Tim Walz is breaking my heart.

as a former teacher his prominence is stoking grief.

Tim Walz is breaking my heart.

Two years ago this month, I resigned from my position as a middle school social studies teacher. At that time, my decision was virtually a no-brainer. I hadn’t taught since November of the previous year because of my father’s unexpected death, which left me to assume the role of caretaker for my mom until she died of ALS 8 months later. During that time, I was tremendously grateful for my job as a public school teacher. I had a helpful union that protected my position and benefits that allowed me to take FMLA entirely paid. My colleagues took care not only of my students, some literally picking up an extra class for the school year, but also of me. One, in particular, took her few precious moments of quiet in the car between sending her own kids off to school and teaching other people’s to call me each morning. She listened to me share whatever my morning had looked like so far, which usually meant detailing the medication I was having trouble crushing and complaining about the disaster of an accident my mom had as I put clean sheets on her bed.

I’ve gone through times in my life where I’ve hated myself. I’ve dialed crisis hotline numbers. But even in those moments, I could claim one thing for myself—I knew how to teach. And I knew how to do it well. I loved finding ways to get middle schoolers to realize that the dead people they were learning about were humans just like them. That government matters. Nothing gets the attention of a 13-year-old like listing all the ways the government is involved in them flushing their toilet and charging their iPhone. I believe that while you can teach someone how to educate, truly great teachers have an intuitive gift. I have that gift. But if there’s anything that allowed me to fully lean into and made me a better teacher, it was the time I spent in therapy. It was in that room and relationship that I learned how to listen better, ask more thoughtful questions, and discover the power of perspective and curiosity. Tools I learned for myself became posters in my classroom.

A chart showing what’s in our control vs. what is outside of it came in handy during both classroom conflict and civics lessons. Most importantly, the work I did on myself allowed me to access my empathy more fully. What I learned as a client quickly became indispensable not only in my own life, but also because, with each year, I had more and more students grappling with mental health challenges and then eventually the pandemic. 

Frustration started to run alongside the pride that came with the title of “public school teacher”. I watched students struggle in increasing numbers as test scores and letter grades took precedence over what was developmentally appropriate and needed. I watched many stripped of their youth outside of the classroom, walk into school and find that space devoid of it as well. I sat in meetings and listened to colleagues share that they thought a student’s 504 plan for generalized anxiety disorder was unfounded and unnecessary because they “seemed fine and didn’t seem anxious” in class. The same union that I was so grateful for also made it increasingly difficult to incorporate meaningful Social Emotional Learning into the school day. As I worked to understand my own late ADHD diagnosis and started to realize the ways in which I was masking, I wondered if I could make it through a modern school day without having to put that mask right back on. And so, while my parents’ deaths gave me the opening to resign, my departure took none of my colleagues by surprise. They’d witnessed the rise in my frustrations and anger at the system ignite a values conflict within me. I’d become more vocal and admittedly more cynical.

Two years after my resignation, my own well-being has markedly improved. I am no longer stuck inside a building with poor air quality all day long, or spending the first 3 weeks of my summer depressed and burnt out. I get to work with people in my coaching practice, walking alongside them as they navigate who they are and what they truly want among life’s never-ending responsibilities. I’ve never really missed belonging to the public school teachers’ club until Tim Walz. He reminds me of the pride I had when I could claim that title. The bond, shared understanding, and language it created among strangers doesn’t exist among entrepreneurs. I miss the energy of a classroom and the community. 

I’m realizing I’ve never fully allowed myself to grieve that loss. There’s a deep sadness for the part of my identity that feels lost, and a lingering shame that whispers I should have been stronger. From my experience, the education system in this country sets fewer and fewer people—teachers and students—up for success with every passing year. One day when I’m ready, I will step back into that arena in some capacity to advocate for change. But for now, I need to grieve. I need to confront my own hidden shame and belief that if I were just tougher, I could’ve claimed Tim Walz as my own comrade. The lost chance to proudly declare that I retired as a public school teacher. That title does mean something to me, but ultimately my values and well-being meant more. So now, while I grieve, I remind myself that I can still be a teacher; I don’t have to squander my gifts. It just might not look the way I imagined.

This fall, I’m launching a new project, Promptly Heal, with one goal in mind: to make journaling less serious, more playful, yet powerful. Curious?

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