The First Day of School Without Me: Relief, Guilt, and What Comes Next
For the first time in years, I didn’t return to the classroom. Here’s what it feels like to leave teaching and face an unknown future.
The First Day Back… Without Me
Today teachers returned to school, and for the first time in years, I am not one of them. I woke up without that familiar weight on my chest, the one that always pressed harder as the first day crept closer. There was no knot in my stomach, no mental checklist of unfinished tasks, no internal pep talk convincing myself I was ready to face another year in a building that had become a source of anxiety and pain.
This morning, I simply had one small task: to drop off a planner I had made for a former coworker. Yet even that simple errand stirred something I wasn’t expecting.
As I drove toward the school, the question crept in: Did you make the right decision? For a moment, I hesitated, as if I needed to reevaluate everything I had decided on July 2nd when I submitted my resignation. The answer came quickly and without hesitation—Yes.
There was a time when the start of a school year brought excitement, when I took pride in decorating my classroom and making it one of the warmest, most welcoming spaces in the building. I loved creating lessons that challenged and inspired my students. Teaching was never just a job to me; it was who I was. But something changed. That spark is gone, and as much as I once loved it, I no longer have the energy or desire to create lessons or hang bulletin board borders. I don’t want to force myself to keep doing something that feels like it belongs to another version of me.
Relief, Guilt, and the Students I Left Behind
Though I feel lighter—freer than I have in years—I also carry guilt. This summer, parents reached out when they learned I had resigned, but one conversation has stayed with me. A mother told me how devastated her daughter was to learn I would not be her teacher this year, how she had cried in a way her mother had never seen before. She asked if I would stay in touch because her daughter had felt a connection she had never had with a teacher before.
That conversation broke my heart.
It reminded me that leaving wasn’t just about stepping away from grading, planning, or school politics. It was about stepping away from the kids who counted on me every single day.
I know what I meant to my students, and I hope they know what they meant to me. I pray someone else will watch over my babies the way I did, that they will have someone who listens, protects, and advocates for them. Because as much as I am relieved to be gone, I cannot ignore the fear that some students may not have a safe place anymore. That thought will likely always linger, no matter how much peace I find in having left.
Who Am I Without This?
For so long, “teacher” wasn’t just a job title—it was my identity. It was how I introduced myself, how I explained my life, how I justified my existence. I poured everything I had into teaching and building relationships with students. My schedule, my energy, even my sense of self revolved around my classroom. And now… it doesn’t.
I’ve never been a housewife, and I don’t know how to just exist without a clear title or purpose guiding my days. I wake up and think, Now what? I’m not ready to walk into another classroom, but I also don’t know what else to do. For years, teaching gave me an identity—one that felt valuable and important, even when it was exhausting. Without it, I feel untethered, like I’m floating without an anchor.
So yes, I’m relieved I left, but relief doesn’t erase the uncertainty. I know I made the right choice for my mental health, but now I’m standing in unfamiliar territory, staring at a blank space where my purpose used to be. I need to figure out how to take my experiences—years of managing chaos, building trust, creating systems, and caring deeply—and translate them into something new. Something that doesn’t destroy me the way teaching did, but still lets me matter.
A Prayer and a Question
To the teachers who returned to school today, I see you. I know the weight you carry, and I pray this year gives you moments of joy, connection, and safety. To the students, I pray you get the education, compassion, and safe spaces you deserve.
If you’re new to my writing, I shared the story of the day that changed everything in my first post, The Day the Walls Shook. That was the beginning of why I left. This is where I am now.
How about you? If you’ve ever walked away from a job that defined you, how did you handle the first day back—when it wasn’t yours anymore? Share your story in the comments—I read every one.
If you’re new here, I write about leaving teaching, healing from burnout, and finding purpose after walking away from the work that once defined me.