BURSTOne day, during a quiet afternoon in my classroom, a comment one of my colleagues said lingered in the air: “Just remember your why.” They said the comment with a smirk and an exaggerated shrug, their eyes rolling almost involuntarily. It registered as sarcasm, not encouragement, and I couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment.
Early in my career, I found solace in those words. Back then, remember your why felt like a genuine invitation to reconnect with the passion that first brought me to teaching; this made it easy to hold on to purpose and to find meaning in the day-to-day connections and small victories. Yet, in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, that meaning has shifted.
For many teachers, the last four years have been a relentless cycle of adapting to new learning models, navigating new curriculum mandates, supporting students’ mental health and adjusting to heightened accountability measures. Amid growing demands and insufficient support, remember your why often feels like a way to shift responsibility for systemic failures onto teachers. Burnout and disillusionment are often framed as personal challenges to overcome by reigniting passion rather than as symptoms of structural issues that need addressing. Instead of providing meaningful encouragement, the phrase now rings hollow, expecting unwavering dedication from teachers while ignoring the emotional toll we face.
In the post-pandemic era, shaped by ongoing social and political crises, this pressure feels even heavier. Teachers are asked to be more than educators — to serve as counselors, advocates and role models — all while grappling with the same grief and trauma as their students. After my conversation with my colleagues, I realized we’ve all come to the same conclusion: 'Remember your why' has become a dismissive platitude, oversimplifying the complexities of our profession. What was once an inspiring call to action now underscores a growing detachment from the realities of teaching.
At the time, I had also lost both of my grandmothers. These losses reshaped my understanding of purpose, inviting me to reflect on what was, what is, and what could be to honor the past and new ways forward. Losing my grandmothers, Grace and Fernanda, reminded me that purpose is not always easily defined. Sometimes, it is quiet and deeply rooted in the values and relationships that shape us. When asked to ‘remember my why,’ I now feel compelled to redefine it — not as a rigid expectation to sustain my morale but as a deeply personal reflection of the lived experiences and values of those I hold dear.
Grace and Fernanda
Fernanda, born on Faial, a small island in the Azores archipelago, emigrated to the United States in the 1970s with her family. As an English language learner in southern New England, she navigated linguistic and cultural barriers to build a life that nurtured her family and sustained her Portuguese heritage. Her ability to embrace a new country while honoring her roots shaped not only her life but the lives of those around her.
During holidays, she would prepare more food than we could ever eat — papo secos, a traditional Portuguese bread, always accompanied every meal, andbolo de laranja, a Portuguese orange cake that I could never resist. These tastes and smells are etched in my memory, a reminder of her dedication to keeping traditions alive and passing them down to the next generation. Fernanda’s kitchen and dining room were a place of warmth, not only through the meals she prepared but in the way she welcomed everyone with open arms, making sure that no one was left feeling like a stranger.
Her resilience in preserving her identity amidst adversity taught me that purpose can be as simple — and as profound — as refusing to give up when others might. It was through the quiet moments of her life, through the acts of service and care for others, that I learned the power of perseverance. Fernanda’s life reminded me that purpose doesn’t have to be public to be significant; sometimes, it’s in the small, everyday decisions to show up for your family, your community, and yourself that real impact is made.
Grace, on the other hand, defied societal expectations by pursuing her career while raising four children in the 1960s. As a union leader and teacher assistant in public schools, I will always remember the stories of her drive and determination to fight for what was right and to connect with everyone she encountered - whether they were colleagues, students, or parents. Her work was not just a job but a mission, and she was relentless in her belief that education should be equitable for all. Grace’s purpose extended beyond her career, deeply rooted in her family and community.
She taught me that purpose could be found not just in formal achievements but in the quiet, everyday moments - in the care taken to make someone feel supported, in the persistence to push for what was right even when it seemed impossible, and in the courage to challenge the status quo. Grace stepped into many leadership roles, and her boldness showed me that purpose can mean charting your own course, grounded in strength and compassion.
Together, their legacies have shaped my teaching practice. Fernanda’s determination to stay rooted in her identity and Grace’s drive to reimagine what’s possible and remind me to question systems and when necessary, challenge them. Purpose, I’ve learned, is to honor the complexities of our experiences and create space for healing and growth.
Remembering Your Purpose
In moments of doubt, I draw on the examples my grandmothers set for me. Their stories center me, reminding me to hold fast to my values and lead with quiet strength. I’ve learned that my purpose doesn’t need to be loud; it can be the quiet, nurturing force that helps others grow and succeed, just as I strive to do for my students and colleagues.
Asking teachers to remember their why must account for the realities of teaching today. It’s not enough to ask educators to reflect; administrators and policymakers must engage in their own parallel reflection and demonstrate a commitment to action. True leadership involves not only encouraging teachers to reconnect with their purpose but also ensuring that they are seen, heard and supported. When calls for purpose are matched with actionable support, remembering your why can regain its power as a shared, transformative affirmation of our collective dedication to education.
Purpose, as my grandmothers taught me, is not static. It is a living, evolving force — rooted in hope, shaped by determination and nurtured by the legacies of those who came before us. By remembering this, we can honor the challenges and the beauty of teaching, creating spaces for meaningful change within ourselves and the communities we serve.