I Quit Teaching Mid-Year: 10 Truths I've Learned Since My Burnout

No, I don't want to work in a "fast-paced" environment or "thrive under pressure."

Four years ago, at the beginning of 2022, I had just arrived back to Colorado after quitting my nine-year international teaching career — mid-school year, mid-pandemic, mid-collapse.

I hadn’t expected to leave the classroom so abruptly, but my body was vigorously waving red flags that I could no longer ignore.

I remember sitting in my administrator’s office in Guadalajara, as I tearfully (and shamefully) shared the news of my resignation. I’d lost a lot of weight, my hair was falling out, cold sores studded my lips, and my nervous system was shot. We’d been back teaching in person for several months, and it was even more demanding and exhausting than before. The expectations were higher, and I had no time to recover from an overwhelming year and a half of online teaching during the pandemic.

I told myself that being back in the classroom would reignite my passion. Instead, it revealed a stark truth: I was profoundly burned out. As much as I cared about my students — and as ashamed as I was to leave in the middle of the school year — I had reached my breaking point. I was done overriding my own system and my own needs.

This post is for you if you have pushed through longer than you should have. For teachers, care-givers, nurses, social workers, and other high-capacity humans who have felt ashamed for even considering stepping away — especially when others are counting on you. It’s for the women who were taught to care of everyone else first — at the expense of our bodies and well-being.

Leaving my second graders mid-school year was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But four years later, I can say with clarity and confidence that it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I’m grateful that I can look back on this now — not with regret, but with reverence — for the moment I stopped abandoning myself. What I’ve learned since has reshaped how I live, work, rest, and listen to my body.

Here are the truths that have changed my life since my burnout:

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1. My work is not my worth.

I was raised to believe that achievement equaled worth. Good grades, extra curriculars, overachieving, overworking — all of it was how I proved my value. I lived in perpetual motion on a hamster wheel, desperately chasing a sense of enoughness through constant doing.

I know now that my work is what I do — not who I am. I have a strong sense of my inherent, inner worthiness, and it doesn’t come from what I accomplish; it comes from simply being, from the presence and essence at the core of my being.

2. I don’t want to work In a “fast-paced environment.”

And no, I’m not interested in “thriving under pressure” or “effectively multi-tasking” either. I’d like to keep my nervous system intact, thanks.

Seeing these phrases in a job listing is a major red flag for me, and I stay far, far away. I love the slow life I’ve built: spacious mornings with coffee and time to write, calm and intentional interactions, and the ability to immerse myself in deep, focused work. I have no desire to return to a life that could be described as “fast-paced.”

3. Setting work-life boundaries is not selfish.

Tell that to a people-pleaser and watch them cringe. That was me.

As a hard core people-pleaser, saying no always felt so mean. I wanted to be the loyal teacher who went above and beyond for everyone — my students, their parents, my coworkers, administrators. Yes, I can take that on! Yes, I’ll do that extra task! I always said yes, even when my body was saying no.

There came a point — my resignation — when I had to stop worrying about disappointing everyone else and start centering myself. I’ve learned that saying no to others means saying yes to myself, my time, and my energy. And if my boundaries upset someone? Well, that’s not my responsibility. I am no longer willing to “suck it up” and sacrifice my mental health for a job.

4. Burnout is not a badge of honor.

For years, I wore my exhaustion as a badge of honor, as many teachers and service professionals do. I’m exhausted! I’m stressed! Look at how empty my cup is, but look how much I’m still giving!

American culture not only glorifies exhaustion; it rewards and praises employees for having no work-life boundaries. In many workplaces, the unspoken motto seems to be: If you’re so stressed you can’t see straight and have no life outside of work — you’re doing it right.

I remember one staff meeting where a teacher was asked to stand. She was praised by our administration and given a round of applause. Why? because she spent the entirety of her weekend in the classroom. No, thank you.

Turning in my resignation meant removing a badge that had never served me. I was done pretending that burnout and exhaustion were the only viable metrics of success. Now I measure my success by how calm and balanced my nervous system feels.

5. I’m not cut out to work 40 hours a week.

At the height of my burnout, I looked around to other colleagues and wondered: Why am I the only one falling apart? How is everyone still going?!

I felt it in my body: a 40-hour work week wasn’t sustainable for me. This was later confirmed for me in a human design reading. I’m a Projector, part of the 18% of people without the consistent, internal energy source or “motor” that keeps the majority of the population running. No wonder a 9-5 depleted me. I’m simply not designed to hustle, and I haven’t worked full time since I quit my teaching job.

And even if I could work 40 hours a week — I don’t want to. I have this crazy feeling that life is meant to be enjoyed. Forty is some arbitrary number a man came up with in the 20’s (thanks a lot, Henry Ford), and we’ve all just gone along with it. (?!)

6. My energy is my most precious commodity.

I was in my late twenties when I discovered, woe of woes, that my energy is finite.

During my final years of teaching, I had no energy left for the creative projects I longed to pursue. After work, I was too depleted to do anything other than flop into bed and watch TV. And my weekends? They were spent recovering from the workweek. That’s no way to live a life.

Now, I’m fiercely protective of my energy — and how that precious energy is spent. I’ve learned that mornings are my most creative and productive time, so nobody else gets that time. That’s my sacred writing time, and it’s non-negotiable.

I’ve set up my schedule so that I work part-time in the afternoons. I’ve sacrificed a lot of money by doing life this way, and I’ve turned down some amazing full-time job offers. But I have something far more valuable — the energy to write my book and pursue passion projects. And I have a feeling it will pay off in the end.

7. Deep work is vital to me.

Deep work is state of sustained concentration or creative focus, with no distractions. For me, writing sessions are my deep work. (I highly recommend the book Deep Work by Cal Newport — it changed my life.)

Most traditional jobs are designed for shallow work: constantly checking emails, multitasking, meaningless tasks and meetings, and the performance of busyness. While teaching, my attention was always fractured by student demands and endless administrative checklists.

Our culture and workplaces are not designed to support large, uninterrupted blocks of time required for deep work. So, I’ve intentionally designed a life that allows me the time and space to access this deep flow state.

8. We are not meant to be productive every waking hour.

This might sound obvious, but it was a hard lesson for an overachiever with a jam-packed planner since high school. Teaching only reinforced this — meetings expected during my lunch break, constant demands, no pausing.

No human is meant to be continuously productive — especially not women.

In these past few years, I’ve learned more about my own body and it’s cyclical energy and hormonal rhythms. I’m not a man with consistent, linear hormone levels, and I refuse to measure my abilities and output against a system that was not designed for my body.

My body works in cycles and seasons. There are days and phases when I can do months worth of work, and other days when rest is essential. Honoring my body and its wisdom is the most productive thing I can do.

9. Resting does not make you a lazy piece of shit.

I’m so sorry if capitalism convinced you otherwise.

Even now, when I have a day or week off, the insidious voice of internalized capitalism sometimes hisses at me: Get up! You should be doing something productive! It’s a monster I still battle regularly and actively work to unlearn.

Rest is productive. Rest is necessary. Deep rest often leads to big breakthroughs. Our minds and bodies need it — without guilt.

10. Quitting is not that big of a deal.

At the time I quit my teaching job, it was a monumental deal.

I felt ashamed, as if there was something wrong with me for not being able to keep up. I was also guilted by HR for quitting in the middle of the school year — for breaking a promise to my students, abandoning my 2nd grade team, and breaking contract with the school.

But sometimes you have to stop centering everyone else and choose yourself.

In hindsight? It wasn’t that big of a deal.

Shit happens. People quit. Life goes on. 🤷‍♀️

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Have you ever stayed and given more than you wanted to because you were supposed to? Ever been praised for how much you could endure — but never asked what it was costing you? Have you ever felt trapped in a system that didn’t honor you or your energy?

I know many of us have experienced burnout and exhaustion, and I’d love to hear your story. Share it in the comments below. 👇🏼