I’ve noticed something about my educator friends this summer.

They’re more like the friends I fell in love with.

They joke more. They’re relaxed. They tell me funny stories about their kids and their dogs and places they’ve traveled. They go for walks. They notice things. They have conversations without simultaneously thinking about the seventeen other things they should be doing.

They’re more present and have more capacity. They’re just… more themselves.

And here’s the interesting part: many of them are still working. One friend spends part of her summer leading ropes courses at a summer camp. Another oversees a six-week summer school program. Another tutors students who are transitioning from elementary to middle school.

They’re not spending their summers doing whatever they want, but they’ve each put parameters around their work.

Four weeks at camp.

Six weeks of summer school.

One or two days of tutoring each week.

They’ve made room for work, and they’ve preserved room for themselves.

And lately, I’ve started noticing the shift.

 

School Is Starting to Take Up Space Again

It happens quietly.

A friend who I talk to at all different times during the summer suddenly asks, “Are you going to be up and walking the dogs at this time? Maybe we can talk then.”

Another responds to a late text the next morning: “Sorry, I was already asleep. Trying to get back into the swing of things.”

Someone else recently told me she needed to start practicing making her lunch again.

And I laughed… but I also thought about everything that statement represents.

Suddenly there are lunches to pack. Travel mugs to find. Bedtimes to adjust. Morning conversations to schedule.

Teachers even have to remember that if they need to go to the bathroom, they may need another adult to cover for them.

Little by little, life begins reorganizing itself around school.

And I’ve found myself asking my educator friends the same question: What’s one small piece of summer you can take with you?

Not an hour-long morning routine.

Not a new exercise program.

Not another item for the to-do list.

Something tiny.

One friend decided hers would be the first sip of her morning coffee. Before the rushing starts, she’s going to stop for a few seconds. Take that first sip. Think about something she’s grateful for. Say an affirmation. Five seconds, maybe. Then she can run around looking for her keys if she needs to. The point isn’t the coffee.

The point is remembering herself.

 

Why Do We Need to Do This at All?

Why have we accepted this rhythm in education?

Educators spend the summer reconnecting with themselves, and then August comes, and they slowly begin giving those pieces back.

First goes the leisurely morning.

Then the walk.

Then lunch.

Then the prep period.

Then the book you were really into.

Then the conversation with the colleague you love.

None of those choices happen because educators don’t know they need breaks.

They happen because educators care.

There is always something worthwhile you could be doing for a student.

You could help the student who’s struggling.

Challenge the student who’s ready for more.

Check on the student who’s having a terrible day.

Make tomorrow’s lesson better.

Answer one more email.

Prepare one more resource.

There’s always a reason to give a little more.

And somewhere along the way, giving more can start to feel like proof that you’re a good educator.

I know because I’ve done it.

 

I Remember the Closed Door

Years ago, when I was teaching, a colleague saw me making copies during my prep period.

She casually mentioned that it felt like the only time she ever saw me anymore. “Every time I walk by your classroom during prep, your door is closed, and you look so busy. I don’t want to bother you.”

It stopped me.

We used to spend prep periods talking. Sometimes about students or lessons. Sometimes about absolutely nothing important. And I hadn’t done that in months. Nothing dramatic had happened. I was doing my job. Actually, I was probably being incredibly “productive,” but somewhere along the way, I had eliminated something that made me feel like me.

If I could knock on that closed classroom door today, I’d tell that version of myself:

You don’t have to prove that you’re an amazing educator who cares about kids.

You certainly don’t have to prove it by trying to reach every student during every available moment of every day.

I’d ask her, “What would make you feel better for the next five minutes?”

Maybe the answer is talking to a friend.

Maybe it’s finishing the last ten minutes of the podcast you loved on your drive to work.

Maybe it’s reading your book during lunch.

One of my friends did exactly that during the final days of school last year. She was completely absorbed in a book, so for three days, she stopped filling her lunch period with other things and just…

read.

Months later, she was still telling me how good it felt.

 

This Isn’t About Caring Less

I want to be really clear about that.

I want educators to care deeply.

I believe the work happening inside schools changes the world, but when educators have more of themselves available, students get more of what makes those educators extraordinary.

The humor.

The creativity.

The patience to respond instead of react.

The ability to notice the student who’s suddenly quiet.

The energy to add the movement break because everyone has been sitting too long.

The clarity to give better directions.

The willingness to dress up, use the ridiculous voice, tell the story, ask the extra question, or sit beside a kid who needs someone.

A depleted educator hasn’t forgotten how to do those things.

They just don’t always have enough left to access them.

And that’s why I believe we’re due for a different conversation about educator well-being.

Not one about bubble baths.

Not one about achieving some mythical perfect work-life balance.

And definitely not one that gives educators ten more things they “should” be doing to take care of themselves.

Something bigger.

 

Whole Educators Create Stronger Schools.

Taking care of the people who make schools work isn’t separate from creating incredible schools for students.

It’s part of how we create them.

And this year, we are going to be talking a lot more about what that can actually look like, but today, I only want you to do one thing.

Bring Yourself With You

Before you head back to school—or tomorrow morning if you’re already there—find something that reminds you of you.

Put it in your school bag.

Your purse.

Your desk drawer.

Somewhere you’ll see it.

Maybe it’s a picture from this summer.

A seashell from the beach.

The straw from that ridiculously good drink you ordered all summer.

A ticket stub.

Something your kid gave you.

It doesn’t need to mean anything to anybody else.

It just needs to make you look at it and think: Oh yeah. I remember that person. They’re still here.

Bring them with you this year.

Your students don’t need you to leave that person behind.

They might actually need more of them.

 

Written by Sarah Fillion 2026