearly, you’re no longer governed by it. You have choice—even if your choice is to obey your initial instinct.
This section belongs to our Guide to the Purpose Yoga.—a comprehensive exploration of the purpose of yoga. This guide also contains sections on the essence of yoga philosophy and yoga practice. Below you will find articles and videos on topics in yoga and leadership. Leaders may be interested in our longer guide to managing emotions in leadership.
Sometimes, self-protection doesn’t look like withdrawal or dominance. Sometimes it looks like overextension—like taking full responsibility, being the one who absorbs impact, who ensures nothing breaks. And yet even this can be a way of securing identity: as the one who is needed, the one who holds it together, the one who can’t be replaced. And so what we might call “self-sacrifice”, in these cases, isn’t the absence of ego but is rather its armour.
