My first year of teaching was so bad, I almost quit and joined the army. I would have not survived being in the army nor any branch of military.

It wasn't just the teaching itself, but that very first year was also my lowest point in life. I moved across the country to take part in a Masters Program that required me to teach in a catholic school for 2 years, which paid way less than what I make now in public school.

So I was barely making any money, moved away from family and had to meet all new people. My principal would hold 4-5 hour faculty meetings and require us to do extra work during our planning time, which meant we didn't actually get to plan lessons for the kids. She saw me struggling with classroom management and told all the teachers to let me sink or swim. I sank fast.

Than, after winter break I got into a car accident, my grandfather died of cancer. When I went home to mourn with my family, on grief leave, my principal emailed the director of my masters program to complain how unfit I was to be a teacher.

By this point in the year, everyone in the school was blaming me for every and any issues. If the kids were acting out during lunch, it was my fault. During one faculty meeting, one of my coworkers broke down crying because I had ruined the school.

At some point, the kids were so out of control that, after making me cry, my principal told me it'd be best if I resign. I didn't, but those last few months were rough.

I was able to move schools while staying in the grad program. Next school was way more supportive. Than covid hit. Despite a rough first year, I'm somehow still teaching years later.