Meera clutched the resignation letter in her trembling hands. The words blurred as tears stung her eyes.
She had always dreamed of being a teacher, of shaping young minds. But reality was different. Her students struggled, her lessons fell flat, and her colleagues seemed effortlessly better.
And now, the final blow—a student’s parent had lodged a complaint.
“She doesn’t explain well. My son is afraid to ask her questions.”
Afraid?
That single word shattered her. Was she truly that bad?
Her fingers hovered over the paper. One signature, and it would all be over. No more stress. No more failure.
But as she gripped the pen, a thought whispered—What about the students who still believe in you?
She hesitated. And then, as if fate had conspired against her quitting, a notice caught her eye:
“Pipaltree’s Teacher Training – Transform Your New-Age Classroom”
A three-day program. A last chance.
She didn’t know why, but she planned to attend cancelling her family vacation she had planned.
Maybe she wanted a reason to stay. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to let go.
The Breaking Point
The training was unlike anything Meera had experienced.
On the first day, the trainer walked in and wrote one question on the board:
“What do your students think of you?”
Silence filled the room. Some teachers smiled. Meera felt her stomach sink.
She knew the answer.
Strict. Distant. Unapproachable.
The trainer continued. “We all want to be great teachers. But what if I told you that self-doubt is the first step to becoming one?”
Meera scoffed inwardly. What good could come from feeling like a failure?
But then the session took a turn.
They were asked to recall their most painful moment as a teacher.
Meera clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to go there. But the memory surfaced anyway.
Last month. Rohan.
A boy with tired eyes and a sharp tongue. A boy who never listened, never cared.
That day, he had rolled his eyes at her yet again. And she had lost it.
“If you don’t want to learn, then don’t waste my time!”
She had seen it then—the flicker of hurt in his eyes before he masked it with defiance.
That flicker haunted her now.
As if reading her thoughts, the trainer spoke.
“Sometimes, the students we struggle with the most… are the ones who need us the most.”
Meera felt something shift inside her.
She had been so caught up in her own failures, her own fears, that she had stopped seeing her students for who they were—children, struggling just as much as she was.
The Storm Before the Calm
The training continued, pushing her limits.
She was placed in a live classroom simulation where she had to handle a disruptive student—except the student was played by an actor who was brilliantly difficult.
He ignored her. Smirked. Talked over her.
Panic gripped her. This was exactly what happened in real life.
She tried to regain control. Raised her voice. Demanded respect.
Nothing worked.
The trainer stopped the exercise. “Now, let’s switch roles.”
Meera became the student. The trainer became the teacher.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t demand respect.
He simply walked over, placed a hand on the student’s desk, and whispered, “You must be really smart to know exactly how to frustrate a teacher. You know what else you could do with that intelligence?”
Silence. Even Meera felt herself leaning in.
And just like that, the “student” engaged.
Meera was floored. It wasn’t about authority. It was about connection.
The Ultimate Test
One week later, back in her real classroom, Rohan tested her patience again.
Old Meera would have snapped.
But this time, she saw him differently.
She took a deep breath and crouched beside his desk. “I know you think I expect you to fail. But what if I told you I don’t?”
Rohan blinked.
Meera continued, her voice steady. “I think you’re afraid of getting it wrong, so you don’t even try. But I’ll tell you a secret—I get things wrong too. And I’m still learning. So, what do you say? Want to try together?”
For the first time, Rohan didn’t smirk. He hesitated, then—a tiny nod.
And just like that, he picked up his pen.
The Moment of Truth
One week later, the principal observed Meera’s class.
Mid-lesson, disaster struck—the power went out.
The smartboard died. The lesson plan was useless.
A month ago, Meera would have panicked.
But today, she smiled.
“Let’s do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, grabbing chalk and turning to the board.
She adapted. She engaged. She taught.
By the end, students were so engrossed they barely noticed when the power came back.
When the bell rang, the principal walked up to her, his expression unreadable.
A pause. Then—a slow, approving nod.
“This is the teacher I always believed you could be.”
Meera’s throat tightened.
She had almost walked away from this moment.
But she hadn’t.
The Teacher Who Chose to Stay
That evening, Meera held the resignation letter once more.
She didn’t hesitate this time.
Rip.
She watched the pieces fall into the trash.
She had learned the most valuable lesson of all—being a great teacher doesn’t mean never failing. It means never giving up.
And tomorrow, she would teach again.
This time, with belief.
Learn practical tips from our five star rated training to break out of these common ruminations as a teacher – 1) Worries and anxious thoughts, 2) Resentments and angry thoughts, 3) Remorse and sad, 4) Worthlessness and repetitive self-criticism and thoughts of shame or inadequacy about yourself as a teacher!!
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