I don’t know when exactly I first substituted “tired” for “unhappy.” The English teacher in me is not proud of the substitution. Words matter and people shouldn’t just redefine them out of convenience. Meanwhile, the best of me is not proud of the deliberate—and back then, frequent—violation of my quest to mean what I say and say what I mean.
I do know that I had my reasons. People don’t cringe at hearing that you’re tired—there’s no pity, no meaningful responses, no actual suggestions. When I say that I’m “just tired,” I’m guaranteed a cliché-driven exchange because everyone is busy, everyone is tired, everyone is waiting for the weekend. Even better, I didn’t have to admit that I was being defeated by the thing I loved most.
I was never unhappy-unhappy; instead, I felt frustrated by a lingering disappointment. I spent part of my days happily immersed in the lives of kids and then the mandatory tilting at windmills would appear. Which is worse: the school initiatives that won’t be sustained next year or the school initiatives that will be completed but won’t matter? Teachers get it. We focus on the kids and try to endure the rest. I found that I wasn’t interested in enduring—I wanted the change, the progress, the sustainability.
An important part of my confession is that I loved my kids, my colleagues, and my school. In fact, I wrote in my resignation letter that I could not imagine loving another school more. Nearly two years later, that sentiment remains true. I still burned out.
I am fortunate enough to have created a new chapter that allows me to continue teaching and continue working with school leadership. My classrooms are varied and unconventional: STEM summer classes with high school students who will become first-generation college graduates, a community-based reading for social justice course, soft skills instruction for young adults with disabilities and, of course, my amusing first and second graders in Sunday School. When I’m not teaching, I’m working as an independent consultant helping school leaders tackle common pitfalls through strategic planning, systems revision, and professional development.
Even though this new life is treating me well, I recognize that the burnout wasn’t just something that happened to me. I made the space for it. I gave it life by doubling down on my work.
Here’s what I’m doing now and should have done then:
1. Schedule time for yourself
As in, literally block off time on your calendar. Write it down! I remember that daunting process of facing my daily schedule in the early morning hours before the school day started. My calendar was always a list of deadlines, meetings, and work sessions. I never wrote down things I wanted to do for myself—I just sort of hoped that the time would magically be there later. It never was.
2. Acknowledge the obvious warning signs
Some things are entirely outside of your control, which means you can’t fix them. No matter how hard you try or how many hours you work. Let’s just say that if you’re reaching for a copy of Managing Up, you’re wasting your time. Trust your instincts and your ethics.
Meanwhile, face up to those uncomfortable patterns that you can control. How often do you find yourself saying that you’re tired? How much caffeine do you need to get through the day? When was the last time you exercised? Maybe the badging system that we really need as teachers is the one that rewards us for taking care of ourselves.
3. Use those reflection skills in your personal life
It sounds foolish to say now, but I definitely spent more time reflecting on how to support my students' learning than any other part of my life. I was giving my students the kind of feedback that I wasn’t giving myself.
Many of the same reflective and tracking tools that I would use with my students are now important tools in managing my business ventures and personal life. I track all the tiny steps that ultimately lead to a project’s completion. I have an at-a-glance dashboard that helps me stay focused on both my short-term and long-term goals. I pause and celebrate the accomplishments when they come, just as I would celebrate my students’ victories.
All of this means that you probably know a teacher who would benefit from taking her own advice. Teaching is selfless work and we are accustomed to cheering for our kids, our colleagues, and our school even when we’ve stopped cheering for ourselves. If you’re a tired teacher, save yourself first. Stop the madness and commit to a different action plan. Ask for help if you don’t know where to begin.
And if you’re like me, someone who recognizes that painfully familiar wearied look in her friends, be patient but persistent. Our students aren’t the only ones who require strategic intervention—get in there and make a difference.