What Teaching With a Chronic Illness Taught Me About Rest and Resilience

For years, I believed that showing up, no matter what, was what made a good teacher. Even when the pain from Crohn’s disease was almost unbearable, I pushed through. I skipped lunch to avoid triggering symptoms, stayed late to finish planning, and convinced myself that exhaustion was a sign of dedication.

Then came the day that my body convinced me otherwise.

After weeks of pretending I was fine, I ended up in the hospital with a severe complication that took me out of the classroom indefinitely. My first thought wasn’t about my health—it was about my students. Who would help them? How would they manage without me? The teacher guilt hit before the pain medication did.

But something unexpected happened while I was in the hospital. Something that reshaped my understanding of strength far more than the illness itself.

My students wrote letters. My colleagues stepped in without hesitation. A fund was created for me and my husband. Meals were delivered to our doorstep. Coworkers visited me, checked in on my husband, and reassured me that my only job was to rest. The world didn’t fall apart because I paused. Instead, the community I had poured my care into poured that care right back into me.

Living and teaching with chronic illness has forced me to redefine strength, presence, and sustainability. And while the details of my story are personal, the lessons apply to all of us, because many teachers navigate invisible illness, chronic pain, or ongoing burnout, often silently.

Here are the practices and mindsets that helped me, and the ones I hope will support teachers and their colleagues who care about them.

Build a Support System Before You Need It

Chronic illness is truly unpredictable. Before my hospitalization, I rarely asked for help and often carried everything alone: lesson plans, grading, individualized education programs, meetings, and family communication. I didn’t want to burden anyone.

But when I was hospitalized, my colleagues stepped in instantly. They coordinated coverage, supported my students academically and emotionally, and helped my husband manage everything happening at home. I learned that a support system is not a luxury but a necessity.

Teachers can do the following proactively:

• Share unit plans or digital materials with a trusted colleague.
• Keep an emergency substitute folder with predictable routines.
• Talk to your administrator early about any ongoing health needs.
• Apply for disability insurance while you’re still healthy enough to qualify—for many of us, it isn’t if you’ll need it, but when.

Communicate Clearly and Early

For years, I kept my symptoms quiet because I was worried I’d be seen as unreliable. But silence made everything harder. When I was finally honest about my health, I learned that honesty builds trust, not pity or shame.

Here are some effective ways to communicate needs:

• Let your admin know how flare-up symptoms may affect your work.
• Tell your team how to reach you or help you if you’re suddenly out.
• Provide a simple plan for subs that reduces stress on your colleagues.
• Set boundaries during recovery and stick to them without apology.

Transparency helps everyone: students, coworkers, and you.

Rest Before Collapse

Rest used to be something I considered to have earned only after powering through everything. Chronic illness forced me to understand that rest must come before crisis. Missing a few days could prevent missing weeks or months.

Here are some helpful reframing mindsets:

• Rest is a tool for sustainability.
• Listening to your body is an act of professionalism, not weakness.
• Your students benefit more from a teacher with boundaries than from one who pushes past the breaking point.

We teach students to notice and respond to physical and mental health needs—teachers have to model that, too.

Create Flexible, Sustainable Classroom Systems

The best classrooms aren’t the ones dependent on teacher stamina. They’re the ones built on student independence and predictable routines.

Here’s how to build systems that hold up when you need to step away:

• Keep routines consistent so students feel as steady as possible, even with a sub.
• Use visual agendas and daily slides that anyone can follow.
• Create digital versions of materials so colleagues can step in easily.
• Assign student jobs that reduce the physical and mental load for you.

You’re not planning for disaster. You’re planning for resilience.

Allow Students to See Your Humanity

I haven’t returned to work after my hospitalization. My health declined again before I could, and I am still awaiting surgery. During that time, my students knew I was sick, and they showed empathy that surprised me. They wrote letters and made cards. They were full of concern, kindness, and encouragement, which reminded me that students learn lessons that we don’t formally teach.

By being transparent about my health, I modeled vulnerability, self-advocacy, and resilience. My students learned that adults face hard things too, and that asking for help is a form of strength.

Humanity is not a distraction from teaching.

Actionable Support for Healthy Educators

Healthy teachers often want to help but aren’t sure how. My colleagues showed me what true community looks like by supporting not just me, but my husband, when I couldn’t be home or was under his full-time care.

Here’s what healthy educators can do to lighten the load for a teacher in crisis:

• Check in regularly—brief messages matter more than you think.
• Start a meal train or organize meal deliveries.
• Start a fund to help with medical costs not covered by insurance.
• Donate sick time leave if your district allows it.
• Visit them if they’re comfortable, even briefly.
• Help support their partner or caregiver—they are carrying a very heavy load.
• Remind them that they’re valued beyond their attendance.

Support systems help teachers survive the hardest moments of their lives.

Rest Is Strength, Not Weakness

I still struggle with guilt knowing that I’m missing work. I still feel the pull of wanting to be there for my students. I still cry out of frustration and the feeling of letting people down. But illness has taught me that rest is not the opposite of strength.

Teaching with chronic illness requires boundaries, community, and courage. It asks us to redefine our worth, not by how much we push through, but by how proactively we care for ourselves. Because sometimes, the bravest thing a teacher can do is rest—and let others carry them when they need it most.