In 2022, I was named the 2023 District 5 Ohio Teacher of the Year.
On paper, it sounds like a dream. A high honor. A moment you’d frame.
The process was deep and demanding. I had to write five essays about my teaching philosophy, collect samples of student work and lesson plans, and submit three letters of recommendation, one of which came from a student. That student letter was incredible. It meant everything to me because it was real, honest, and unscripted.
So yes, I was proud. But here’s the other side; the one that doesn’t show up in the press release – it’s a blessing and a curse.
The title “Teacher of the Year” comes with weight. Not just pride, but pressure, perception, and, sometimes, pushback.
Impossible Expectations
Suddenly, you feel like you have to be on all the time. No off days. No mediocre lessons. No room to just be a teacher doing their best. The spotlight shines, and it burns a little.
Imposter Syndrome
You start to wonder: “Am I good at what I do? Or did I just put together a solid application?” You second guess yourself more than before. Because once you’re given a label like that, every mistake feels amplified. Every shortcoming feels exposed.
The Attention
Some people treat you differently. Some quietly celebrate you. Others…keep their distance. And some say the quiet part out loud: “Every teacher should be Teacher of the Year. That kind of award isn’t fair.”
They’re not wrong to feel that way. There are incredible teachers in every hallway of every building, teachers who’ll never get nominated, much less recognized. I’ve worked next to them. I’ve learned from them. I am them.
So now I carry this strange duality: proud of the honor, but deeply aware of what it might look like to others.
And here’s the hardest truth: the award can work against you.
When I’ve interviewed for new roles or tried to grow professionally, I’ve felt the hesitation. Sometimes it feels like the title “Teacher of the Year” is a warning label: Might have ideas. Might want to lead. Might expect too much. Might leave
In public education, accolades are complicated. They don’t always open doors. Sometimes they quietly close them.
No doubt…this award shaped me. Not just the award, but everything that came after it. The pressure. The doubt. The silence. The looks. The interviews that didn’t pan out.
But also: the clarity. The reminder that no title changes why I do this. It’s not about the plaque. Or the essays. It’s about that student letter. It’s about the trust, the effort, the connection.
Moler's Musings 