When I left the classroom a few years ago, I needed to find my peace again. Following COVID, I had two of the most difficult years of my teaching career. That includes those early years when I was a newbie who questioned every decision I made.
To say that those years were hard doesn’t even begin to describe them. I came home feeling exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally — the kind of tired where you sit in your car in the driveway just staring at the steering wheel, questioning your worth. My family, friends, and fellow teachers carried me through those years. If you have teachers in your life, support them. Love them. Listen to them. Drop off treats! It’s beyond tough in schools right now, I’m telling you. I literally needed time to recover.
That was exactly why I searched for a remote position when I realized it was time to move on. I couldn’t deal with people anymore. My spirit was broken. The rudeness. The indifference. The learned helplessness. The apathy. I needed a safe space to focus on myself and use my skills in a positive way. The quiet of working remotely and connecting with people through a monitor in small doses was exactly what I needed to find myself again, to feel whole and worthy as a professional.
When I was laid off from that role three years later, I felt ready to be around people again. I knew that I needed to be around people. But I was nervous about going back out into the working world. Would I face the same kinds of issues plaguing classrooms in a new arena? I had almost grown too comfortable behind that computer screen in the safety of my own home. I mean, my commute was a walk down the stairs. No one talked back to me or refused to work. My coworkers treated me with respect, unlike the students and parents in those final years of school. That’s hard to beat.
You know what? I didn’t need to be anxious. It turns out that people are awesome, just like I remembered. Despite what happened during those last two years of my teaching career, or what we hear on the news and read on social media, there are a whole bunch of people who are good. People who want to help and connect. People who smile back.
Real conversations are fun. Talking to people in person brings an energy that a computer screen can’t provide. The barrier is removed. The connections are authentic. And you don’t have to say, “You’re on mute,” even once.
Sure, I have to decide what to wear to work now that I’m actually going somewhere besides my home office. No more hoodies and sweatpants as standard attire. Real pants are back in the rotation. But that’s a fair trade to feel like I’ve joined the world again.
I needed that time to work alone in a remote setting. Those last two years in the classroom took more of a toll on my mental health than I wanted to admit at the time. You see, I’m a glass-half-full kind of gal. I thought I could “positive-attitude” my way through burnout. Spoiler alert: I could not. I’m so grateful that I took the reset.
I guess the lesson is this: pay attention to your needs. Don’t push them away, thinking that you’re being selfish or that you should just suck it up. If you need to refresh and make changes in your life, do it. You don’t need permission. Trust your gut. It’s usually right — even if it whispers before it shouts.
I knew I was drowning in those last two years as a teacher, but I stayed two whole years feeling that way. It was partly my sense of responsibility, but also a true wish that teaching would return to being the job I had loved so much. When it was obvious that I couldn’t do it anymore under the current conditions, I had to retreat and reset. I’m so thankful that my remote job as a writer gave me space to breathe and rediscover who I was outside of a classroom.
Now, I’m in the third chapter of my career in a health care setting — with people again. And yes, people can be a lot of things. Complicated. Messy. Occasionally impatient or stubborn. I choose to see the goodness. I love connecting with others. I try to spread sunshine (without being annoying about it). I hope people feel seen and valued when they bump into me.
Turns out, sometimes you need to step away from the world to remember why you love being in it.
sharing the stairs 