Under the calm smile I will wear tomorrow morning, there is a storm brewing tonight.

The night before students return is always the same–equal parts excitement, dread, hope, and exhaustion. My classroom is as Pinterest-perfect as it will be. My plans are written (at least for tomorrow!); the pencils are sharpened; and the welcome slides are cued up and ready. From the outside, it all looks good to go.

But behind the teacher’s smile? It’s complicated.

I’m wondering if I’ll have the energy to keep up this year.

I’m hoping I can connect with that kid…the one I know that I will worry about.

I’m already bracing myself for the meetings, the behaviors, the curveballs I know are coming.

My brain won’t shut off, and the weight of “doing it all” is pressing harder than ever.

And yet—I still care—that’s the wild part.

Even with the burnout creeping in, even with the impossible expectations, even with the ache in my shoulders before the year even starts. I still want this to be their best year yet. I still want them to feel seen, safe, and valued the moment they walk through the door.

So tonight, I’ll sit in the quiet of my living room binge eating ice cream while my brain runs through a dozen “what ifs” that I can’t control. I’ll double-check my plans, and then I will try to get a little rest.

Because tomorrow morning, I’ll put on the smile. NOT the fake one, but the tired, determined one. The one that says, “You matter to me. I’m here. Let’s do this!”

And behind that smile? A teacher who is hanging on. A teacher who cares deeply. A teacher who knows that even when the system feels broken, the connection still matters.

To every teacher spending tonight tangled in anticipation and anxiety: I see you. You are not alone. We may be tired, but we are not done!

Here’s to tomorrow. Here’s to the students. And here’s to all of us showing up, even when it’s hard.