Dear Teacher: You’re Allowed to Be Done
Teaching takes everything—your energy, your time, your heart. And when summer finally comes, it can feel disorienting to slow down. This letter is for the teacher who’s tired, uncertain, maybe even thinking about walking away. It’s not a list of fixes. It’s just a deep breath. A reminder. A hug in letter form.
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Dear teacher,
If you’re sitting in your car this summer, still replaying the school year…
If your classroom is finally clean but your body still feels heavy…
If your heart is tender and your spirit is cracked a little more than you thought it would be—
I want you to know something:
You’re allowed to be done.
Not just with the grading. Not just with the countdown. But done with the pressure to hold it all, fix it all, be it all.
Because this job? It asks for your whole self. And you gave it. Every last piece.
You showed up on the days you didn’t feel like it. You stayed late. You wiped tears—some that weren’t even yours. You held the line. You softened your voice when everything in you wanted to scream. You made magic out of construction paper, survived fire drills during math blocks, and kept teaching even when your soul felt like it was running on fumes.
And now that the doors have closed for the year—you might still feel that ache.
Not because you didn’t love them.
But because somewhere along the way… you stopped loving you.
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What Burnout Really Looks Like
Burnout doesn’t always look like crying in the parking lot.
Sometimes it’s staring blankly at a screen during your prep, unable to start the task.
Sometimes it’s scrolling job listings between class periods, wondering if you’re allowed to want more.
Sometimes it’s sitting in your car after school, knowing you should go home—but not being able to move.
Sometimes it’s snapping at your own kids because you gave all your gentleness away before 3 p.m.
It’s not just tired. It’s bone-deep depletion.
And you’re not broken because you feel it—you’re human.
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This Summer, You Don’t Owe Anyone a Transformation
You don’t need a classroom theme.
You don’t need a glow-up.
You don’t need to emerge in August like some magical Pinterest phoenix.
You just need space.
Space to not perform.
Space to reconnect with the version of you that exists beyond your classroom walls.
Because you are not just a teacher.
You are someone’s whole world. You are tired and worthy. You are exhausted and still good. You are allowed to rest without earning it.
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If You’re Thinking About Leaving…
I need you to hear this with tenderness:
You can walk away and still be proud of what you built.
You can say “this is no longer right for me” and still be a good teacher.
You can love the kids and hate the system.
You can want more for your life—and that doesn’t make you weak. That makes you awake.
But even if you’re staying—whether it’s for one more year or ten—I hope you know that your worth is not measured in test scores or bulletin boards. It never was.
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You Were a Whole Person Before You Were a Teacher
And you still are.
Under the name badge, under the lesson plans, under the late nights and the early mornings—you are still you.
The real you.
The laughing you.
The dreaming you.
The one who danced once just because she could.
The one who used to write or sing or read just for herself.
You’re not gone—you’re just buried under survival. But she’s still in there. Waiting to breathe again.
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Maybe This Summer Isn’t About Fixing Anything
Maybe it’s about feeling.
Resting.
Reclaiming little moments of joy.
Remembering that you can wake up and not have to be “on” for anyone.
Maybe it’s a morning coffee on the porch in silence.
Maybe it’s a walk without a podcast.
Maybe it’s reading a book for fun.
Maybe it’s simply saying, “This break is mine. I deserve to feel good in my body, in my home, in my spirit.”
“You were a whole person before you were a teacher. You still are.”
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Real Talk
You don’t have to do anything spectacular this summer to be worthy of rest.
You don’t have to prove how much the year took from you to deserve healing.
You can just be done. With the noise. With the guilt. With the idea that your only value is what you produce.
Let this be the summer that brings you back to life in quiet, ordinary, soul-softening ways.
Let this be the season you remember why you started—not through hustle, but through stillness.
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Journal Prompt:
What parts of yourself did you have to put on hold during the school year? What would it look like to give that part space to breathe this summer?
P.S. You don’t need to do anything grand this summer to be worthy of peace. The quiet things count too.
💌 Save this post for later or send it to a teacher friend who needs a reminder: you’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to be done. And you’re allowed to come back home to yourself.