The Moments That Matter Most
A reflection on endings, relationships, and what really stays with us
At the end of every school year, something small always catches me by surprise. It’s rarely part of the curriculum or a major assessment. More often, it’s a conversation in the corridor, a student lingering after class, or a handwritten note left quietly on the desk.
This week marked my final days at the school I’ve called home for the past four years. Like many educators, I’ve come to realise that leaving a school is never just a logistical transition. Over time, we build far more than units and lesson plans. We build relationships, establish routines, and settle into a rhythm that becomes part of who we are.
What stays with me most are those relationships. The students who stop by quietly to say thank you, often unsure how to say it but wanting to say it all the same. The cards tucked into your bag at the end of the day, filled with scribbled reflections or inside jokes from lessons you forgot they even remembered. Some write just a line or two. Others hand over longer letters that stop you in your tracks, where they’ve taken time to explain what the class meant to them, or how something you said changed the way they thought about themselves, or the world.
Sometimes it’s the students you least expect — the quiet ones at the back, or the ones who never quite seemed fully engaged — who surprise you the most with their honesty. When they tell you they’ll miss you, or that something about the class stayed with them, it lands differently. It reminds you that even when students don’t show it outwardly, they’re taking things in. They’re learning. They’re being shaped.
It’s these small moments that remind me of the real work of teaching. Not the outcomes we log or the objectives we map, but how we show up. How we listen. How we respond to students not just as learners, but as people. And when they take a moment to acknowledge that, in their own quiet or expressive way, it makes the long hours and invisible effort feel entirely worth it.
After four years at this school, and thirteen years living and teaching in China, I’ve been reflecting more deeply on what lingers. We pour time and energy into preparing lessons, redesigning units, and crafting feedback. That work is important. It shapes learning. But when students look back, they tend to remember something else: how they felt. Whether they felt seen. Whether they felt challenged in a way that was safe, supported, and real.
We spend a lot of time in education talking about innovation, rigour, and measurable impact. And those things matter. But at the heart of every meaningful learning experience is something far more fundamental: relationship.
Not performative positivity, and not classroom management disguised as rapport, but genuine, earned connection. The kind that invites students to trust you, question you, laugh with you, and take risks in front of you. The kind that helps students feel known.
If I’ve learned anything in the past decade, it’s that learning doesn’t happen in isolation. It needs trust. And trust is built through consistency, care, and curiosity. Not just routines and expectations, but a willingness to show up, human to human.
As I prepare to begin a new chapter in a new country, this is what I’m carrying with me. I’m thinking about how to keep those relationships at the core of everything I do. How to continue creating classrooms where students can take intellectual and emotional risks. How to stay grounded in the work that matters, even while exploring new methods or contexts.
There’s always more to learn, more to build, and more to refine.
There’s no such thing as a perfect teacher, only one who keeps striving to perfect their craft.
And what drives that growth, more than anything, is a commitment to the students in front of us. Because learning thrives when they feel they are being taught by someone who truly sees them, believes in them, and is willing to walk beside them.
Leaving is rarely easy. There is much I’ll miss. But I leave with a sense of clarity and renewed purpose, and with the voices of students echoing in my mind, reminding me again and again that teaching is never just about content. It’s about connection.
To everyone I’ve taught, worked with, and learned from in China: thank you. You’ve shaped the educator and person I’ve become.
And to those I’ll meet next, I can’t wait to see what we create together.
🌍 Looking Ahead
I’ll be quieter over the summer as I prepare to relocate and settle into life in a new country (to be revealed soon). I’ll still be teaching within the IB curriculum and look forward to sharing more once the summer draws to a close.
To all my fellow educators reading this: congratulations on the work you’ve done, the care you’ve shown, and the impact you’ve made this year. Rest well. You’ve earned it.
What a lovely post you are such an empathic teacher proud of you.