Heart Work / Rewriting a Literacy Crisis / A Letter to My First-Year Teacher Self: What I Wish I Knew Then
Lauren Keeling | 12/02/2025 | 4 minutes
“Go ahead and start drinking coffee. You really like flavored creamer. That’s the missing piece.”
A career in education has a way of shaping you in unexpected ways. If you’re in your first year or know someone who is, this letter is for you. Lauren Keeling’s reflection on her early teaching days is a reminder that the lessons that matter most are often the ones we didn’t expect.
Dearest Lauren,
You’ve spent your summer preparing for your first classroom. You laminated nametags, rearranged desks a hundred times, and lovingly built a classroom library filled with your own childhood books. You were excited, but also quietly terrified. You knew this work mattered. You knew it was a responsibility. What you didn’t know yet was how deeply it would shape you.
Now you’re halfway through the year. You’ve seen chaos and beauty. You’ve felt the weight of the work and the wonder of the children. You’ve learned that teaching is much more than a job: it’s a calling.
Your classroom library still holds The Boxcar Children set on top, ready to be loved again. You’ve read it aloud, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. Not the most comfortable spot, but the most connected. You’ve watched your students’ eyes widen when Jessie finds the dishes in the dump, and you’ve heard them whisper guesses about who the man with the yellow hat might be. You told them you read this book when you were their age, and they looked at you like you’d just revealed a secret passage between their world and yours. These are the moments that stay with them. You might think it’s just about reading, but really, it’s about connection. About building a memory they’ll carry with them.
Everything felt important at first. You arrived at school early, stayed late, went in on weekends, and gave up many evenings. Thankfully, educators with more experience reminded you to ease up, to remember that one of the gifts of this job is time with your family. You’re grateful for that now. Don’t forget it as the year goes on.
“You might think it’s just about reading, but really, it’s about connection. About building a memory they’ll carry with them.
Your students have also become family, in a way. You’ve loved them, been disappointed in them, and felt pride like never before. You’ve seen the good in each one — even the student who rolled himself up in the carpet around Halloween and then broke every pencil at every table because, well, you still haven’t figured that one out. But you care about them. Deeply. And you’ll carry them with you for the rest of your days.
You’ve sat across from parents who are worried, frustrated, hopeful, and sometimes heartbroken. You’ve had hard conversations about reading levels and math gaps, about behavior that’s disruptive or concerning. You’ve learned that honesty wrapped in compassion goes a long way. You’ve said things like, “I see how hard he’s trying,” or “She’s got such a kind heart,” and you’ve meant it. You’ve learned to listen more than you speak. And you’ve realized that these conversations are sometimes more about trust than they are academics. You’re being trusted with something sacred. And when you show that you care enough to speak truth and follow it with action, you build bridges that last.
You’ve been tempted to think you have to do it all alone. But you don’t. You have the support of a village. Scott made sure your classroom had what it needed, his humor a lifeline on days when things felt too heavy. Mary helped you survive teaching fractions, but more importantly, showed you how to lead with calm. Cheri reminded you to go home, to eat lunch, to take care of yourself — she was right. Tony showed you what it means to lead with heart. You’ll carry his lessons long after the year ends.
The people who helped you — hug them. Thank them. Let them know that every good thing that happens in your classroom is stitched together with the threads they’ve handed you. Time with mentors is sacred; don’t rush past it. Watch them closely, learn what you can, and then trust yourself to do it your way. Their excellence is a gift, but your heart is your compass.
You’ve had regrets, and you haven’t gotten it all right. But you’ve gotten the most important things right. You’ve loved your students and believed in them. And that has been enough. Hold tightly to hope. It’s an essential part of who you are. You owe it to yourself, but even more, your students will cling to the hope you give them. It changes lives when an adult sees something special in you. You know this. So see the special thing. Say it out loud and show the children everything you know they can be.
Lauren, please know that I’m so proud of you. It’s a gift to look back and honor the woman you are in this season. Tell Jim thank you every chance you get, for showing up for you every day. Love your girls. Hug your mom.
Oh, and go ahead and start drinking coffee. You really like flavored creamer. That’s the missing piece.
Lauren Keeling is a seasoned education professional with a unique blend of experiences. A former broadcast journalist, elementary teacher, and principal, she now combines her passion for education with her love of storytelling at Imagine Learning. Above all, Lauren is a dedicated literacy advocate pursuing a doctorate in Leadership with a focus on Public and Non-Profit Organizations to further her impact on education nationwide.
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