Leaving a yoga group that turned out to be controlling or harmful can leave a quiet, persistent sense of betrayal. The mat was supposed to be a place of breath and grounding, and instead it became a space where your boundaries were brushed aside, your questions were reframed as resistance, or your intuition was labelled as ego. Many people in Australia describe feeling like they have lost a piece of themselves, particularly those who spent years in tight-knit ashrams around Byron Bay, inner-city Melbourne studios, or remote communities in the Blue Mountains where a single teacher can become the centre of social life.
Healing is rarely a straight line, and rebuilding self-trust after this kind of experience is its own practice. It asks for patience with the part of you that wants answers, the part that feels shame, and the part that is still trying to make sense of what was real. The work is gentle, and it does not need to look like a dramatic reinvention. Sometimes it begins with something as simple as choosing your own breakfast in the morning without checking in with an imagined teacher in your head.
Australian survivors often face a particular layer of complexity. The country is vast, and many yoga communities cluster in pockets such as Fremantle, the NSW South Coast, or the hills behind Cairns, which means leaving can mean physically relocating or losing your entire social circle. Add to that the cultural habit of mateship and not making a fuss, and many people stay quiet for far longer than they should. Reaching out to a counsellor, a helpline, or a peer who understands can be the first move back toward yourself.
The path that follows is not about fixing what was broken in a single afternoon. It is about slowly learning, breath by breath, that your own voice is worth listening to again. Below are six areas that survivors often find helpful when they begin this work, grounded in the realities of life in Australia and shaped by the principles of the International Yoga Alliance for Ethics.
Many people who leave a high-control yoga group spend months minimising what happened. They tell themselves the teacher meant well, that the diet rules were just part of the discipline, or that the chanting really did open their heart on the good days. Naming the pattern is often the first step back toward self-trust, because it teaches you that your observations are accurate, not ungrateful or disloyal.
In Australia, the word "cult" gets thrown around casually, and that can make it harder to claim the label for yourself. A more useful frame comes from trauma researchers who describe high-demand groups as environments where the leader's authority overrides personal autonomy. If you were discouraged from seeking medical care, pressured to cut off family, or shamed for missing sessions, these are not character flaws in you. They are signs of a system that was designed to keep you dependent.
Writing things down in a quiet arvo at home, even just a few lines in a notebook, can help you separate your memory from the group's narrative. Some survivors find it useful to keep a private journal on a device their community never had access to. Others talk it through with a psychologist who is registered with AHPRA and has experience with spiritual abuse. Whatever the format, the act of saying, out loud or on paper, "this is what happened to me" is a powerful act of self-honouring.
Grief is a normal response to losing a community that once felt like home, even when that home was unsafe. You may grieve the friendships, the early morning sadhanas, the shared meals after kirtan, and the version of yourself who believed the practice was pure. Suppressing these feelings often slows recovery, because your nervous system keeps replaying the loss until it is acknowledged.
Anger has its own role to play. Many survivors feel a quiet fury at the teacher, the assistants who looked away, or the friends who stayed when they left. This anger is not a sign that you are a difficult person. In Australian psychological circles, anger is increasingly understood as a protective emotion that helps you reclaim a sense of agency after it was taken from you. Let yourself feel it in your body, perhaps through a brisk walk along the coast at sunrise, a session at the local pool, or a long drive through country towns with the windows down.
At the same time, be wary of rushing past softer feelings. Sadness, confusion, and even moments of longing for the old group are all part of the terrain. If the intensity feels overwhelming, Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14 or Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636 offer free, confidential support around the clock. You do not need to be in crisis to call; sometimes the act of speaking to a stranger is the first time your story is held with care.
After months or years of being told how to breathe, what to eat, and how to sit, the body can feel like borrowed property. Rebuilding self-trust often begins with small, unremarkable choices: deciding when to stretch, what feels nourishing, and how long to rest. There is no rush to find a new style of yoga. In fact, it is healthy to take a proper break from asana altogether and let the body remember movement that is not structured by a teacher.
Walking is a wonderful starting point for many Australians in recovery. A slow lap around the Tan in Melbourne, a morning swim at Bondi, or a wander through the Adelaide Hills offers movement without instruction. Notice the sensations that arise, the temperature of the air, the feel of your feet on the ground. If a thought comes up like "I should be doing more," you can thank it and let it pass. You are not training for anything. You are remembering that you are allowed to simply be.
When you do feel ready to step back onto a mat, choose a teacher who asks for consent before hands-on adjustments, who does not push spiritual beliefs, and who is transparent about their lineage. Yoga Australia, the country's main professional association, maintains a public register of teachers and a Code of Ethics that includes clear standards on student safety. A teacher who is happy to talk about boundaries, supervision, and continuing education is often a safer guide than one who presents themselves as having all the answers.
Self-trust is rebuilt in the ordinary moments. Saying no to a Sunday commitment when you would rather stay home, asking a flatmate to turn the music down, or telling a colleague that you need a day before responding to a request are all acts of internal reconnection. They are also the skills you may have been told were selfish inside your old community.
It can help to start with low-stakes situations. Order a coffee exactly how you like it, even if the barista suggests something else. Choose a movie that appeals to you, not the one your old group would have praised. If you find yourself immediately second-guessing every decision, that is normal. The inner voice of a controlling teacher does not vanish overnight, and it tends to soften with repetition rather than willpower.
Some survivors find it useful to carry a small card in their wallet with three lines: "I am allowed to take my time. I am allowed to change my mind. I am allowed to leave." Reading these in a taxi, on a tram, or while waiting for a friend in Perth can be a quiet reminder that your boundaries belong to you. Over weeks and months, the practice of honouring small preferences builds a reservoir of confidence that larger decisions can draw on.
Isolation is one of the lasting effects of leaving a high-control group, and rebuilding a web of trustworthy people is essential. This is rarely about finding a perfect replacement community. It is more often about cultivating a few relationships where you can speak honestly and be met with curiosity rather than judgement. Friends from before your yoga involvement, cousins in another state, or a colleague who has been through their own difficult chapter can all be part of this circle.
Australia has a growing network of survivor-led meetups, often coordinated through community centres, public libraries, or local council wellbeing programs. Cities like Brisbane, Hobart, and Sydney host regular peer support gatherings for people leaving high-demand spiritual groups. Online forums moderated by former members of groups like Yoga Health Alternatives or the Siddha Yoga lineage provide a way to share stories with people who genuinely understand the language and practices you are healing from.
If you are in a regional area and feel cut off from in-person support, telehealth appointments with a psychologist who is experienced in cult recovery can be arranged through Medicare with a Mental Health Treatment Plan from your GP. The Australian Counselling Association also keeps a directory of counsellors who work specifically with spiritual abuse. Choosing someone who asks about your goals and respects your pace is itself a form of self-trust in action.
There will be days when the doubt creeps back. A friend mentions a new meditation retreat and your stomach tightens. A social media post echoes something your old teacher used to say and you feel a wave of shame. These moments are not signs that you have failed. They are signs that your nervous system is still processing a significant experience, and they tend to pass more quickly when you meet them with curiosity rather than criticism.
A useful practice is to keep a running list of moments when you did trust yourself and it worked out. Maybe you said no to a manipulative relative, walked out of a workshop that felt off, or simply caught yourself mid-spiral and paused for a breath. Read the list on hard days. It is evidence, written in your own handwriting, that the voice within you is becoming clearer and more reliable.
Over time, many survivors discover that the experience, painful as it was, leaves them with a deeper capacity for discernment. You may find yourself drawn to teachers who speak about humility rather than mastery, communities that welcome questions, and friendships where disagreement is respected. The International Yoga Alliance for Ethics stands alongside you in this work, offering resources, a public Code of Ethics, and connections to helplines that honour the dignity of every student.
If something in this article resonated with you, consider reaching out to a support service today. Call Lifeline on 13 11 14, contact Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, or visit the International Yoga Alliance for Ethics website to read the Code of Ethics and find a list of trauma-informed practitioners. You do not have to navigate the road back to yourself alone, and your quiet return to your own wisdom is worth every step.