When Cueing Doesn't Land

When Cueing Doesn’t Land

I’ve been there.

You spend time learning the exercise.
You study the setup.
You think through the breathing, the springs, what to focus on, what to let go of.
You plan the class and walk in feeling prepared.

And then you start teaching.

You cue the setup.
You explain the movement.
You mention the breath.

And the class… doesn’t do it.

Someone is moving in the opposite direction.
Someone is frozen, staring at you.
Someone is waiting, clearly confused.

And that sinking feeling hits:
Why isn’t this working?
I spent so much time planning this.
Why aren’t they hearing what I’m saying?

That moment can feel incredibly defeating—especially when you care deeply about being a good teacher.

One of the hardest lessons I learned early on is that there’s a big difference between doing the work and teaching the work.

You can understand an exercise in your own body and still struggle to translate it out loud, in real time, to a room full of moving people. Teaching asks you to see what’s actually happening in front of you, pace your words so they can be followed, and keep the class moving—even when things don’t go as planned.

Yes, that comes with practice.
But it also comes from understanding the exercise in a simpler, clearer way.

Not more anatomy.
Not more words.

But knowing:
What is meant to move?
What is meant to stay still?
What needs effort—and what can soften?

When you understand that, your cueing becomes more focused. You stop trying to say everything and start saying what matters most in that moment.

And still—cueing won’t always land.

You’ll say things that get misinterpreted.
You’ll fumble your words.
You’ll blank mid-sentence and wonder if you even know what you’re doing.

That does not make you a bad teacher.
It means you’re learning.

Cueing is trial and error. Every class gives you information. Every “miss” helps you refine how you explain, what you emphasize, and how you show up next time.

Your teaching voice matters here, too.

The way you teach an exercise will change from day to day, from class to class, and definitely over time. 

I like to think of it the same way we learn to speak. At first, we don’t have all the words. We get frustrated trying to get our point across. But as our vocabulary grows, our voice gets stronger, clearer, and more uniquely ours.

Teaching is no different.

Cueing won’t always land.
There is no perfect script.

What matters is that your classes become truly yours—built on understanding, shaped by experience, and delivered in your own voice.

And that’s the work that lives Beyond the Manual.