It wasn’t burnout that made me resign—it was knowing I deserved better.
Burnout is often described as a state of emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion caused by prolonged stress. While I certainly felt exhausted, what ultimately led me to resign wasn’t burnout itself but the realization that I deserved more than a never-ending cycle of pushing through the school year and trying to recover over breaks.
For many years, my desire to build meaningful connections with students, particularly those who were neurodivergent or felt overlooked by the system, had motivated me to stay in teaching. I believed it was my responsibility to advocate for them and create a space where they could thrive and recognize their potential. I was privileged to positively impact many students.
However, when Covid hit, everything changed. Remote learning forced me to completely rethink how to support students who were already struggling to keep up in traditional classroom settings. There was always something new—a curriculum update, a policy shift, or yet another initiative to adopt—often with little time to prepare or implement it effectively. It often felt like I was expected to be a superhero, and just when I thought I could catch my breath, the demands only grew.
With each passing year, my love for teaching faded as the stress piled on. That stress began to manifest physically and negatively impact my health
It was all I could do to get through the school year, holding onto the hope that I could recover over the summer. Unfortunately, the time I had counted on for rest was spent in terrible pain from a pinched nerve in my back. Without the summer to recover, I realized I couldn’t push through again when the new school year started. That’s when I made the difficult decision to resign.
Within weeks, my health began to improve drastically—the pain from the pinched nerve went away. Leaving my job did what weeks of physical therapy couldn’t do. I finally felt like myself again.
Looking back, I’m grateful that my body revolted. This experience forced me to confront a hard truth: as a teacher, caregiving had become my identity, but I didn’t know how to practice self-care. The constant pressure to always be there for others didn’t allow me to show up for myself when I needed it most.
Now, I’m embracing new opportunities and pursuing my passions. I’m running my own business, creating content to inspire others, and exploring the transformative power of AI and its potential to improve learning experiences. These pursuits have rekindled my passion for making a difference, but in a way that feels sustainable and fulfilling.
For the first time in years, I'm truly present with my friends and family. I wake up excited about the possibilities each day holds.
The decision to leave teaching wasn’t easy—it felt like stepping away from a piece of my identity. Yet, it was also a moment of liberation—a step toward reclaiming my health and happiness, as well as an act of self-preservation and self-respect. In doing so, I’ve removed barriers—internally and externally—that were holding me back, and I’m finally able to rediscover who I am and what I’m capable of.
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