Not the kind where you’re just mad.
The deeper kind.
The kind that sits in your chest when you know you’re capable of more — when you’ve always worked for more — but the label on your name tag doesn’t quite tell the full story.
I’ve never taken a job just to have a job. I’ve always worked to learn. To grow. To sharpen myself. To gain skill. To understand systems. To improve.
My first job was in historic preservation. Real, back-breaking manual labor. The kind that leaves your hands raw and your muscles aching. But we couldn’t rush. We had to move slowly — carefully — because we were preserving history. We were forced to respect the work. To see the structure. To honor what came before us.
My boss was tough. A hard-ass in the best way. He cared deeply. He would call you out on your nonsense and crack a joke in the same breath. I learned grit there. And pride in doing something the right way, not the fast way.
During that season, I was dual enrolled — high school and college at the same time — because I wanted to make something of myself. I always have.
Then I started working at the Y. I went from needing an adult present (laws, you know) to being the adult in the room. I learned scheduling. Leadership. Responsibility. I learned to speak up. I learned to manage people even when my title didn’t say “manager.”
Then came Starbucks.
Quiet at first. Observing. Learning. Finding my place. The coworkers I met there are still some of my closest friends. And when I came back after having my boys, I worked under one of the best leaders I’ve ever known. She was strong, empathetic, intelligent, and steady. She trained me into my assistant manager role.
I climbed that ladder.
And I was frustrated.
Not with her. Not with my team. But with the system.
I trained new managers — managers who made more than me — on reports, inventory, cash handling, ordering, par levels, operations. I poured into people stepping into positions I wasn’t being offered.
My manager advocated for me constantly.
But still, the promotion didn’t come.
Then I got injured. (That’s a story for another time.)
I left Starbucks for good and stepped into teaching. I already had my degree in mathematics, and I’d always loved training others. Teaching felt natural.
But somewhere along the way, I started feeling like I was “just” a teacher.
I don’t want to go back to school right now. I have twin toddlers under two. Life is full. And in education, upward movement often means more degrees.
But here’s the truth:
I am not just a teacher.
Outside my classroom, I help plan testing schedules. I prep and lead PLCs. I create documents and systems that support our building. I mentor new teachers unofficially. I’m the go-to for new apps and tech. I step in when there’s a gap. I solve problems. I build things. I lead without the title.
And yet sometimes, I feel boxed in by a label.
“She was a teacher.”
Yes.
But I was also a builder. A trainer. A leader. A systems thinker. A mentor. A problem solver.
The frustration I feel isn’t anger.
It’s the tension between who I know I am and how small the title sometimes feels.
And maybe this season isn’t about climbing.
Maybe it’s about redefining worth.
Maybe it’s about realizing that leadership isn’t always recognized in promotions — sometimes it’s reflected in impact.
I started this blog because I needed a space that didn’t reduce me to one title. A place where all the pieces of me get to exist at once — teacher, mother, leader, learner, builder, woman still figuring it out.
Acknowledging frustration is part of reclaiming self-worth.
And I’m done shrinking myself to fit a label.
You are sooooooo much more! Love you! T