That's the answer, it's the right answer, and it's also the beginning of the problem. She's stopped at the door with her coat half on. She's away next Tuesday, a work thing, and would it be alright if you sent her something to do at home instead. You're stacking mats. You say you'll sort it out in the week.
And you do. It takes about twenty minutes on the Wednesday evening. Find the recording, get it somewhere she can open, write the message explaining which bit to skip because that was the week you spent ten minutes on the shoulder sequence.
Then it happens again.
This is about the twenty minutes, not about teaching. Nothing here fills a class or makes anybody roll their mat out on a wet Thursday. It's about where your recordings live, who does the fetching, and one thing you can't see at the moment that you probably want to.
By the spring, one student has become eleven
You're running a small unpaid filing department.
There's a folder of recordings with names like Tuesday 7pm final v2. There's a WhatsApp group that also gets used for lost water bottles and for asking whether class is on if it snows. There's a note on your phone of who still has sessions left on their six-week block, which you update from memory on the way home. On a Sunday evening you send the same links to eleven different people, one at a time, because that's the only way you've got.
None of it is hard. That is exactly the problem. Every single piece of it is a two-minute job, and nothing that takes two minutes ever looks like the thing to fix.
So it doesn't get fixed. It just gets bigger, until a message lands at half nine at night saying the link has expired, and you're on the sofa trying to work out which version she was sent in the first place.
For what it's worth, I've never met anybody whose filing survived a busy term. Mine has a folder called admin, and inside that one there's a folder called admin old, and I couldn't tell you what's in either of them.
It's the wrong hour, more than it's the money
The hour you spend hunting for a file is the hour you were going to spend planning next term. Or writing the workshop you keep talking about. Or sitting down properly after teaching four classes in three days.
That's the part that compounds. A bill you can look at and decide about; an evening goes without you noticing it went.
The question you never get to ask
Here's the bit that gets missed, because it doesn't feel like a problem. It feels like normal life.
You don't know whether the woman who was away for work opened one single thing you sent her. You don't know whether the person on the six-week block has used four or six. So you ask in the doorway, in front of other people, and she says "oh, yes, I've been meaning to" in the voice everybody uses for that sentence, and you both let it go.
Now multiply that by everybody on your books, and something bigger is hiding inside it. If you could see what people open, you'd know what they want more of. Not what they say in the car park when you ask them directly, which is always kind and never that useful. What they choose on a Tuesday night when nobody's watching.
Say the short restorative one from February keeps getting opened, and the strong Wednesday class you're proudest of doesn't. That's not a judgement on your teaching. It's next term's workshop, handed to you, without a survey and without a single awkward conversation. Most teachers plan the next thing on a guess and a feeling in the room. You'd be planning it on what people actually did.
I should say plainly that we haven't measured whether any of this changes how many people turn up to class, and I'm not going to invent a number to wave at you. What it changes is that you stop guessing.
Give the class an address instead of sending it out
Your recordings go in one place your students can log into. It carries your name and your colours, not ours, so it reads as your studio. A class goes up once. Nothing expires, so nobody gets the half nine message, and neither do you.
The one customer story we have is Justine Lette, who runs Hypnosis New Zealand and was paying over $100 a month for a platform she used a fraction of. Different work, same shape: most of these tools are built for people running sales funnels, and a practitioner ends up paying for a great deal they will never open. [What that costs a yoga teacher over a year](https://coursespaces.io/blog/kajabi-alternative-for-yoga-teachers.html) is worth doing the arithmetic on.
They help themselves at nine at night
A student who wants the gentle sequence from three weeks ago goes and gets it without messaging you.
Their side works on a phone, so it opens in the kitchen without any argument about accounts and downloads. Live classes sit alongside the recorded ones on a calendar, so Tuesday evening and next month's workshop aren't in a separate tool with a separate bill.
The register stops living in your head
Open your client list and you can see who has what and how far through it they are. The six-week block stops being a note you update from memory in the car.
If the studio's shut on the bank holiday, you post it once and everyone sees it, instead of typing it into a group chat half of them have muted.
Who this isn't for
If what you've got already works. Some teachers have four regulars, a shared folder and no trouble at all. If your students open what you send and you can tell that they do, leave it alone.
If every address a student sees has to be yours. You can point your own domain at your portal. What we do not offer is full white-label hosting, where every address a student sees is yours.
If your week runs on one particular booking tool. Ask us before you move anything. The worst time to find out is when your recordings are already halfway across.
What it costs
$47 a month. One price, nothing to decode.
That covers unlimited courses and products, up to 1,000 active students, hosted video with 1TB of bandwidth a month, the AI course builder, the AI assistant with 1,500 messages a month, unlimited communities and chat. Extra video bandwidth is $10 per terabyte if you ever get near it.
Sell a class or a block online and it runs through your own Stripe account. We take none of it. The only thing that comes out is Stripe's own 2.9% plus 30 cents, which everybody charges everywhere.
There's a 30-day money-back guarantee, and a 30-day free trial that doesn't ask for a card.
If you want to try it
Don't move everything. Put last term's recordings in, and give them to the three students who ask you for things most often.
Two weeks of that and you'll know two things: whether your Wednesday evening comes back, and which class they went to first.