It’s the beginning of August. For years, this was the time my mind started shifting back into school mode—gently at first, then all at once. The smell of fresh notebooks in Target. Dreaming about classroom layouts. The old excitement of a clean whiteboard and a new group of students waiting to walk through the door.
I don’t do that anymore. I’m retired now, and the quiet is… different. But not unwelcome. And in this quiet, I’ve been thinking: What do I wish I had known then, in those early years? What do I know now that I couldn’t have understood at 25, 35, even 45?
So here’s what I’d say to that younger version of myself. And maybe, if you’re heading back into the classroom—especially if you’re just starting out—this might help you, too.
Slowing Down to Speed Up: The Power of Presence
I wish I’d known that the best thing I could bring into a classroom wasn’t a killer lesson plan or a clever opening hook, or any of the multiple items admins look for—it was my presence.
Not just being physically in the room, but truly being there. With the students. For them.
It’s funny, I used to think good teaching was fast. Keep the pace up, stay on top of everything, move quick, pivot faster, present content, bell to bell. But I came to find the most impactful moments were always the ones that slowed things down:
- A pause before answering a hard question
- A quiet minute when I just looked out at the class and really saw them
- That breath I’d take before stepping into the room
I didn’t know it then, but mindfulness researchers like Jon Kabat-Zinn have shown that just being present changes everything—our clarity, our relationships, even how students learn.
Take one moment, one breath, and come back to yourself. That might be the most powerful thing you do all day.
Teaching Isn’t a Performance—It’s a Relationship
Early on, I thought I had to “wow” students every day. Big energy, engaging stories, interactive everything. Moving around the room, keeping them focused. And yes—those things help. But they’re not the heart of teaching.
The heart of teaching is this: connection.
Students don’t remember your most dazzling lessons. They remember how you made them feel.
There was a student I had once—quiet, sat in the back, didn’t turn much in. I kept pushing content, trying to reach him with new strategies. One day I just sat next to him during a work period and said, “You doing okay?” He looked surprised. Then said, “I didn’t think you noticed me.”
That moment did more than any lesson plan ever could.
Psychologists studying attachment in education would tell you: students learn best when they feel safe and seen. We don’t just teach subjects—we teach people.
So don’t worry about being the most entertaining person in the building. Just be real. Be present. Be human.
How to Ground Yourself Before You Step Into the Classroom
I came to believe this deeply: the best way to prepare for the school day wasn’t tweaking slides or printing handouts. It was centering myself.
Some mornings, I would sit in my car for a few minutes and pray:
“Let me be patient today. Let me really listen. Let me notice what matters.”
Other days, it was just a moment of stillness at my desk before students came in.
That grounding—whether you find it through prayer, silence, journaling, or breath—matters more than we think. Especially in a profession where everything pulls at your attention.
We talk a lot about burnout. But what if the real issue isn’t just how much we do, but how little time we spend returning to our center?
Teaching takes everything out of you. Make sure you’re pouring from a full cup, not just a busy one.
(I’ve included a free journaling sheet at the end if you’d like a simple practice to help you ground yourself.)
Lessons Age Taught Me About Letting Go
This one took me a while. Maybe longer than I care to admit.
When I was younger, I thought I had to do it all: reach every student, fix every problem, have the answers, carry the load. And when I couldn’t, I felt like I had failed.
But over time, I learned that good teaching isn’t about control—it’s about trust.
You trust the process. You trust the seeds you plant. You trust that sometimes, you won’t see the fruit.
I’ve had students who seemed unreachable… who came back years later to say thank you. And others I never heard from again. That’s part of the work, too.
You’re not a mechanic. You’re a gardener.
Water well. Be patient. Let the sun do its part.
A Final Word: Your Worth Isn’t Measured by Outcomes
If you hear nothing else I say, please hear this:
Your worth is not in your test scores. Not in whether every student behaves. Not in what the principal says during your observation.
Your worth is in how you show up. With care. With presence. With integrity.
There’s a Bible verse I came back to again and again throughout my career.
“Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness.” —Matthew 25:21
That verse reminded me that we are called to be faithful, not perfect.
You may not see all the results of your work. You may not get the recognition. But you are planting something eternal. And every time you listen patiently, offer kindness, or give a student the benefit of the doubt—you are doing holy work.
So when you lay your head down at the end of the day, let it be enough that you were faithful with what was in front of you.
A Quiet Invitation
If you’re heading back into the classroom soon, I hope you’ll take a few minutes just for yourself. To reflect. To ground. To remember what really matters to you.
I’ve created a printable journaling sheet for you to use during this back-to-school season. It’s simple, calming, and meant to help you reconnect with your why.
📝 [Download Your Free Reflection Guide Here – https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YlN3K_4i74g2Xq_pzS28ROwSaTjckAdt/view?usp=sharing
And if this post resonated with you:
- Subscribe for more reflections grounded in psychology, teaching, and spirit
- Share it with a new teacher who might need it
- Or just leave a comment —what do you wish you had known then?
You’re not alone out there. And what you do matters more than you know.
