From the Paddock

“Students energise me. Boundaries sustain me. Respect allows me to keep showing up with purpose.”

Teaching matters deeply to me.

It is more than a job or a profession. It is something I care about with my whole self. I want to be the kind of teacher who sees students clearly, who listens before responding, who brings structure and consistency to the classroom without losing warmth. I care about language. I care about connection. I care about doing things well.

But I have also learned that caring deeply without setting boundaries is a fast path to burnout.

There was a time in my career when I said yes to everything. I took on extra roles, mentored new teachers, gave every spare minute to planning and wellbeing programs, and spent evenings trying to do more. I wanted to be trusted. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to give students my best.

And then I found myself running on empty.

What I have learned since is that being the best teacher I can be does not mean giving every part of myself away. It means knowing where the line is. It means protecting the time I need to rest, reflect and recalibrate. It means saying no when something compromises the quality of how I show up. It means being available to students without being endlessly accessible.

It means holding space for others, but also for myself.

I believe in clear expectations, thoughtful planning and high standards. I also believe in walking away from my desk when I need to breathe. I believe in choosing calm over chaos, consistency over constant reinvention. I believe in modelling boundaries so that my students see that their energy, time and wellbeing matter too.

Just last week, a parent stopped me to say how much their child loves having me as their teacher. They shared that their child compares other teachers to me and specifically mentioned how helpful it is when I go through assessments after returning them, showing students exactly where they gained marks or how they could improve. To me, that clarity and feedback is just part of good teaching. But to that student, it meant feeling seen and supported.

At a recent whole school event, a former student approached me to say that I, along with one other teacher, had the most impact on them. They told me I had changed the way they saw themselves. That I always took the time to check in. That I always saw them. That stayed with me.

Those moments are reminders of why I do this work and why doing it well matters to me. But they also reaffirm why I need boundaries in order to keep doing it with care and consistency.

The paddock reminds me of this too. It shows me that clarity and calm are not luxuries. They are foundations. With horses, as with students, your presence needs to be steady. You cannot lead from a place of exhaustion. You cannot connect when you are disconnected from yourself.

So I still care deeply. I still strive to do the work well. But I do it with boundaries now. Not walls, just gentle edges that keep me grounded.

And I have learned that holding those edges is not selfish. It is what makes the care sustainable.

Over time, I have learned that setting clear boundaries is not about disengaging. It is about protecting the clarity and care I bring into the classroom. When we are trusted as professionals, when our skills are valued and our space is respected, we can give students our best consistently and sustainably.

“Students energise me. Boundaries sustain me. Respect allows me to keep showing up with purpose.”