The End of an Era

I’m having a hard time. Like a really hard time.

Not the kind of hard that feels noble or inspiring. The kind of hard that feels like unraveling in slow motion — while staring down a to-do list that somehow keeps growing. It’s not burnout, exactly. It’s more like… endings.

I’m at the edge of several major transitions. I’m about to finish my grad program. I’m about to finish the school year. I’m about to leave a school — maybe a career — that I’ve poured everything into. And it’s not a gentle exit. It’s been messy, painful, and laced with harm that no one ever fully acknowledged.

I didn’t expect this season to feel like this.

I thought I’d feel proud. Free. Like I had the whole world in front of me. Instead, it feels like I’m walking away from something I gave everything to — and somehow still wondering if I was ever enough.

I’ve always loved teaching. I’ve always loved learning. But this year?
This year I met the limits of what a person can sustain under abusive supervision, gaslighting, and system-level erasure.
And even though I survived it — documented it, spoke the truth, and built something powerful from it — I’m still so tired.
I feel like I’ve been living on adrenaline and “prove them wrong” energy for four years.

And now?
Now I’m just… done.

But here’s what’s tricky about endings: even when you’re ready for them, they can still make you feel lost.
Even when they’re necessary, they can still feel like failure.

I keep thinking:

“I should have kept up better. I should have stayed on top of my assignments. I should have graded more, earlier. I should have shown the world how together I am.”

But instead?
I’ve been late. I’ve been scattered. I’ve been exhausted.
And I’ve been trying to outrun a story that someone else wrote about me — even though I know it was never true.

It’s vulnerable to admit this.
Because I don’t want to be seen as the version of me my boss imagined.
But the truth is — the version of me who’s writing this?
She’s the one who’s been clawing her way back to life.

She’s also the one who started Crickets — a project about reclaiming truth after silence.
She’s also the one who kept showing up, even when the system tried to erase her.
She’s also the one learning, slowly, to measure success not by output… but by alignment.

So no, I don’t have perfect grades or clean closure or all my ducks in a row.
But I have myself.
And I have a voice that’s still here. And that, after everything, is more than enough.