Some mornings, the alarm goes off and my brain is already running – lessons to prep, forms to sign, teens to wake (or re-wake), coffee to inhale before the bell rings, and the eternal mystery of whether we have bread. Figuring out how to live a slow life as a busy teacher hasn’t come naturally to me, but over time, I’ve learned that small, intentional choices can create space even in the most hectic days.

Teaching full-time is enough to fill every waking minute. Add parenting teenagers, and the pace goes from “busy” to “I’m fine, everything’s fine, why are you looking at me like that?” But here’s the thing: I still believe a slower life is possible. Not perfect. Not silent or spa-like. Just slower.

I don’t live a cottagecore lifestyle on a farm or work part-time (though both sound dreamy and are on my wishlist!). I’m a full-time teacher with a full-time family, and slow living for me has become more about how I move through the day – not how much is on it. Here’s what that looks like in real life, mismatched socks and all.

1. I Protect My Mornings (Even If It’s Just 12 Minutes)

The way your morning begins sets the tone. If it starts with “Mum, I need $20” while someone else is yelling about a missing hoodie, the tone is chaos.

Picture this:
Dim lights. A quiet cuppa before anyone else wakes. A moment of stillness to remind yourself: I’m a person, not just a walking Wi-Fi provider.

How I do it:

• I wake up 30 minutes before the rest of the house. Sometimes it’s just 12.
• No phone until I’ve sipped tea and stared out a window pretending I’m in a cottage in the Cotswolds.
• If a teen appears early, they get handed a banana and the look.

To try:
Start with 5 minutes. Make a warm drink, sit, breathe. That’s it. That’s the ritual.

2. I Leave Work at Work (99.5% of the Time)

When teaching follows you home like an uninvited dinner guest, burnout isn’t far behind.

Picture this:
You shut your laptop, leave the school gate, and mentally drop a velvet rope behind you. No papers in your bag. No “just a few emails” before bed.

How I do it:

• I have a rule: no marking at home unless I’m absolutely desperate. (Desperate = report season + parent-teacher + full moon.)
• I set a “teacher curfew.” If it’s not done by 3:30, it waits.
• My school bag lives by the door.

To try:
Choose just one night a week when schoolwork is off-limits. Claim it like sacred ground. And build from there.

3. I Have a Post-School Decompression Ritual

You can’t jump from “Year 9s set the bin on fire” to “what’s for dinner?” without a reset in between.

Picture this:
You come home, take off your lanyard (or tie or shoes or metaphorical armor), light a candle, and reclaim your name from “Miss” to just… you.

How I do it:

• I change clothes immediately. Comfy = calm.
• I make a cup of tea I may or may not finish.
• I sit outside if I can. Or stare into the middle distance. Whatever works.

To try:
Create a mini transition ritual: change clothes, light a candle, wash your hands slowly. Mark the shift.

4. I Batch Like a Boss

Doing the same task in one block saves time, energy, and the slow soul-crushing despair of daily photocopying.

Picture this:
You finish your planning and printing for the week all in one go. No scrambling Monday morning. No hunting for worksheets during your yard duty.

How I do it:

• I plan my week in one go (usually during my least painful free period).
• I bulk copy, prep, and organise everything so I’m not panicking daily.
• I stay off email while I do it – email is the vortex of doom.

To try:
Pick one task to batch – like copying or slide-making. Set a timer. Get it done. Enjoy the calm that follows.

5. I Make My Spaces Feel Like Me (Not Just Like School)

Our spaces shape our energy. And if your desk looks like a recycling bin exploded, you probably feel the same.

Picture this:
A calming desk setup with a cute lamp, a thrifted teacup, and pens that spark happiness. A home corner that welcomes, not nags.

How I do it:

• At school: I bring in a small lamp, set up fairy lights, keep my desk clear(ish), and use a favourite mug.
• At home: I light a candle, keep clutter to a minimum (read: shoved in drawers), and play relaxation videos from YouTube on the family tv when I cook.

To try:
Tidy one corner of your space. Add a thrifted find. Boom – instant joy.

6. I Say No Without Writing a Novel

Saying yes to everything is a one-way ticket to a tired, cranky version of yourself your own family won’t recognise.

Picture this:
Someone asks you to supervise a club. You smile and say, “No thanks, I don’t have capacity right now.” No guilt. No long explanation. Just a boundary in motion.

How I do it:

• I rehearse polite “no” phrases so I’m not caught off guard. Check this post for more ideas!
• I remind myself: every yes to something extra is a no to my energy.
• I save my energy for my own teenagers’ late-night existential crises and spontaneous dinner requests.

To try:
Say no once this week. Keep it short. You don’t owe anyone an essay.

7. I Let Myself Just Sit (Even When the House Is a Mess)

Stillness is medicine. And sometimes the laundry can wait – especially when you’ve been solving other people’s problems all day.

Picture this:
You sit with your tea while the dishes whisper passive-aggressively from the sink. You ignore them. You breathe. You’re still.

How I do it:

• I sit down before dinner prep. Even for 5 minutes.
• I let myself rest before I finish everything.
• I remind myself: done is good. Present is better.

To try:
Sit still for 3 minutes today. Don’t scroll. Don’t fold. Just sit. Watch what happens.

Final Thoughts

If you’re a full-time teacher with teenagers and a life that feels like a conveyor belt, I see you. I am you. And I promise – slow living isn’t a fantasy. It’s a few small shifts, gently repeated. And it’s not about doing less perfectly. It’s about doing what matters, a little more calmly.

Try one idea. Just one. Let that be enough. Put your feet up – even if there are empty Milo mugs on the coffee table and school bags in the hallway. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to live.