“I’m not a teacher anymore.”

I sobbed into my husband’s shoulder the night of the last day of school when I came home from graduation.

I figured this was a normal reaction to changing careers. I had been teaching since I was 22, the only job I’d ever had in my adult life. And I had been at the same school since 2009. 13 years of my life, not counting the years I spent in college and the various classroom I’d observed in preparation.

There was so much pride in being able to tell people that I was a teacher. There was so much pride in seeing my students grow up. There was so much I loved about school and teaching, but I knew in my soul that it was time to follow a different path. Writing my first novel taught me that.

And, remembering that Sunday night in the tub, December 2019, dreading the coming the Monday, as much as I loved teaching, there were just as many things about it that caused my anxiety and depression to soar.

But I didn’t expect the end of my career to hit me as hard as it did.

The grief initially presented as sadness, an emotion I was well acquainted with. So, I welcomed her in. All the while, I worked on my novel and started taking on assignments for my new role as content writer for a tutoring company.

During this time, I also applied for a pitch conference taking place online October 2021. My plan was to spend the summer really perfecting my story so that it was ready for the agents I’d be pitching in a few months.

And then the grief got worse.

At the end of July, my back went out.

I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t walk. I had never had back pain as intense as what I experienced that summer. I took Advil and slathered my lower back in icy hot. But deep down, I knew that my back pain was a direct result of my grief. The tightness in my muscles, a symbol for how tight I was holding onto the past and the future I thought would make it all ok.

By the end of August, I had my first panic attack in years. For so long, my panic disorder had kept at bay, but with the grief of this major change, I had triggered all the things my body does to keep me safe.

Pain and panic attacks. I hate them. I know them well.

October came. My back pain subsided. My panic attacks held firm.

I attended the pitch conference, all the while missing the flow of the school year as the leaves were changing color and the energy of Halloween was intensifying. I could still feel the school year in my bones, and I didn’t know how to let it go. Do we ever let go of the things our muscles remember?

The conference was tough. The feedback actually made me cry. I had worked so hard on this novel, changed my whole life around to make my dreams happen, and there I was, about to pitch my book, feeling like I was still so far away from the finish line.

But I pitched all the agents. One of them asked for pages. And when I sent those pages out, that same agent ultimately rejected them.

Was this book ever going to go anywhere? Or did I take a chance on a bad bet?

I loved my new job, but I missed my teacher friends. I missed my classroom. I missed the rhythm of a school day.

What do you do when your dream seems like a bust, and you’re deep in your grief?

Let’s talk about it next Saturday.