My third year teaching almost broke me.
I started off strong after college (after the second time around – graduating at 28).
Hopes, dreams, ambitions—I had them all.
And, it wasn’t easy. I graduated during a recession, and I couldn’t even get an interview in any of the surrounding districts.
I had no connections in the education field, and I had to drive 45 minutes away from home just to get an interview.
That’s how I ended up at a school that became both a blessing and a (self-imposed) curse.
From day one, I was told: first-year teachers need to shut up and do what they’re told.
I didn’t realize then what I know now—I should have closed my door and trusted myself more. But I didn’t. I let others’ opinions define me. I didn’t see my value, and that made it so easy for others to dismiss me.
By my second year, I was moved to 5th grade. I wish I could say it was a choice, but let me be clear: it wasn’t by choice. I hyperventilated in the principal’s office when she told me about the move. I wasn’t ready. Or so I thought.
Here’s the thing. Moving to 5th grade turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me—and almost the worst thing.
Let me explain.
That first year in 5th grade was incredibly challenging but also incredibly rewarding. I was teaching at a difficult-to-staff school, and I was given the students who needed me the most. And I was ready for it. I felt confident, I was excited, and even though it was hard, I loved every moment. The challenges pushed me, and I grew as a teacher.
But everything changed in my third year.
That was the year I was given challenges I didn’t think I was ready to handle. None of my students had passed the state test, the behavior problems were exponentially more difficult, and I was losing faith in my ability to teach.
Let me be clear—it wasn’t the students’ fault. It wasn’t because of their results or their behaviors. It was because of the constant pressure to perform and the relentless criticism.
Even though I was ranked a highly effective teacher every year at that school (from my first year), I was still being told that it wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t enough. And that eats away at you.
One day, a student I’d had in 3rd grade and again that 3rd year look at me and said, What happened to you? You’re not Miss Findley anymore.
That hit me. Hard.
And It was true. I had stopped being the teacher I wanted to be because I stopped believing in myself. I let fear, doubt, and burnout win.
But that was the day I decided that enough was enough. I finished out the year, but I knew something had to change.
I made the decision to leave the school. When I told my principal I was leaving, she didn’t make it easy. She was mean, and her words cut deep.
The next week, I returned to school and found a letter on my desk. It said the words she should have said, but it was too late. The damage had been done.
Later that summer, while attending a conference I was sent to by my new school (without having to prove myself), someone very important in the school district approached me.
They told me that my principal had asked, Why did Jennifer do that? Why did she jump from the frying pan into the fire?
It was in that moment I realized something: My admin had no idea what she was doing to me.
She was completely unaware of the damage her criticism had done. To her, it was just another decision. But for me, it had been the fire.
They didn’t understand.
On the outside, it looked like I was leaving one tough situation only to step into an even worse one. But what they didn’t know was that the school I was at had become the fire for me. I wasn’t jumping into the fire—I was escaping from it.
I needed to save myself.
That summer, I started my Teachers Pay Teachers store, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was stepping back into who I was meant to be. I wasn’t perfect, and I still struggled, but I was learning to trust myself again.
I was starting to rebuild my teaching soul, bit by bit.
Here’s what I want you to take away from this: If you’re in a place that doesn’t make you feel safe or supported, if you’ve lost faith in yourself or the joy of teaching, you have permission to change that.
Sometimes we get stuck in environments that stifle us, and just like our students need a safe place to learn and grow, we need that too.
If you’re not in the environment that helps you be the best version of yourself, it’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to make a change. Sometimes the fire we fear is the very thing that will save us.
You are worth it, and your teaching soul is worth saving.
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