COMMENT: Teaching broke me before it rebuilt me

I can still recall the surge of anger flooding through me as I reprimanded a child who had become, for lack of a better term, the bane of my existence.

But I remember even more the guilt, shame, and bone-deep exhaustion that followed.

That surge of anger frightened me. In that split second, all I felt was raw, unfiltered rage - a version of myself I didn't recognise, and didn't want to.

During my short-lived career as a pre-school teacher, I snapped more times than I care to admit. My words became sharper, while my voice became an octave louder than it should have been.

And then there were the tears, flowing freely as I sometimes found myself hiding in the toilet cubicle during working hours.

I once believed teaching would bring out the best in me. Instead, these are the moments that have stayed with me. Not because they were rare, but because they became a pattern. It was a daily battle to tame the roller coaster of emotions inside me.

Teaching, I've come to realise, made me a worse person before it made me better.

Steps in the right direction

As I reflect this Teachers' Day, I'm relieved that conversations about teacher well-being are finally gaining momentum. For the longest time, burnout always felt like a silent epidemic: something we joked about at work but rarely addressed out loud.

In 2023, the Early Childhood Development Agency (ECDA) announced several measures aimed at improving the well-being and professional growth of early childhood educators.

Today, Teachers' Day and Children's Day are designated preschool holidays, alongside six annual Development Days for teachers to recharge and upskill.

Since January, preschools have also shifted to a five-day work week with the removal of mandatory Saturday operations.

And just this year, ECDA introduced a pool of relief teachers and staff to help centres facing manpower crunches - a small but meaningful step towards giving educators breathing room and balance.

These much-needed measures may be small, but they are steps in the right direction. In my time, even something as simple as regular mental health check-ins would have made a difference.

But these changes signal a recognition that teachers are not superhuman, and that taking care of the people who shape young lives is necessary.

Because at the heart of teaching is humanity, and that includes the humanity of teachers themselves.

Compassion and empathy felt like a liability

Being a preschool teacher doesn't just mean teaching ABCs. It means being a nanny, nurse, counsellor, performer, mediator, and occasionally, a punching bag - all at once.

There was an ever-present expectation to always be patient, caring and endlessly understanding, even when a child hit and punched me, or when a parent screamed at me at the school entrance. Even when I was running on empty.

Don't get me wrong - I loved the children. But for years, I struggled to maintain the teacher persona while shouldering the ceaseless demands of the job: long hours, low pay, and a workload that never seemed to end.

And then the questions started creeping in: how did my once fiery passion flame out so quickly? Had I stopped caring? When did I become so… apathetic?

The lines between control and compassion began to blur. What started as firm guidance hardened into dominance, a desperate attempt to regain control.

I stopped offering comforting smiles so freely. I stopped kneeling to meet the children's eyes as well, in a quiet act of self-preservation.

My first instinct became punishments and consequences, not conversations. It was quicker, less exhausting. Efficiency trumped empathy.

Somewhere along the way, compassion and empathy - the very reason I became a teacher - began to feel like a liability.

Teaching broke me, but also rebuilt me

A few self-help books and countless late-night tears later, I finally had a diagnosis for what I was feeling: burnout. I wasn't indifferent. I was simply running on survival mode all this time.

But this revelation didn't make it easier. If anything, it forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth: the teacher standing in front of those children every day wasn't someone my younger self would have looked up to.

Burnout does not come with flashing warning signs. It creeps in quietly, disguised as efficiency, discipline, and professionalism - until one day you realise you're hollow, inside and out.

But somewhere in that hollow space, I found a strange clarity. I began to see my limits, triggers, and the emotions that I had been suppressing. Teaching broke me in ways I didn't expect - but it also taught me how to put myself back together.

It stripped me down, then gave me the chance to rebuild - not into a perfect person, but a more honest and human one.

I know now that being a good teacher doesn't mean losing yourself in the process. It means setting boundaries, asking for help, and remembering to give yourself grace when it all feels overwhelming.

My hope is that the recent policy changes are just the beginning - so that teachers can keep their fire burning without being consumed by it.

The writer was a pre-school teacher from 2021 to 2024.