There are lots of emotions and thoughts behind my recent decision to leave my teaching career to try to work and live a little differently. You could say that teaching is an incredibly stressful, demanding, and under-appreciated profession with a high turnover rate. And you would be correct. If you asked me if I was burned out, exhausted, sometimes sad and anxious when I was at work, you would also be correct. This is by no means a reflection of my school. I can say with absolute conviction that I work in one of the best high schools in New Hampshire. The staff is incredible. The pay is competitive compared to other schools. My administrators are good people who truly want what is best for our students. I absolutely adore my students; would do anything for them. Any teacher will tell you that the students are never the problem; there are systemic issues at play in the public school system that are symptoms of socioeconomics and politics and would be massive undertakings to reform. My students were always and still are an immense source of joy for me, and I will always be an educator in my heart. I will miss them and my colleagues very much. My last day of school will surely bring a lot of tears. And yet, I have decided to go.
I've been bringing my secular mindfulness practice into my high school classroom for years. At first, I was skeptical that students, especially the demographic that frequents my classroom, would be open to it. But, boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. I introduced Mindful Fridays to my classes several years ago, doing 15 minutes of meditation every other Friday at the beginning of each block. Within a matter of weeks, I had students coming in seeking more. Students with learning disabilities, students with personal challenges, escalated students; I can't tell you how many times a 17-year-old boy wearing work boots and camo would come in and say "Mrs. King, can I do a meditation today?" I was stunned at how effective this practice was in the public school setting. I was also disappointed that despite my best efforts over the years, even leading professional development sessions and sharing resources, I was unable to spread the practice beyond my own tiny classroom. I have found that there is a lot of discussion around SEL and trauma-informed schools, but not a lot of action.
About a year ago, in the height of the pandemic, at a time when there was just so much fear and sadness, a group of women acquaintances reached out to me to ask if I would be willing to do an outdoor yoga class for them. They had asked a few times before, but I had turned them down, too nervous to try it. One night, however, they called me to ask again. I was on my second glass of wine. I said yes. I ended up teaching a one-hour restorative Yin class that Saturday morning in my back yard. And again the following Saturday. And the one after that. What started with five women grew into ten, twelve, more than I was comfortable with, more than would fit on the flat space in my back yard. Every Saturday, people would ask if they could bring a friend, a sister, their kids... I had to start saying no. I hated turning people away. But the seed had been planted. I was good at this. I enjoyed this. I was creating peace. I could feel it.
The 2020/2021 school year started, the weather made it impossible to continue yoga classes outdoors, and it simply wasn't safe to be indoors together. My private practice once again became private, solitary. December was a dark month for me. I was struggling with mom guilt, teacher guilt, anxiety, and depression. The constant transitioning from remote to hybrid teaching and back again, combined with worries about my own child's education and mental health was overwhelming. I felt like I couldn't so anything right. I found myself crying in my principal's office, expressing these feelings of inadequacy to my principal. What began as a meeting he requested in order to offer me support ended with him telling me that "unhappy people usually find somewhere else to work." I took this to mean I better act happy or go find another job. I was devastated.
But his words stuck with me, reverberated in my head for the next several months. In a way, although the message was hurtful, he was right. Until that meeting I was determined to soldier on and give 100% in the name of my school; after that meeting I decided to seek happiness elsewhere. I quietly signed up for a yoga teacher certification class, spent every spare moment studying and practicing, writing scripts, observing and attending classes. On March 7th, 2021 I completed and passed my certification exam. After months of torturing myself going around and around in my head, I finally decided to resign on March 30th.
I spent a lot of time worrying how people would perceive my resignation. I respect and like my coworkers and I care about what they think of me. I was afraid that they would think I couldn't hack it, that I burned out, that I had a breakdown, or that I gave up. But after some reflection, I know that this is not the case. I have not given up. If anything, my passion for teaching, caring for others, passing on knowledge, doing good in my community, and spreading joy has only increased over the years. Living in a pandemic at a time when there is cultural, social, political and economic turmoil has made me keenly aware of just how short and precious life is. I've done a lot of meditation, a lot of thinking, journaling, and talking with my family about the path that my life is taking, and I gradually came to the realization that I have more to give, more to do, more.
I am a person who has always had a lot of passions that I did not always get to feed. I am eternally grateful that this year the stars have aligned for me. We happened to already have plans to build a barn, and it was easy to add a finished studio space to that plan. Stay-at-home orders have essentially meant all of the money I would have spent on travel, concerts, and outings this year went straight into savings. For most of this year I only filled my gas tank once a month! I have a little "living cushion" to get me by for a while. I have always lived frugally, worn used clothing, ate out of my garden, reused and repurposed things, and learned how to do things on my own. I accept in my heart that I will not be living the life of the rich and famous any time soon. But I am at peace. A weight has lifted. I feel excited. I feel the shedding of skins that have been smothering me for too long. I have a new mission.
I have always believed that creating peace within yourself is creating peace in the world. Can you imagine being able to say that you create peace for a living? My last school year ends in seven weeks. And my mission to create more peace begins. I hope you come with me.
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