TEACHING did not suddenly become difficult in 2026. It has been quietly heavy for years, but this year feels different because the weight is finally being named. The posts circulating on social media about what teachers must avoid struck a nerve, not because they were radical, but because they sounded familiar. They described ordinary days: late-night checking, borrowed time from family dinners, the reflex to say yes even when the body is already tired.
Many teachers read those lists and nodded. Some felt relief. Others felt exposed. I did too. I offer this as a fellow teacher, not an exception. I need these reminders myself, because I also slip—sometimes unknowingly, sometimes willfully—until the consequences have already caught up.
These reminders show how teaching has grown heavier over time. It is no longer just about knowing the lesson or managing students. It now involves emotional labor, paperwork, and social expectations that never quite pause. Studies abroad have long warned about burnout when workload is high, and control is low, and local surveys tell the same story in schools, especially where paperwork competes with preparation. That is why teacher well-being matters so much. A tired teacher can still stand in front of a class. A depleted one finds it hard to stay patient, creative, and caring.
Saying yes to everything is one habit many teachers struggle to break. Filipino culture often praises self-sacrifice, so extra work feels like a duty. Another committee, another message after hours—it feels harmless. But boundaries are not selfish. They bring clarity. I still fail at this, replying to or sending messages after work and telling myself it will be quick. It rarely is.
Overload also becomes easy to normalize. When everyone is exhausted, being tired feels normal. Teachers joke about surviving on coffee and little sleep, as if that were a strength. But constant fatigue damages health and dulls empathy. Teaching needs presence, not just endurance.
Comparison works quietly. It shows up when we measure ourselves against colleagues who publish more or seem to do everything well. But classrooms, students, and life seasons differ. Our teachers carry multiple roles at work and at home. Growth is personal and uneven. Remembering this does not end insecurity, but it makes it manageable.
Professional growth is often postponed just to survive. When tasks pile up, learning feels like a luxury. Yet stagnation slowly drains joy. Growth does not always require seminars. It can mean reading, observing, or admitting not knowing and learning with students. In my experience, those moments bring teaching back to life.
Social media adds another layer. A careless post can travel far beyond its context. Our digital footprint has become part of our professional identity. Guarding it is not fear-based—it is thoughtful. Many teachers, myself included, have learned or at least are trying to learn to pause before sharing.
These reminders also say something about voice. Teachers are often trained—explicitly or not—to keep quiet, avoid friction, and endure policies they know could be better. Silence feels safe. But thoughtful advocacy is part of the job. Speaking up does not mean shouting. It means choosing the right moment, grounding concerns in evidence, and having the courage to be clear.
One reminder stays especially close to home: before the role came the person. Teaching takes much from us, but it should not take everything. We often value family, relationships, and being present. When work pushes these aside for too long, something human wears thin. I struggle with this too. Balance is uneven, and some weeks fail. What matters is noticing when work begins to crowd out life.
Another quiet fear surfaces here—the fear of not mattering. In systems driven by metrics, it is easy to feel invisible. But teaching still shapes lives in small, steady ways. Each careful explanation, each respectful correction, each word of encouragement leaves a mark. We may not see it immediately, but it stays.
2026 is not a demand to do more. It is an invitation to do better by doing what is sustainable. Teaching deserves protection, not because teachers are fragile, but because the work is human. These reminders are not rules to obey, but mirrors to check ourselves against. I need them as much as anyone. Perhaps that honesty is where dignity begins: teaching with commitment, living with balance, and choosing not to disappear in the process.
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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
