I spent the beginning of spring break 2020 catching my breath from what had been a tough year as an elementary school principal. In an unforeseen blessing, a friend offered me a free ticket to the PGA Golf Players Championship, and we stayed for a concert where we jumped and sang along with the headliner for the evening, The Chainsmokers.
My luck soon ran out. The next evening, I joined an emergency video call with my Superintendent and other principals in my district. We found out we would be moving to online learning for "a couple of weeks". I was filled with dread.
I hadn't always been completely drained by my job. In my first few years of teaching, I would see my first-graders eyes light up as we read silly books together, like Chicka-Chicka, Boom-Boom. And yet, as a teacher, with all the seemingly endless demands I would ask myself: is this sustainable?
There was always another assignment to grade, another student to support, or another parent or administrator to deal with. Everyone is always telling educators to practice self-care, but what do you cut out to make time for yourself? Do you not call the parent today to tell them about their child who wrote a mean note to another kid? Do you teach the lesson straight out of the teachers' book, or do you spend all evening on Pinterest creating a fun way for students to learn about fractions by transforming your room into a zoo? (Which I did, by the way!).
There's always more to do. When I was teaching, I put in many hours past "contract time", but the pressure of being a principal was different.
Multiply the stress of teaching by however many classrooms are in a school, and that is the load of the principal. The wild behavior problems of a small group of students ended up consuming a large part of my daily work. Worse yet, the parents of those same students blamed me and our teachers for their child's behavior.
The parent who wants to fill up your entire afternoon complaining about the grading scale, or asks why their child, who never comes to school and doesn't complete assignments, is failing. Yes, that parent is your concern as well.
During the fall of my first year as a principal, I was driving home from a weekend trip that was two hours away. Suddenly, my vision became blurry and I had to pull over to the side of the road with an incredibly painful migraine.
When I went to the doctor's office a few days later, my brain scans revealed that medically, there was nothing wrong with my brain. The doctor assessed that my migraines, which had been increasing in severity and frequency, were due to stress.
He advised I find a way to limit my stress and my work hours. My overworking had stopped me in my tracks. I slowed down for a little bit, only to eventually return to working late and on weekends. I justified pushing forward because my students needed me. My staff needed me. My school needed me!
Some years pass, enter the global pandemic. I was in my third year as a principal and my first year at a larger school. Similar to other schools in the U.S., we went through the virtual schooling phase, then moved to a hybrid school model (teaching students online and some in person), and eventually all students were back in person by the fall of 2021.
These major fluctuations created a whole host of problems, including widening the learning gap between those who came back and those who stayed at home, online. The stress of the pandemic, coupled with the fact I had ruffled some feathers by hanging a "Little Black Lives Matter" sign in my office, during the summer of 2020, which a school board member had complained about, was about to make the stress boil over.
In the fall of 2020, I had a parent call and ask if we "taught CRT" at our school. I was incredibly puzzled. CRT, Critical Race Theory, is an academic concept taught at the college and graduate level, not something you teach in elementary school. "No, sir, we don't teach CRT."
All the online, social media, and political arguments I had been avoiding had met me right there in my office. As a Zimbabwean-American, Black principal, I feared that moving forward with activities such as our Black History Month celebrations would get me in hot water. Still, I pressed on, determined to serve our incredibly ethnically and culturally diverse student body. Personally, I was wrestling, yet again, with the reality of being Black in America. I was exhausted by existing.
I knew something had to change. In the summer of 2022, I got married and moved to the opposite side of the country. While I was offered a position as a principal at a school in my new hometown, I ultimately turned it down.
I was cynical about education, and I doubted it was even possible to still make a difference. I was frustrated with "the system", and how it seemed we were failing more kids than we were supporting.
I was tired and I had no energy for anything outside of work. I was burned out. As I moved from Florida to Washington state I just wanted to feel like myself again. I considered a full-time teaching position but decided against it, knowing with my type-A, go-getter personality, a full-time teaching position would not allow me the time and space I needed to heal.
As the fall approached, I started to crave being back in a school building. I was presented with a job offer to teach kindergarten. It was a half-day position, just 4 hours each day, with a small group of students. I went in, not knowing what to expect. Would I enjoy being back in the classroom?
Slowly but surely, I found joy in education again. Even more, the short days meant I could go home after lunch and work on personal hobbies, organize my house or binge-watch shows.
In almost a decade as an educator, I had never felt so free. What I found in these past 8 months, I would not trade for anything. What this year showed me is that it is possible to be an educator, and not feel constant burnout. I'm still figuring out the balance. This fall I have now moved into a role where I provide schools with professional development on the topics of burnout and teacher wellness.
As I scroll #teacherquittiktok, I wish I could somehow replicate the amazing year I just had. I wish educators had adequate, paid time for planning like I did this year. I was in a position where I could take a sick day without feeling the entire school would be on edge the whole day. I looked forward to waking up and going to work. And I felt like I had the energy to meet what I faced each day. I felt like myself again.
My journey as an educator has been a whirlwind of challenges and triumphs, leading me to discover a profound truth: when we prioritize our well-being, we unlock a world of joy and fulfillment in the classroom.
From the grueling pressures of being a principal to the revitalizing experience of teaching kindergarten, I have learned that self-care is not just a buzzword; it is the key to unlocking our true potential as educators.
As I reflect on my own transformation, I am driven to ignite a movement, advocating for a system that values the mental health and happiness of teachers. Together, let us embark on a journey of empowerment, creating a future where educators thrive, students excel, and the joy of learning knows no bounds.
Vimbo Watson, M.Ed., is a dedicated educator with a decade of experience as both a school teacher and principal. Now, she travels across the country providing professional development on proactive self-care and improving school culture, empowering teachers and principals to create nurturing and thriving educational environments.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com
