So, I left the classroom. After five years of teaching through a pandemic, pregnancy, grief, and burnout, I walked away.

So what am I doing now?

Short answer: Living.
Longer answer: A lot. But also, intentionally… a lot less.

Here’s what life looks like now that I’m not standing in front of a whiteboard at 8:30 a.m. every weekday.

I’m home schooling my daughter. This has been the biggest and most rewarding shift. I build her curriculum myself with a blend of structure, freedom, and rabbit-hole learning. We follow her interests, take our time, and skip the part where 27 kids fight over who moved the pencil sharpener. School is for her and so far, it’s working.

I’m home with my baby. I’m not missing the milestones. I’m here for the firsts, the laughs, the words, the learning. I get to be home and I don’t take that for granted. I’m tired, but not like I was. This tired is a softer one. I’m okay with this tired.

I’m working from home and I love it. I found a remote position at a public charter school. I support families, help guide students, and offer encouragement. Tt’s more of a counselor-style role and it fits me in all the right ways. It’s meaningful work, without the burnout that used to eat me alive. I get to help people without losing myself.

I’m creating again. Leaving the classroom gave me something I didn’t even realize I’d been missing… space to be creative. I’ve been crafting more. I enjoy crocheting and cross-stitching. I’m learning to garden. I started a blog, this one. I’m sharing pieces of my life.

I’m breathing again. I don’t set alarms before sunrise. I don’t spend two hours commuting. I don’t live with the constant background noise of classroom management and system-level dysfunction. My nervous system is still recovering, but for the first time in a long time… I feel a sense of peace.

Leaving the classroom gave me room for my family, for myself, and for a life that feels more aligned.

But I am forever grateful for the time I spent there. The classroom shaped me, stretched me, and ultimately gave me the tools to build this life. It also gave me something lasting: a deep love and devotion to education. Even though I’m not teaching in the traditional sense anymore, I know I’ll always be connected to education.
It’s woven into who I am and it always will be.

My teaching career has been… unique. I started in the 2019–2020 school year the COVID year. The world shut down just as I was getting started. Schools closed. Life changed overnight. And everything I thought teaching would be? It wasn’t.

When schools reopened nearly a year later, it was hybrid. Half-days. Rotating schedules. Constant uncertainty. Then came the 2021–2022 school year… the “back to normal” year. Except… it wasn’t.

The trauma of the pandemic never really got addressed. It just followed everyone back into the classroom. Students didn’t know how to “do” school anymore. They were overstimulated, emotionally raw, and, honestly, overwhelmed. And frankly, so were the teachers. We had little to no support. Admin didn’t have answers. No one did.

I remember hearing, “We are building the plane while we fly it.” REPEATEDLY. No one knew what they were doing.

I had always told myself I’d reassess my career choice after five years. So when I started my fourth year in the classroom, I had that in mind. I wasn’t burned out yet, but I was definitely on the path. I was tired. Worn down. But I had a plan and a finish line.

Then, SURPRISE, I found out I was pregnant right around Thanksgiving.

I was pregnant throughout most the school year. The pregnancy wasn’t bad. I was healthy, baby was healthy. But I was tired, nauseous, in pain, and working full-time. Teaching while pregnant is no joke. That school year was brutal.

By summer 2023, I was six months pregnant. I chose to teach summer school anyway becaues I needed the money. Teachers don’t get paid maternity leave in America. (Yeah. Make it make sense.)

That summer ended up being one of the hardest of my life. At the end of first semester, my mom passed away. I didn’t go back for second semester. I couldn’t. I needed time.

My son was due in August 2023, and I originally planned to return to work in October. Then it was November… December. Then maybe after spring break. Maybe I’ll teach summer school… Nope. Then… August 2024. I told myself, Okay. That’s it. Back to work. Baby’s one. Time to go back.

So I did. And I was miserable.

The moment I returned, I knew. I was overstimulated, anxious, and constantly stressed. I missed my baby. I missed my family. I was commuting over two hours a day. I cried. I was anxious. I felt completely disconnected from myself and the life I had fought to create. I had worked so hard to create peace in my life.

By October 2024, I knew I was done.
I turned in my resignation that November.
And I haven’t looked back.

Leaving the classroom was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made and also one of the best.

I’m happier now. I’m present. I’m healing. I’m creating the peace I need. And I’m learning how to be whole again.

Now, will I ever return to the classroom? I don’t know.

Some days, I miss it. But more on that later.