Jazmin Tejada’s journey with yoga didn’t begin with love at first pose.
“I absolutely hated it,” she said of the first yoga class she took out of curiosity in her early twenties. A lifelong athlete and professional salsa dancer, Tejada was used to fast, expressive movement. Yoga felt slow and stifling. “This is really boring,” she remembered thinking.
Nearly two decades later, Tejada owns one of the only BIPOC-owned yoga studios in Harlem — and the only one in East Harlem, where she grew up. Her classes are bilingual. Bad Bunny plays on the speakers. She closes with “peace out” instead of “namaste.”
Ofrenda Yoga Studio opened its doors just last September, but its community-building power is already strong. “We have a space where students feel so safe to come and practice,” she said, noting that they arrive early and even grab coffee together after. “That’s a beautiful thing.”
Her path to the mat
Tejada gave yoga a few more tries before something clicked. About a year after her first class, she found a Vinyasa class that felt more like a dance — flowy and filled with music instead of silence. “After that I was hooked,” she said.
As a touring salsa dancer throughout her mid-20s and 30s, Tejada shared stages with legends like Tito Rojas and Grupo Niche. But the dance world could be harsh. “It was a little stressful on the brain and how you spoke to yourself and how you treated yourself,” she said.
Yoga became her counterbalance, helping her soften the critical voice in her head. Eventually, it even changed how she danced. She was no longer beating herself up during training and rehearsals: “It was just like, ‘All right, let’s just do it again,’” she said. “It’s not that big a deal.”
After training other dancers for years, Tejada was looking ahead to life after performing. Teaching yoga felt natural. About a decade ago, she got certified in vinyasa and began sharing her practice.
A leap of faith
Born and raised in East Harlem, Tejada had long noticed what her neighborhood lacked. “It’s easy to see the smoke shops pop up, the liquor stores pop up, methadone clinics, rehab centers,” she said. “But we don’t have any place to make ourselves feel better.”
After 20 years of practicing yoga, she had a realization: It was time to open her own studio — and to do it in El Barrio.
Tejada didn’t know where to start, but she figured it out with a little help. A friend from Harlem Kettlebell Club helped her write a business plan and navigate real estate.
Then she found the space: 2,500 square feet of open potential — cinder blocks, beams, and a dirt floor. “I was like, that’s the hot room, that’s the bathroom, this is the non-heated room,” she said.
The landlord also owned a massive new residential building next door — a built-in community of potential clients. “The space found me,” she said.
Building something different
Ofrenda Yoga offers two studio spaces, including an infrared-heated room that fits 27 mats. The deep Mediterranean blue walls and smooth gray floor help create a sense of relaxation.
But what sets it apart is the culture. “You have autonomy over how you speak to yourself and how you practice — at Ofrenda we’re really big on that,” she said.
Students are guided but also encouraged to listen to their bodies. If a pose doesn’t feel right, there are always alternative options — or they can create their own. “The beautiful part about the practice is that it’s not a one-size-fits-all,” she said.
Pricing is equally flexible: drop-ins, multi-class packs, and unlimited plans — with no auto-renew requirement. The goal is accessibility.
Tejada wears many hats: owner, studio manager, head teacher, marketing team, and cleaning crew. She also leads a group of 12 to 13 instructors, many of whom came through community ties or walked through the door inspired to join. On Fridays, free community classes double as auditions. Students give feedback on potential new teachers, because “they’re the ones who will be practicing with them,” Tejada said.
Showing up authentically
The vibe at Ofrenda isn’t about silence or tradition — it’s about showing up as you are. Students might walk into bachata, merengue, or Bad Bunny playing in the lobby. For Tejada, the daughter of Dominican immigrants, her playlist reflects her roots and how she’s feeling.
Music helps people feel at home and go deeper into the practice. When Bad Bunny released his latest album, DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS (I Should Have Taken More Pictures), Tejada created a class around its themes. “Sometimes you’re twerking in the back, and that’s how you’re showing up today,” she said. “And sometimes you’re just resting.”
Whatever it is, it’s still yoga, she says.
“There’s this illusion that if you’re not white, if you’re not skinny, if you’re not hypermobile, if you can’t stand in a handstand for three hours, that your practice is invalid,” Tejada said.
She rejects that. The yoga poses, or asanas, are just one part of yoga. “It’s a way to get the energy out so you can sit still,” she said. So it’s fine if your pose looks different from someone else’s.
For some students, that freedom is transformative. One regular calls the studio her church. Sometimes she lays on her yoga mat and cries.
In a neighborhood hungry for healing, Ofrenda is more than a yoga studio; it’s an offering.
210 East 111th Street in Manhattan.
Mon–Fri: 7 a.m. – 8 p.m.
Sat–Sun: 9 a.m. – 2 p.m.
Email: info@ofrendayogastudio.com
Follow on Instagram at @ofrendayogastudio
