The Biggest Challenge
Deciding to leave the classroom has been, without a doubt, one of the most challenging decisions I’ve ever made. Even now, I find myself grappling with the weight of that choice, as I reflect on all that I left behind and the new path I’m forging ahead.
I miss the kids the most—their jokes, their energy, the way they would light up when they grasped a new concept. There’s something irreplaceable about the daily interactions with students, the way they’d greet me in the morning, or the funny stories they’d share during class. Those moments brought a unique joy that is hard to replicate in any other profession.
The routine of work was another comfort. The familiarity of my team, the job, the school, and the rhythm of the school year created a structure that I thrived in. I liked being senior, the one who knew the ropes, who could mentor new teachers, and who had the confidence that comes with experience. I enjoyed the challenge of coming up with new ideas, of being pushed to better myself each year, and of seeing the growth not just in my students, but in myself as well.
Financial stability was another factor I cherished. Knowing that a steady paycheck was coming every month brought a sense of security that’s hard to find elsewhere. Plus, having my kids in the same hallway as me, in a daycare I trusted, was a luxury I didn’t fully appreciate until I no longer had it.
But teaching also came with its dark sides, ones that eventually wore me down. The trauma I gained over the years, whether from difficult students or challenging circumstances, was something I carried with me long after the school bell rang. There were days when the work felt thankless, when the effort I poured into my students wasn’t acknowledged, or worse, was met with criticism.
I was burned more than once by coworkers or administrators, and those experiences left scars that still ache. Leading a team while constantly reinventing my curriculum was exhausting, especially when the turnover rate meant I was often starting over with new colleagues. By the end of each day, and more so by the end of each school year, I was depleted—physically, emotionally, and mentally.
Yet, despite these challenges, walking away was no easy feat. The decision felt like an internal tug-of-war, with one side pulling me toward the comfort of what I knew, and the other dragging me toward the unknown.
Now that I’m out of the classroom, I’ve found that there are things I value in this new chapter of my life. I get to spend more time with my kids, watching them grow and being more present in their lives. I have the opportunity to discover who I am without the identity of a teacher attached to my name. My stress levels have decreased, and I’m learning to navigate life at a slower, more intentional pace.
But this transition hasn’t been without its challenges. I’ve faced some significant blows to my self-worth over the past year, as I’ve had to redefine what success looks like outside of the classroom. There are days when I still ebb and flow in my choice, questioning whether I made the right decision.
However, I’m reminded of how low and exhausted I felt while teaching each year. As much as I miss certain aspects of that life, I know that, truthfully, I can’t go back right now. I was running on empty, and continuing down that path would have only led to burnout.
So, I must keep taking steps forward, even when the road is uncertain. This decision and experience have been one of the biggest challenges of my life, but I’m learning that sometimes, the hardest choices are the ones that lead us to where we truly need to be.
What Now, What’s Next?
As I navigate this new chapter of my life, I often find myself asking, “What now?” and “What’s next?” These questions feel daunting at times, especially when I find myself missing the rush of the first day of school—the energy, the excitement, the possibility. Or when I long for the daily debriefs with colleagues, where we’d share our wins and frustrations, laugh about the day’s chaos, and plan for what was coming next. There’s a camaraderie in those moments that I deeply miss.
But I’m learning that the answers to these questions aren’t clear-cut, and maybe they don’t need to be. Moving forward doesn’t mean having it all figured out; it means acknowledging the feelings as they come—whether it’s missing the familiar routine or relishing the freedom I now have—and continuing to take steps forward, even when the path ahead is uncertain.
This process has become a reflection in real time. Each week, sometimes even each day, I’m feeling it all. The nostalgia, the doubts, the relief, the excitement of new possibilities—it’s all there, swirling around as I try to make sense of this new reality. I’m not here to solve anything right now, just to acknowledge where I am. To honor the process and the journey, even when it feels messy and unresolved.
What’s next? I’m not entirely sure. But I know that it involves continuing to rediscover who I am outside of teaching, investing in my family and my passions, and finding new ways to make a difference in the world. Some days, it feels like I’m walking a tightrope, balancing the memories of what was with the anticipation of what could be. But I’m learning to be okay with that uncertainty, to embrace it as part of this season of life.
And so, I keep moving forward, even when I miss it most. I remind myself that leaving the classroom wasn’t just about stepping away from something; it was also about stepping toward something new. Something that, while different, holds its own value and potential. I’m not going back, and that’s okay. I’m here, now, and that’s enough.
