Tomorrow I begin my second semester as a middle school teacher, and I’m filled with gratitude, anticipation, and a depth of peace I wasn’t sure was possible when I made this transition.

Six months ago, I shared the why behind this pivot, the long, honest reflection that led me to leave a career in higher education that had been my professional home for two decades. I wrote about feeling a quiet nudge that eventually grew into a persistent whisper I couldn’t ignore. I realized I wasn’t just ready for change, I was being called back to my original dream: being in front of students.

Since stepping into this classroom, that call has become joy, meaning, and connection in ways I could never have fully anticipated.

Creativity as Lifeline

I didn’t realize how much I missed creating, not just planning or strategizing, but crafting moments, lessons, activities, and experiences that live and breathe in real time. Over time, my work became shaped more by navigating initiatives and carrying forward other people’s ideas than by creating from my own gifts. I spent a lot of energy trying to bring others along, shaping messages, and working through layers that slowly pulled me further from the student and the heart of the work. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of how deeply I’m wired to create in order to encourage learning.

Now, every day, I get to use my skills in a way that feels aligned with my calling. I create, I respond, I adjust, and I engage in real time with the students in front of me. I’m no longer removed from the impact. I get to witness it as it unfolds. It’s one thing to dream up ideas; it’s another entirely to watch them land (or not) and learn from it immediately. Even when things don’t land perfectly, the freedom to try again, reshuffle, and adapt has been deeply restorative. There’s a joy here I didn’t realize I had lost,

Connection and Showing Up

One of the most meaningful parts of this work has been the connections with students and the privilege of truly getting to know them. Middle schoolers are raw, honest, funny, and deeply human in a way that feels sacred to witness. They show up as they are, still figuring themselves out, carrying stories that are sometimes light and sometimes incredibly heavy. This work is not easy. There are moments that stay with me long after the bell rings, stories that remind me how much some kids are holding at such a young age. But rather than feeling helpless, my perspective has shifted. I no longer feel removed; I am in it with them. Being present, listening, laughing, and offering consistency has reminded me that meaning isn’t found in fixing everything, it’s found in showing up. Those connections, even on the hardest days, are what anchor me and continually affirm that this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Community That Feels Like Home

In higher ed, I was part of teams (some truly amazing teams), but often in leadership roles that felt isolating. Even when I had support, solitude was part of the territory. Leadership can feel like being on an island, surrounded by people but still very much alone. And I had been in a leadership role for the last 8 years.

Teaching is different. I have peers I can walk alongside, not lead, not manage, not supervise, just colleagues who share the same floor, the same schedules, the same moments of triumph and challenge. We brainstorm together. We laugh together. We support each other without competition. I am not having to convince anyone of anything. We show up knowing we have the same goal.

That sense of team, not as a title, but as a shared experience, has been one of the greatest gifts of this change.

Joy, Play, and Presence

My day isn’t dictated by data dashboards and proposal pipelines. Data still matters. I use it to inform and adjust, but now it’s woven into the action of teaching rather than looming outside it. The joy, the play, the laughter, these are not distractions; they are essential.

Some days, I laugh all day. On heavier days, I still find gratitude because even in the weight, I can see God’s hand at work. On the last day before break, I cried on the drive home, not from exhaustion, but from deep thankfulness. I was overwhelmed by the quiet assurance that I am walking in God’s plan, that this path was prepared long before I ever stepped into it. This work aligns so deeply with who He has shaped me to be through every season, every detour, and every hard decision. I cried because I knew I had followed His leading, even when it meant letting go of something familiar to step into something unknown.

Those tears weren’t sadness. They were surrender. They were relief. They were peace. Peace that comes from trusting God’s timing and recognizing His faithfulness in every step that led me here.

Honestly, I have at least one moment of genuine, unfiltered thankfulness every single week, moments that stop me in my tracks and remind me to pause and give thanks. Sometimes it’s a student’s unexpected comment that makes me laugh out loud, a lesson that finally clicks, or a quiet moment at the end of the day as I straighten desks and erase the board. I know this may sound Pollyanna, almost too neat or optimistic, especially to anyone who has felt professionally stuck. But the truth is, I was stuck in higher education, weighed down by roles and rhythms that no longer fit. This shift in perspective didn’t come from naïveté; it came from clarity. And that clarity has been deeply freeing.

In those small, ordinary moments, I feel God’s presence so clearly, a steady reminder that He is near and that this path was never accidental. This gratitude feels different than it has before. It isn’t rooted in novelty or ease, and it certainly doesn’t ignore the hard days. Believe me this work is challenging, and some days I scratch my head on how to reach some of these 8th graders. Instead, the gratitude flows from the peace of knowing I am walking in obedience, stewarding the gifts God has given me in a way that feels honest and aligned.

Some transitions are about growth, about stretching into something unfamiliar. But this one feels like a return, a gentle leading back to who God created me to be in the first place. It’s a homecoming of sorts, marked not by perfection, but by peace, purpose, and a renewed trust in His timing and faithfulness.

Movement, Body, and Belonging

On a lighter note, I am not meant to sit behind a desk. I feel that in my bones. I walk, I move, I dance around my room, and yes, it’s tiring. But it’s the good tired. The kind that fills you up because it comes from being fully alive in your work.

Test days, when I’m suddenly sitting again, feel longer. They remind me of what I was missing: activity, motion, and the simple physical rhythm of a real, full school day.

Growing Into Myself and Not Away From My Story

I am still me. I didn’t leave all my skills behind, I bring them here. All that I learned in higher education, data analysis, leadership, strategy, advocacy, they are now tools I apply in real time with students. I still believe firmly that “detour” into higher ed wasn’t wasted, it was preparation. It shaped the teacher I am today and gave me perspective.

But the difference now is that the work feeds me and not just my resume or boosting me on a leadership organization chart.

This change wasn’t about leaving something bad. It was about recognizing that something good was no longer the right fit for me anymore , and having the courage to follow the whisper that said there was something more waiting.

I am thankful for higher education and all it taught me: the growth, the relationships, and the seasons that shaped me. I’m deeply grateful for the people God placed in my life during those years and for the lessons I carried forward with me. But I am equally grateful that I learned to listen when God began to stir my heart, when the quiet whisper grew clearer and I sensed Him saying, “There is something else for you.” Trusting that nudge required faith, but it led me exactly where I am meant to be.

And that whisper led me here: to a classroom full of life, laughter, challenge, joy, and purpose.

Here’s to the work that lights us up, the journey that shapes us, and the courage to choose what feels right in our bones.

Here’s to finding our why and living it.

I can’t wait to see what the rest of this year brings.