Last Tuesday, I caught myself standing in front of my whiteboard, marker in hand, completely blank. Not because I didn't know what to teach. I've taught equivalent fractions about a thousand times. I was blank because I suddenly thought, "What's the point?"

Ay, dios mio. There it was. The veteran teacher slump, hitting me like a rogue hurricane in the middle of October.

You Know You're in the Slump When...

Maybe you've felt it too. That creeping feeling that you're just going through the motions. When you catch yourself thinking about retirement and you're not even 50 yet. When the new teacher down the hall's enthusiasm makes you want to hide in your classroom instead of feeling inspired.

I knew I was deep in it when little Sofia asked me why we needed to learn about area and perimeter, and instead of my usual creative answer about decorating her future bedroom, I just said, "Because it's on the test."

Carlos found me that night grading papers with zero expression on my face, like a robot. "Mija," he said, "you look like you're doing taxes, not teaching kids." Ouch. But he wasn't wrong.

The Perfect Storm of Veteran Teacher Burnout

Here's what nobody tells you about being a veteran teacher in Florida right now. We've survived every educational trend imaginable. We've adapted to NCLB, embraced Common Core, pivoted to distance learning, and now we're navigating B.E.S.T. standards.

We're tired, pero we're also really good at what we do. And that's part of the problem.

When you've been teaching for two decades, people expect you to have it all figured out. New teachers come to you for advice. Administrators pile on extra responsibilities because "Maria can handle it." Parents request you specifically because of your reputation.

But inside? Sometimes we feel like we're drowning in our own competence.

The things that used to energize us, those breakthrough moments with struggling students, start feeling routine. We can spot a learning disability from across the room, differentiate instruction in our sleep, and manage 25 fourth graders while eating lunch and answering parent emails.

We're teaching machines. But we forgot we're also human beings.

When Experience Becomes a Burden

I realized my experience had become a burden when I stopped celebrating the small wins. Remember when Jayden finally understood long division-division-facts/) after weeks of struggle? Five years ago, I would have done a happy dance. This year, I just moved on to the next lesson.

That's when I knew I needed to make some changes.

The slump is real, and it's not a character flaw. It's what happens when passionate people pour themselves out year after year without taking time to refill the well.

How I Started Climbing Out

I gave myself permission to be a beginner again. This was huge for me. I signed up for a workshop on using technology in math instruction, something completely outside my comfort zone. Sitting there fumbling with apps while 25-year-old teachers helped me troubleshoot felt humbling, pero it also felt alive.

I changed one small thing every week. Not a complete classroom overhaul. Just one tiny thing. I moved my reading corner. I started playing soft music during independent work time. I introduced a new brain break game. Small changes created new energy.

I remembered my "why." Not the Pinterest-worthy version about changing the world. My real why. I became a teacher because I was that kid who struggled with math until Mrs. Rodriguez showed me it could make sense. Every time I see confusion clear from a student's face, I'm that eight-year-old girl again, finally understanding.

Finding Your Spark Again

Connect with your students differently. I started eating lunch in my classroom once a week, just chatting with kids who wanted to stay. No agenda, no learning objectives. Just connection. It reminded me why I love these little humans.

Collaborate with someone new. I partnered with Ms. Jennifer, our art teacher, on a geometry project. Watching my math-anxious students create beautiful tessellations while learning about angles brought joy back into my teaching.

Set boundaries like your sanity depends on it. Because it does. I stopped volunteering for every committee. I started leaving school at a reasonable hour most days. I gave myself permission to be good enough sometimes instead of perfect always.

Celebrate your expertise. Instead of feeling burdened by what I know, I started mentoring our new teacher, Miss Ashley. Sharing my knowledge reminded me how much I've learned and how valuable that experience really is.

The Slump Doesn't Define You

Here's what I want every veteran teacher reading this to know: the slump doesn't mean you're not cut out for this anymore. It doesn't mean you should quit or that you've lost your touch.

It means you're human. It means you've been giving your all for years, and now you need to intentionally refill your tank.

Some days I still feel the weight of all those years, all those changes, all those expectations. But now I also feel something else: curiosity about what comes next.

Moving Forward Together

We veteran teachers need to talk about this more. We need to admit when we're struggling and support each other through the tough seasons. We need to remember that longevity in this profession is something to celebrate, not something that makes us jaded.

The slump is real, pero so is our resilience. We've weathered every storm education has thrown at us. We can weather this one too.

And on the days when you're standing at that whiteboard feeling blank? Remember that even in your slump, you're still the teacher some kid needs. Even on your worst day, you have more to offer than you think.

We're in this together, and we're going to be okay.

Have you experienced the veteran teacher slump? What helped you through it? I'd love to hear your stories in the comments below.