Confessions of a Former Teacher

About this same time every year since 2019, I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Why, you ask? Simple. I used to be a teacher—and I’m not anymore.

I knew I wanted to be an English teacher from about 6th grade on. My dad was a teacher. My great-grandpa was a teacher. Several of my aunts were/are teachers. One of my sisters and one of my brothers are teachers. I loved school all growing up, and becoming a teacher seemed like an obvious choice for me.

It is such a noble profession, and I respect the H*** out of teachers. For me, though? I was wrong to stubbornly cling to my original plans of becoming one. 

I love teaching itself. However, I hate many of the things that come along with it (e.g. classroom discipline, grading, unrealistic expectations, politics, parent complaints, never having enough time for a bathroom break, etc.). Teaching these days simply isn’t for me! 

I used to say that I wanted to be a teacher back in Anne of Green Gables’ times. (I’ve always longed to experience life as the characters from my favorite historical stories.) The last time I re-read the series, though, I realized that Anne complained about many of the same things I did. 😂 I guess teaching has never been easy.

While I was in college earning my teaching degree, I had several friends and family members who were teachers try to dissuade me from becoming one. At a minimum, they wanted me to REALLY think hard about it. I was determined, though. All the problems they complained to me about? They were other people’s problems. I was meant to be a teacher and could handle them. Oh, sweet, young, naive, Becca…

I don’t regret becoming a teacher. It taught me more than I could ever list and gave me experiences I wouldn’t have gained in any other way. I am especially grateful every single day for the lessons I learned that continue to help me navigate getting my boys the best education I can help provide. HOWEVER—and this is kind of hard to admit—I dreaded going to work as a teacher far more days than I looked forward to going.

Admittedly, part of that was because I was also struggling with depression. Even though I’ve struggled with anxiety/depression since college, I didn’t get on medication until almost the end of my third year teaching. Getting on Lexapro helped me immensely, but it didn’t magically remove all of the headaches that come with teaching.

Since I have anxiety, no matter how much I prepared, I was always worried I wasn’t prepared enough. In part because I have Attention Deficit Disorder (undiagnosed up until just earlier this year), I constantly had overflowing baskets of assignments, tests, essays, and projects that I needed to grade, enter, and hand back. I went to meeting after meeting and almost always left overwhelmed thinking, “How on earth am I going to be able to juggle that, too?!” I never felt like I was doing enough, yet I was still exhausted all the time.

I’m not saying that I hated every minute of teaching. Definitely not. There were those moments that *almost* made it all worth it. I loved making a difference. I loved watching my students get excited about and engaged in discussions about what we were reading. I loved witnessing reluctant readers tear through books I had recommended to them. I greatly admire the teachers who are able to focus on those bright patches and stay in the profession. I simply wasn’t one of them.

I enjoyed being a school librarian much more than being a teacher, but it still wasn’t my “calling”. I wasn’t excited to go to work every day—some days, yes, but definitely not every day. That’s why it ended up being a huge blessing when I decided I wouldn’t return to work for the 2019-2020 school year. It became an even bigger blessing in January 2020 when Lincoln was diagnosed with cancer. I can’t imagine having to go through his diagnosis and the subsequent 27 months of his treatment while also having to teach. I have friends who are doing it, though. They are true, unequivocal badasses.

So, yeah… I am really, really, REALLY grateful that I’m not a teacher anymore. I’m grateful that I get to stay home with my boys and watch them grow up before my eyes—even though, yes, they also drive me nuts some days. I’m also insanely happy that I can now fully enjoy the amazing fall.

For years I heard my mom say that fall was hands-down her favorite season. I agree with her now! Before, fall was tied to the end of my “carefree” summer days (teachers NEVER truly have the summer off completely). I’d get depressed around July 4th every year because that’s when stores started advertising and running their back-to-school sales. Now?! I’ve been smiling on the outside and on the inside as the start of school has approached.

Please be kind to your kids’ teachers. Cut them some slack. They have more on their plates than you will ever fully understand (unless, perhaps, you’ve been a teacher, too). Tell them thank you. Offer to volunteer. Bring them a Dirty Diet Coke (or their alternate favorite drink)! Take what your kids complain about with a grain of salt. And if you’re a teacher…? Let me know if you need a listening ear that just lets you vent or if you’re in dire need of a Dirty Diet Coke. I’ll do my very best to help lessen your load. You’re amazing! Thank you for everything you do.