A toast to the childhood dream that made me a teacher

It’s our lunch break. I sit on the pool deck at the conference venue, listening to the waves tumbling onto the shore, as I clear my mind for the afternoon session. I love teaching this group of delegates on a sunny day in Cape Town.

I’ve always pictured myself as a teacher. As an eight-year-old, I would cut out pictures from colouring books and teach English vocabulary to my French-speaking grand-mère.

I have taught in some form or other for many years. This all changed when I fell pregnant with my son.

As his life strengthened and grew within me, much of my outward-facing energy disappeared. All I wanted to do was cocoon.

And in the first 10 years of his life, I focused on being a mother and keeping my small business going.

But a year ago, tired of seeing more of our tween son’s closed bedroom door than his face, and with my small business going through a dip, I felt the need to teach again.

It had been two decades since I’d last been in a prefab classroom. I felt no desire to be in a classroom full of teens, but I did feel warm and energised at the idea of training adults.

I took this sense of an opening, an inner yes, as a good sign. It was in direct contrast to the drained feeling I got when I visualised myself in a high school classroom.

I began to put out feelers. I contacted old colleagues and associates, sent out my updated CV, and knocked on doors.

When the self-doubt began whispering, I reminded myself I’d done this kind of work before. I knew what it felt like, I knew I loved doing it, and I knew I was good at it.

For weeks, no doors opened, no new pathways beckoned. That snide voice in my head began to whisper no again: “You can’t do it, you don’t have enough knowledge, you’re overstepping yourself.”

I kept tuning in to the quiet yes I could feel inside. I kept believing in the ‘What if?’. What if it all worked out? What if I found myself standing in a conference room with a group of people facing me expectantly?

One morning as I was journaling, I remembered a dream about an ex-colleague who was now involved in a training company.

I made contact. It turned out they were growing their work and were happy to use me as a freelance trainer.

A year later, I find myself running regular training for corporate clients, learning from diverse participants, in varied industries, and growing as a facilitator.

Before heading back into the training room, I turn my face to the sun, take a sip of apple juice, and tilt the glass to the sky, to the sea. It’s my own quiet celebration of finding my way to yes.