The Teacher Burnout Signs I Ignored When I Became a New Mom
I’ll never forget the moment my principal looked me straight in the eyes, concerned, and said the words that I had been dreading to hear out loud:
“Honestly, Katy… I didn’t believe this was your data when we reviewed it.”
That should have been one of many glaring teacher burnout signs staring me in the face.
I was teaching first grade, and my principal had asked me to stay back, the embarrassment of low winter benchmark scores hung heavy in the air. I wasn’t used to this version of myself. I wasn’t used to being “the teacher who needed a talk.” For years, I’d been the high-achieving, stay-till-6pm, color-coded-everything kind of teacher.
But that was before I became a new mom.
Before I had even an inkling of how completely motherhood would rewrite every part of me.
Juggling two worlds
When I returned to the classroom four months after having Hattie, I convinced myself I could balance it all. I told myself other teacher moms had done it, so I could too.
But the reality?
Those sleepless nights followed by full days of overstimulation from twenty 6- and 7-year-olds… it felt like I was literally running on fumes. By 2:00 every afternoon my head pounded so hard my vision blurred, and caffeine became my best friend.
Still, I pushed through — ignoring the teacher burnout signs popping up everywhere like warning lights on a dashboard I refused to look at.
And it wasn’t just the exhaustion.
This class was different. Harder. Louder. Needier.
Half the class struggled with behavior. Many couldn’t focus for more than a minute. Performance was low. I felt like I performed a circus act everyday just to bring the engagement, but left feeling defeated most days. I tried everything — every reading rotation, every behavior strategy, every engagement trick I knew.
Truthfully? I was throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying something would stick.
The Moment I Felt Seen… in the Worst Way
So when my principal asked me to stay behind after the data meeting, I knew something was coming — but not that.
His words confirmed what I’d been terrified to admit:
I wasn’t okay.
And I had no idea how to fix it.
Because behind the scenes… I was drowning.
I stayed late every Friday afternoon planning differentiated rotation blocks for at least four reading groups, probably more. Guided reading plans. Word work. Independent texts. Digital practice. I was reinventing the wheel every week because I thought hard work would magically fix the outcomes.
Meanwhile, the other teachers in my building walked out at 4:00, heading off to their weekends.
I watched them leave in absolute FOMO because I couldn’t quite figure out how they were doing it. We had the exact same hours in our day.
Every night, I’d rush home, play with Hattie and put her to sleep with heavy eyes, crack open my laptop, and work until I started nodding off in the rocking chair.
I was doing too much — way more than any human should do — but I didn’t know how to stop. My scores were low. People kept asking if I was okay. And I wanted to scream:
“No, I’m not okay. I just want to go home.”
Even now, writing about this version of me — 27, new mom, overwhelmed first grade teacher — I wish I could go back in time, hug her, and whisper:
“You’re still a good teacher. And Hattie is so, so lucky to have you as her mom. You are doing amazing.”
March 2020
When schools shut down “for a week,” I was honestly relieved for the extra time with Hattie.
Then I injured my back.
Then we transitioned to online learning.
Then childcare fell apart.
It was chaos — layered on top of chaos — piled on top of burnout I had been ignoring for months.
I’d already had long conversations with my principal about how much I was struggling. He tried to help — even agreed to let me co-teach if we could find someone to split the contract with.
But nothing was panning out.
And in a moment of exhaustion, desperation, and a little relief, I accepted a Reading Specialist position at another school. It meant a lighter load. Less planning. Fewer behavior struggles.
My principal wasn’t very happy with my decision. After all, he had been really supportive of me, but instead of facing the reality of my teacher burnout signs head on, I ran.
I told myself I needed something easier.
The truth? I needed something survivable.
Teaching From a Basement
Teaching online should have been easier… but it wasn’t. It was just different. Lonely. Awkward. Exhausting in a new way.
But at least I was home with Hattie more.
Childcare was inconsistent all year. My friend helped at first. Then my mom stepped in full-time — which was a blessing, but also incredibly hard on both of us.
During lockdown, I taught from my parent’s basement for three hours every morning while she watched Hattie upstairs. I chose to teach live instead of pre-record because honestly?
Staying up late to film lessons felt even harder.
Every day felt like I was walking through quicksand.
And even though everything in my life — my body, my mind, my relationships — was begging me to pause, step back, or quit altogether…
I couldn’t.
Colt’s coal mine job was becoming less stable each year. We had projects to finish on our new house. And I was clinging to the hope that this reading specialist job might finally be the solution.
Part 2 coming next week…I wish I could say the solution was that easy.
(If you feel like this story resonates with you so far, this blog post includes a burnout scale to help you understand the teacher burnout process.)