Last Tuesday, I found myself sitting in my car in the school parking lot at 4:30 PM, staring at my phone. I wasn't scrolling through social media or checking messages. I was looking at job postings. Again.

It wasn't the first time this year, and honestly, it probably won't be the last.

If you've been teaching for more than five minutes, you know this feeling. That moment when you wonder if you're making any difference at all. When the data doesn't match your heart. When you question every career choice that led you to this parking lot, this moment, this breaking point.

I've been teaching for 22 years, and I've almost quit exactly seven times. I remember each one vividly.

The First Time (Year 3)

I was 27 and thought I knew everything about teaching. Spoiler alert: I knew nothing.

My third-grade class had 29 students, including five who barely spoke English and three who had never been in a traditional classroom before. I was drowning in lesson plans, drowning in behavior management, drowning in the gap between what I learned in college and what was actually happening in Room 14.

The final straw came during a math lesson on fractions. Little Miguel looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said, "Maestra, I don't understand anything you're saying."

Neither did half the class.

I went home that night and told Carlos I was done. I was going to substitute teach and maybe go back to school for something, anything, else.

But then Miguel's mom showed up at my classroom door the next morning with café Cubano and a smile. "He practiced fractions with bottle caps all night," she said. "He wants to show you."

I stayed.

The Hardest Year (Year 8)

Year eight nearly broke me. We had a new principal who changed everything every month. New reading program, new math curriculum, new discipline policy. I felt like I was starting over every single day.

My own kids were little then. Daniela was in kindergarten, and Marcus was still in diapers. I was leaving my babies to take care of other people's babies, and I wasn't doing either job well.

The guilt was eating me alive.

I applied for three different jobs that spring. Office work. Predictable hours. No take-home grading. No wondering if I was failing someone's child.

But then something happened that changed everything.

The Moment That Saved Me

Her name was Sophia, and she hated math with the passion of a thousand suns. She would shut down completely whenever I pulled out the math manipulatives. Arms crossed, head down, done.

For months, I tried everything. Different approaches, different materials, different seating arrangements. Nothing worked.

Then one day in April, something clicked during a lesson on multiplication. I watched her face change from confusion to understanding to pure joy. She looked up at me and whispered, "I get it. I actually get it."

That afternoon, she hugged me so tight I thought my ribs might crack.

"You didn't give up on me," she said into my shoulder.

Ay, Dios mío. I ugly-cried right there in the hallway.

Why We Want to Quit

Let's be honest about what makes us want to walk away:

The endless changes. Just when we master something, they change it. Common Core to B.E.S.T. FCAT to FAST. New acronyms, same exhaustion.

The data obsession. Don't get me wrong, data matters. But when we reduce our kids to numbers and percentiles, we lose sight of the human beings in front of us.

The lack of respect. From politicians who've never set foot in a classroom. From parents who think we're babysitters. From society that says we're glorified daycare workers.

The pay. Let's not pretend money doesn't matter. We have families to feed, mortgages to pay, dreams that require more than a teacher's salary.

The emotional weight. We carry our kids' problems home with us. Their hunger, their trauma, their struggles become ours.

Why We Stay

But here's what I've learned in 22 years: we don't stay for the system. We stay for the kids.

We stay for the Miguel who finally understands fractions. For the Sophia who discovers she's not "bad at math" after all. For the quiet kid in the back row who starts raising her hand. For the class clown who channels his energy into creative writing.

We stay because someone has to believe in them when they don't believe in themselves.

We stay because teaching isn't just what we do. It's who we are.

What Keeps Me Going Now

These days, when I feel that familiar urge to check job postings, I have strategies:

I remember my why. Not the noble, Pinterest-worthy why. The real one. I became a teacher because I want kids to love learning the way I do. That hasn't changed.

I focus on what I can control. I can't fix the system, pero I can create magic in my classroom. I can make sure my kids feel seen, heard, and valued.

I find my people. The teachers who get it. Who'll listen to you vent and then help you problem-solve. Who'll share their best ideas and their worst days. Teaching is hard, but it's less hard when you're not alone.

I celebrate small wins. The breakthrough moment. The improved test score. The thank-you note from a parent. The hug from a kid who usually keeps to himself.

I take care of myself. This took me way too long to learn. I can't pour from an empty cup, and I definitely can't teach from an empty heart.

To My Fellow Teachers

If you're sitting in your car right now, questioning everything, I see you. Your feelings are valid. This job is hard in ways that people outside education will never understand.

But before you update that resume, remember this: you matter more than you know.

You're not just teaching math or reading or science. You're teaching kids that they matter. That they're capable. That someone believes in them.

Some days, you might be the only adult in a child's life who does.

Is the system broken? Absolutely. Are we underpaid and undervalued? Without question. But are we making a difference anyway? Every single day.

So tomorrow, when you walk into your classroom, remember: you're not just a teacher. You're a dream keeper, a confidence builder, a life changer.

And that, mija, is worth staying for.

What's keeping you in the classroom these days? I'd love to hear your story. Drop me a line or share in the comments. We're all in this together.