A Second-Grade Lesson in Resilience

When I decided to start substitute teaching, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It had been a while since I left the classroom, but the pull to connect with students and make an impact was still strong. Recently, I subbed at an elementary school that felt… different, in the best way. The principal was approachable and kind, the office staff was warm and welcoming, and the students were, for the most part, respectful and engaged. It felt like a well-oiled machine—organized and intentional.

As I moved through my day, I noticed a posting for a second-grade teaching position. The idea sparked something in me. After all, I’m certified and have years of experience in education. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to dive back into a full-time teaching role, especially since my attempts to return to corporate communications weren’t yielding much progress.

Corporate communications had always been my first love. I’ve spent years crafting strategies, delivering measurable results, and thriving in the fast-paced world of storytelling and brand building. But lately, the job search had been grueling. One opportunity, in particular, left a sour taste in my mouth: after three rounds of interviews and a 15-page communications plan—yes, 15 pages—that I presented with confidence, I was ghosted. No feedback, no updates, just silence. It was disheartening.

So, when this teaching opportunity presented itself, I thought, why not? Teaching had always been my second choice, but it was still something I loved. I spoke with the principal about the position, and he seemed interested. He encouraged me to apply, and soon enough, I was preparing to teach a mini math lesson—grouping ten ones into one ten. I put my all into it, hoping to show the same passion and skill that I’d poured into my previous classrooms.

A few days later, the principal called. I didn’t get the job.

He was kind, explaining that they loved my lesson and appreciated my approach. However, he mentioned that the second-grade class had significant behavioral challenges, and he needed to consider how best to manage those dynamics. His words struck a chord. Behavioral challenges? I’m no stranger to that. In my previous teaching roles, I’d managed classrooms where nearly half the students had behavioral issues. I know how to connect with students, set boundaries, and create an environment where learning can thrive. I’m used to it, and frankly, I’m good at it.

The rejection stung, but it left me frustrated and confused more than anything. What am I supposed to be doing right now? I’m confident in my skillset—as a communicator and as an educator—yet roadblocks keep appearing. I know I could secure a teaching job in an inner-city school; I’ve done it before. But given my health and the sheer energy it requires, I don’t think I have it in me anymore to go down that path.

So, what’s next? For now, the plan is simple: keep moving. I’ll continue subbing and keep contracting part-time as a communications consultant. Something will come through—it has to. This moment of uncertainty is exhausting, but I’ve learned that persistence pays off. Life has a way of working out, even if the road there is messy and unpredictable.

I’m holding onto hope that the right opportunity—whether in a classroom, a boardroom, or somewhere entirely unexpected—is just around the corner.