A classroom is defined by four things: walls, supplies, students, and a teacher. Nothing else truly matters. You can spend all the money in the world trying to make your classroom look like a Pinterest board, but children won’t remember the decorations. They’ll remember you, and the walls where you nurtured them into capable, self‑sufficient humans.
Inside the Walls
It is a privilege to teach children every day. How special is it that I get to teach students all day, love them as if they were my own, and then give them back at the end of the school day? Somewhere, somehow, these children were meant to be taught by me.
My first year of teaching genuinely felt like every emotion ever invented crashing into me — sometimes all at once, sometimes on repeat. I was 22, turning 23, and teaching sixth graders who were born the year I sat in their seats. Surreal, right? Over the course of this past school year, I’ve come to two conclusions:
- Teaching is exhausting.
- You pour your whole self into it and rarely receive the recognition you deserve.
But none of that matters to me. Maybe it would have been nice for those realizations to be written in the job description, but the experience and stories you develop throughout the school year? You can’t make those up. It’s everyday life under the same roof, eight hours a day, and I get the privilege to be there.
Apart from Teaching
Teaching is just a part of who I am. I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is the profession I’ve chosen for myself, and I can either go all in or run as far away from it as possible. What really helped me get through my first year of teaching was everything that happened outside the walls of my classroom.
I’m fortunate to have four strong pillars in my life, each one grounding me, giving my world structure, strength, and meaning.
The first pillar is my family. They were the ones who knew me before I knew myself. They’re my foundation and my bloodline.
The second pillar is my friends. These are the people I chose. They walked into my life and stayed. I’ve built a community around me that feels safe and is full of good times.
The third pillar is my boyfriend, a best friend who turned into something more. He showed me he could be the man who truly sees me, supports me, and loves me unconditionally. He listens, he understands, and he holds me up in ways that feel both gentle and strong.
The last pillar is my home, a space I created for myself. It is my sanctuary, a place where I can exhale and just be.
Without these pillars, I wouldn’t be me. They define who I am outside of the classroom. And when work feels heavy, it’s easy to forget the supports that hold me up. But they’re always there: the people and places I can surrender to, the ones that continuously refill my cup.
Whole Again
I’ll cut it to you short: believe everyone when they say your first year of teaching is insane, but I wouldn’t trade this past year for anything. It was complete chaos in the best way possible — the kind that shapes you, stretches you, and reminds you exactly why you chose this profession in the first place. Year one…check!
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