Leaving my teaching career in 2023 was one of the most challenging—and ultimately transformative—choices I’ve ever made. On the surface, it would have been easy to lay blame on external factors: the pressures of the school environment, the endless bureaucratic expectations, or the stress of balancing everyone’s needs. And while there were undoubtedly external stressors, I realised that the real work was within me. My sensitivity and empathy, which made me a skilled teacher, also became my Achilles’ heel.
I came to realise that being an empath was both my superpower and my kryptonite. The very quality that made me connect deeply with my students, feel their struggles, and go the extra mile to support them was the same quality that drained me. I felt every mood, every emotion in the room, and carried the weight of every child’s well-being long after I left the classroom each day. In a way, my teaching experience showed me the depths of empathy, but it also forced me to recognise its limitations in a structured, high-stress environment like a school.
Empathy, as I discovered, isn’t something that can simply be shut off. For empaths like me, it’s a constant undercurrent that shapes our worldview, our relationships, and the way we navigate through life. In teaching, where I lacked the necessary compartmentalisation to leave emotions at the door, it became overwhelming. I was carrying an emotional load that was far heavier than I realised, and no amount of support from colleagues, headteachers, or the school community could lighten that burden. It was, and still is, simply the nature of who I am.
Whilst leaving the teaching profession felt like a loss at first, I soon realised it was a doorway to self-discovery. It forced me to go deeper within, to understand the delicate balance that empathy requires. This introspective journey didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t always comfortable. I had to confront aspects of myself I hadn’t fully understood before: my struggle with boundaries, my tendency to pour out my energy until I was running on empty, and my habit of prioritising others’ well-being over my own. It was in this space of self-inquiry that I discovered a spiritual depth within me, one that I might not have found if I had continued pushing through in the classroom.
Now, working with clients in my spiritual business, I still feel the pull of empathy deeply. My heart fills up when I connect with them, understand their struggles, and offer guidance. But there’s a fine line, and I know it well. It’s a constant balancing act to give of myself while still keeping enough energy reserved to sustain my own well-being. Just like in teaching, empathy in spiritual work is both beautiful and potentially draining. There have been moments recently when I’ve felt the edges of burnout again, reminders that even in this line of work, I need boundaries as much as ever.
Reflecting on my time in teaching, I realise that my greatest lesson was learning to set these boundaries. Teaching taught me that being an empath requires more than just caring deeply; it requires a commitment to self-care, a dedication to honouring my own energy levels. Now, when I feel that familiar feeling of overwhelm creeping in, I know that it’s time to pause, to recharge, to pour back into myself. This awareness has become a vital part of my spiritual practice, a guiding principle that I carry with me both personally and professionally, and one that I hope to instil in the clients I work with.
Occasionally, I do find myself wondering what it would be like to return to the classroom. The thought crosses my mind, especially on days when I feel nostalgic for those connections with students and colleagues, the laughter and the joy that filled the school day. But ultimately, I know that returning wouldn’t bring the fulfillment I’ve found in my current path. My business has given me a new kind of happiness, one that feels sustainable and nourishing to my spirit.
For those who, like me, feel the weight of the world in their bones, know that your empathy is a gift. It can be overwhelming, yes, but it’s also a source of incredible strength and wisdom. Learning to balance it, to nurture it without letting it consume us, is the real journey. And it’s a journey that has transformed my life in ways I never could have imagined.
