Sometime over the past few years, I began to feel stuck in a rut as a teacher. I struggled to support my students through hybrid and remote learning during pandemic shutdowns. The impacts of the pandemic continue to ripple through our field, and we are now truly starting to see the resulting challenges that persist for our students and ourselves. There’s a lot happening in the current landscape of education that we don’t have control over, and that can feel disheartening. Some of what I loved about teaching felt lost or just out of reach.

At one point, it dawned on me that, while I’d considered myself stuck, I wasn’t really stuck; I was joyless. Even saying this now hurts – because typically I bring a lot of enthusiasm to teaching. I wanted my joy back. I wanted to reclaim my agency. The first step was reminding myself that, even though elements of our profession lie beyond my control, there’s so much we can control. I believe that I do have control over my joy. 

I decided to commit to rediscovering and protecting my joy for teaching, and I want to share what that journey looks like for me. I don’t think there are enough “tips and tricks” in any toolkit to address the challenges teachers face today. Some of what’s here may seem simple in theory, but that doesn’t mean they’re easy in practice. The habits that make the biggest difference require me to refresh my mindset daily. Here are the practices I hold close:

1. I anticipate when I’ll have low energy, and I proactively plan ways to fill my joy tank.

I know that October and April are particularly hard months for me. Now, instead of waiting until I’m run down enough that someone says, “Tiffany, I think you need a break,” I take ownership over these tough seasons and calendar out opportunities to recharge. This can include planning getaways with family and friends or smaller activities like visiting a new coffee shop with a friend or finding a new local walking trail – and it makes such a difference.

2. I take things off my to-do list.

When I sit down in the morning and look at my to-do list, I don’t just ask, “What things have to be done today?” I also ask myself, “What things don’t have to be done today?” As teachers, we’re masterful at making to-do lists, but I like to delete items. If something’s not urgent, if it’s creating stress in my heart or pressure in my mind, I bump it or ask for help.

3. I seek out community that helps me protect my joy. 

I’m better in community, and I protect my joy by building a community that feeds my joy. This sometimes means taking a social media break or discontinuing negative conversations. For me, it has meant seeking out mentors who still exude joy and enthusiasm for the field and asking them to hold my hand and pull me forward. I’m also intentional about turning around and reaching my hand back to new teachers or colleagues who are struggling. I look out for people who might need a small gift, a handwritten note or a word of encouragement.

4. I make time to breathe – really breathe. 

Many of us are shallow breathers. When something is difficult, we tense up, which cuts off deep breathing. Sometimes, we forget the science behind taking deep breaths, which releases dopamine. I know this – and I want all of that natural dopamine that comes with deep breathing to fill my body. And so, I make time to sit in my chair, and I say, “Okay, I’m going to just breathe right now.” Everything else can wait.

5. I remind myself that this profession is noble.

When I allow outside voices to taint my view of the work that we’re doing, it makes me forget that the work that is happening in our classrooms is noble. I enjoy this work. And that brings my mind back to what lies within my scope of control. 

6. I rest my mind on the life-giving reality that I get to be part of my students’ core childhood memories.

I’ve taught K through 12 in both the general ed and special education setting, and no matter the grade level I’m teaching, a significant common thread is that I get to be a part of the core memories of these students’ childhoods – and this gives me life. When I think about that, and I let the thought settle, I feel grounded. I’m grateful to have experienced a good childhood with wonderful teachers, and now I have the pleasure – and I do consider it an honor – to give that to my students. I want them to remember joy when they look back on their time with me. The other day, one of my students brought in one of her trophies from jujitsu. I said to her, “I am really honored that you thought it was important to bring in your trophies and share them with me.” We’re creating memories in our classroom, but our students are also bringing in memories that mean something to them outside of the classroom. And to me, that feels like love. I try not to miss those moments.

These practices require planning, and we teachers are busy. But as educators, we know how to plan. We map out scope and sequences sometimes a year in advance. We plan lessons every day. We’re skilled with planning, and I know I can make time to plan for myself.

Every day is a new day, and I can choose where I let my mind rest. Every day, I choose again to rest my mind on things that give me joy and life and that remind me that even in the toughest moments, teaching is still so noble. You dear reader are doing noble work. Thank you for your dedication to this work.