When I was in my undergrad program at Wheaton College, we learned a lot about education and teaching. We learned how to make beautiful lesson plans, how to spark engagement, and how to accommodate for every child’s needs. There were papers due, assignments to complete, and projects to finish. There were countless hours spent in classrooms observing, and eventually teaching many students over the years with guidance.
College prepared me for a lot. There were of course many times I was told that your first teaching job will teach you more than college ever could, but I was under the assumption that it would be manageable. I felt prepared. I felt ready to take on whatever life threw at me.
Then I got my first teaching job.
A week before school was set to start, I was still out of a job. After dozens of applications were submitted, I was left with little hope for the start of the year approaching quickly. When I received a call from the school I student taught at, I did not hesitate in saying that I would accept the offer for the job. There was so much excitement and joy. Everything I had worked so hard for was finally paying off.
With only a week left, there was so much to do. Being a first year teacher, there was also so much to learn in so little time. However, I still felt confident that I could do it.
As the school year got underway, there were so many sweet moments. Moments of joy in building relationships with my kiddos, moments of excitement watching a struggling student finally understand a concept, moments of elation watching a student read a word independently for the first time.
However, this year was not like other years as I soon found out. Coming out of COVID and everything that tagged onto it was not going to be easy. For students, they were needing to adjust to learning how to be in a classroom setting again, how to wear masks all day, how to socialize, and how to emotionally handle everything that comes with being away from home. This was not easy, and it was very apparent just how damaging this past year was to them both socially and emotionally. For teachers, this meant dealing with countless behavior issues, nonstop walkie calls, emotional breakdowns during planning periods, and frustration upon hearing changes being made during staff meetings. There were new demands placed onto an already overflowing list of to-do’s. There was an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty as we headed back into a COVID surge.
Then came the panic attacks.
I remember there was one day in particular when I walked into my classroom and started experiencing a full-blown panic attack. My students were coming in soon, and I felt helpless. What could have triggered this? Why am I feeling this way? I was totally fine, and now I am needing to run to the bathroom just to breathe.
But it is only once. It won’t happen again.
This is the lie I told myself. This is the encouragement I received from so many.
Until it happened again. And again. And again. Until finally even thinking about going into work caused me to have panic attacks. It started off with taking off a day, then two, then a week. There was so much guilt that was attached to every decision I made.
Why can’t I calm down?
It is only a job, it is not my life.
I need to live up to the expectations of my administration.
I need to show up for these kids.
I love them.
They need me. They need me. They need me.
There was very little in terms of things I could do in order to calm myself down. I tried breathing, I tried meditation, I tried time off. None of these worked. I had tried medication in the past, but it was not a road I wanted to go down again. So when I started needing to take medication just to go to work, I knew something needed to change. I wasn’t the teacher my kids needed me to be. I wasn’t the same person that loved life that I used to be.
The choice that I never thought I would ever have to make became very clear to me: resignation.
The thought of resigning as a first-year teacher, especially mid-year, was never something I thought I would ever have to do.
It was excruciating. It was the hardest decision I have ever made in my life. Leaving those kids felt like a knife going into my side. It was never them. They were never the reason behind the anxiety that I felt constantly. They deserved better than what I could give them right now, and that is okay. There is belief that we must be super heroes as teachers. We must be humans who do no wrong, who give up everything for the good of our students and school. However, if we do not preserve who we are as human beings first, if we do not protect our mental health, we cannot show up for these kids in the ways that they need. To laugh, smile, play. To teach life lessons. To show them that they can be their full authentic selves without fear of judgement. To show up every day filled with passion and excitement, instead of anxiety and emptiness.
If you are in this situation, even if you are not a first-year teacher, it is okay to walk away. Your mental health is worth more than any job. They are resilient. You showed up for them even on days where you thought you couldn’t.
You are not your job. You are not your failures or successes. You are not just another teacher in a district filled with hundreds. You are the only you there is, and you are valuable. Some may try to take that away from you. Whether that be negative comments, belittling, or toxic work environments. Whether it be administration that treats you like you’re nothing, or parents who question your every move. You are valuable, and no one can ever take that away from you. Walking away does not make you weak. It makes you stronger than most. Anxiety does not make you weak, it makes you stronger than most. It is hard, and every day may feel like a drag. You are doing the best you can, and that is what matters. You are the best teacher you can be, and that is what matters most.
Whether you are thinking about resigning, have resigned, love your job, or just are a friend who cared to read this, thank you. I hope this brought comfort and peace to someone out there who feels a lot like I did. You are enough. You are valuable. God has the greatest plans for you, even if they look different than you ever thought they would.
Lifeline 