My Job Doesn't Define Me

But it took a long time for me to get there

Photo by Maridav on Canva Pro

I come from a family of teachers. My dad taught high school until I was nine, and I spent some evenings during those formative years grading multiple choice tests and learning about bringing work home. Many of my aunts and uncles are teachers, and I heard many stories over the years about the work that they did in and out of school. I learned from an early age that to be a teacher meant a tremendous amount of sacrifice.

And then I went into the family business.

Everything I knew about teaching came from my heavily involved family members, most of whom taught in Lutheran schools. And while public school teachers work hard (and now as a public school teacher, I can definitely attest to that), even more is expected of private school teachers, especially those in schools with a long history of service. Contract hours mean very little. Extracurriculars need coaches and advisors and teachers are expected to do every job they can, and some that they cannot. Family committments are often an afterthought, because we have to do the work for “ministry” and “for the kids.”

And so I jumped into my first Lutheran high school teaching job at the age of 23, determined to be the best damn teacher that school had ever seen. Except I knew nothing. I had four and a half years of a college education behind me and I still knew nothing about teaching. No one ever does, because you have to do it to know what works and what doesn’t. You have to do it to find out what kind of teacher you are.

But it wasn’t just that I was a new teacher. I was also young, energetic, and childless. (Although it is important to note that I was also a newlywed, so I did have family responsibilities; my administration just didn’t see it that way.) After three years of teaching and prepping and directing plays and advising groups, I was nearly burned out and afraid my marriage was going to collapse under the pressure. A new teaching job in a new city helped me professionally and helped me focus on my marraige, but I was still working too hard as both an English teacher and director. I spent multiple nights each semester staying up until midnight to finish grading, or spent entire weekends in my classroom on a grading marathon as I alternated between directing and teaching duties.

Teaching wasn’t just a job or even career; it was my life. Every decision, from vacations to whether my husband and I would have a date night, revolved around my job.

It wasn’t until our daughter was born at the end of my seventh year of teaching that I finally started to see myself as more than a teacher.

A year later we moved from Indianapolis to Fort Wayne and my career shifted. So did our family. We went from one to two kids, I was in graduate school, and then I started a new teaching job. And even though I continued to work at the same ridiculous teaching pace that I had before, I refused to pick up additional responsibilities. I would be a teacher when at school, I would work at home only when I had to, and I would do my best to focus more on my family. I was far from perfect, but I managed to find some separation from my job and my personal life. When we moved to Texas I continued at a similar pace, however, my class load decreased with smaller class sizes and I discovered that I could get far more of my work done at school.

But it would take a global pandemic and losing a job that I loved to show me that teaching really was just a job. A job I love, a job that I’m good at, but still, just a job. As I mention in my memoir book of essays, one of my friends told me “I had spent so much time being Mrs. Styf, maybe now I could finally just be Sarah.”¹ And she was right. In the midst of grief and loss, I wrote, a lot. Much of that writing didn’t go very deep because I needed time to heal before I could truly reflect, but I started to find my voice in ways that I had held back before. I had spent so many years worried about how people would see Mrs. Styf, I forgot that Sarah had things to say as well.

If you are an American, like me, you live in a country where it is completely acceptable to allow your career to define your life. We are encouraged to seek jobs that will give us financial security and social capital (in becoming a teacher, I apparently missed that memo) and we learn that it is acceptable to look down on those who choose other paths. It might be why so many older adults look down on Gen Z adults who are graduating college and insisting on something different, even if that means the instability of the gig economy. They don’t want to be defined by their jobs and are looking for more meaning in their lives, as data suggests “meaning is healthier than happiness, and…people who look for purpose in their work are more successful in pursuing their passions—and less likely to quit their jobs—than those who look for joy. While enjoyment waxes and wanes, meaning tends to last.”²

Here’s the reality for me: teaching brings my life meaning. I feel like I have more purpose when I think about my work as a teacher. However, I have discovered even more purpose in my life when I’ve also embraced who I am professionally outside of the classroom as well. I am also a writer, I have a voice, and I want to use it to make sense of my world and encourage others.

It took me a long time to get here, but when I finally added the “and” to my role as an educator, I found that I could be both Mrs. Styf and Sarah. I didn’t have to choose. In fact, I was better in both arenas when I felt that tension release.

Does that mean that who I am as a teacher doesn’t influence who I am as a writer? No! I’m still very aware of my responsibilities as an educator.³ But leaning into that tension to loosen the bonds has helped me let go of a lot of baggage. I’m allowed to take my weekends off. I’m allowed to enjoy my family and be a present mother. I’m allowed to be a wife instead of a roommate. I’m allowed to be a writer and podcaster, because they also make me better at what I do with my students.

I think I was probably born a teacher and it will always be a part of who I am. I will probably still come up with lesson plan ideas at the worst moments and randomly think about students and wonder how they are doing. I will still be Mrs. Styf when my students see me in public, whether I’m holding a book or a wine bottle. And I will still be a teacher when I finally write a book that is a big enough deal that my students decide to read it, or at least notice.

But I’m also Sarah, and it’s good to remember that my life doesn’t begin when I walk into my classroom and end when I walk out to my car at the end of the day.

In fact, most days, it’s just beginning.

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1. Styf, Sarah. Embracing the Journey: Learning to Grow When Life Doesn't Work Out as Planned. Sarah Styf, 2023, p. 148.

2. Grant, Adam. Think Again: The Power of Knowing What You Don't Know. Penguin Publishing Group, 2021, p 238

3. After all, you won’t find me writing romance novels any time soon.