The Hardest Part Nobody Talks About: Leaving Early Childhood Education

Writer: Rachel Smith

There was a time when I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

For more than twenty years, my life revolved around children.

The days were filled with tiny shoes lined up at the door, artwork drying on tables, stories read for the hundredth time, and conversations with families about everything from toilet training to school readiness.

Being an educator wasn’t simply my job.

It was part of who I was.

And if I’m honest, I thought it always would be.

When Education Becomes Part of Your Identity

Over the years, I’ve heard countless conversations about leaving the sector.

Educators spoke about paperwork.

They spoke about staffing shortages.

They spoke about low wages, increasing expectations, burnout, and feeling exhausted.

What nobody really talks about is what happens when leaving becomes a possibility for you.

Not because you want to walk away.

Not because you’ve stopped caring.

But because life changes.

Health changes.

Circumstances change.

And suddenly you’re faced with a question you never expected to ask.

“Who am I if I’m no longer an educator?”

The Children Never Really Leave You

One of the beautiful things about working in early childhood is that the impact lasts long after children leave our care.

I still remember babies I cared for who are now young adults.

Children who once needed help putting on their shoes are now driving cars, finishing apprenticeships, attending university, and building lives of their own.

Sometimes I see old families in the supermarket.

Sometimes they find me on social media.

Sometimes I receive a message completely out of the blue.

And every single time, it reminds me that this profession is unlike almost any other.

We don’t just teach.

We become part of people’s stories.

And they become part of ours.

That’s what makes stepping away so difficult.

Because it isn’t just a workplace you’re leaving.

It’s years of relationships, memories, and moments that helped shape who you are.

The Guilt We Don’t Talk About

I think many educators quietly carry guilt when they start thinking about leaving.

I know I did.

There’s a voice that asks:

“What about the children?”

“What about the families?”

“What about all the experience I have to offer?”

We spend so much of our careers putting everyone else’s needs first that considering our own can feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes even selfish.

But over the past two years, I’ve learned that there is a difference between giving up and adapting.

And that lesson didn’t come easily.

What My Brain Injury Taught Me

Nearly two years ago, my life changed in ways I never expected.

Living with a traumatic brain injury has challenged me physically, emotionally, and professionally.

For someone who was always busy, always helping, always doing, being forced to slow down felt incredibly confronting.

There were days I grieved the educator I used to be.

Days I questioned whether I would ever return to work in the same way.

Days where I wondered what the future might look like.

And while recovery continues, something unexpected happened along the way.

My definition of success began to change.

I started to realise that my value wasn’t tied to a job title.

My contribution wasn’t limited to one role.

And my passion for supporting educators hadn’t disappeared.

It had simply started taking a different shape.

Leaving a Role Isn’t Leaving Your Purpose

For a long time, I viewed careers as something fairly straightforward.

You choose a path.

You stay on it.

You build experience.

You keep going.

Now I see things differently.

Sometimes careers evolve.

Sometimes the path bends.

Sometimes life redirects us toward opportunities we never planned for.

These days, I spend more time mentoring, writing, training, advocating, and creating resources.

I’m still supporting educators.

I’m still contributing to the profession I love.

But I’m doing it differently.

And perhaps that’s the piece I wish more educators understood.

Leaving a role doesn’t mean leaving your purpose.

Supporting Education in New Ways

As educators, we often talk about growth in relation to children.

We celebrate when children develop new skills, gain confidence, and embrace new challenges.

Yet many of us struggle to give ourselves the same permission.

Permission to evolve.

Permission to change direction.

Permission to recognise that different seasons of life require different things from us.

Sometimes growth means staying exactly where you are.

Sometimes growth means trying something new.

And sometimes growth means taking everything you’ve learned and carrying it into a completely different chapter.

The Big Picture

The children, families, and educators I’ve worked alongside over the past twenty years will always be part of my story.

Nothing will ever change that.

Those experiences shaped me.

They taught me resilience, patience, advocacy, leadership, and compassion.

Most importantly, they taught me the incredible difference one caring educator can make in a child’s life.

So perhaps this next chapter isn’t really about leaving early childhood education at all.

Perhaps it’s about continuing to support the profession from a different place.

Through mentoring.

Through training.

Through writing.

Through advocacy.

Through conversations that remind educators they don’t have to carry everything alone.

Because sometimes growth means staying.

Sometimes growth means changing direction.

And sometimes growth means carrying everything you’ve learned into a new chapter.

And maybe that’s not leaving at all.

Maybe that’s simply becoming the next version of yourself.

Reflection Question

Have you ever considered leaving early childhood education, or has your role changed in ways you never expected?

I’d love to hear your story in the comments. 💙🌿