As a child, I loved to play teacher. I had my imaginary students, my makeshift classroom, and a deep love of pretending to lead and explain things. But somehow, as I grew up, I tucked that part of myself away.
By the time I was in grad school, teaching wasn’t anywhere on my radar. I wasn’t dreaming about standing in front of a room full of people. I didn’t have a master plan to become a teacher.
Then life threw me a curveball.
After finishing my master’s program in 2003, I moved to a small mountain town in Colorado. I fully expected to find a job at a local mental health agency or community center—something structured, familiar. But there was nothing. No jobs. No agencies. Just me, sitting with a degree and a growing sense of panic.
I’d internalized the belief that you had to earn the right to open a private practice. But there I was, with no other options. So I opened one—not out of confidence, but out of sheer necessity.
There was just one problem: I had no idea how to build a practice. Marketing? No clue. Community outreach? Never done it. So I got scrappy.
I started walking into preschools, offering to do short, free presentations—30 minutes of content, 15 minutes of Q&A. No pressure, no pitch. Just sharing what I knew and hoping someone would say yes. And surprisingly, they did.
But inside, I was terrified.
I vividly remember the first talk I gave. The preschool. The room. Even where I stood. I was so anxious I thought I might actually throw up. I wasn’t grounded in myself. I was hyper-focused on being liked, on getting it “right.” There was a woman in the front row with a completely blank expression, and I remember spiraling inside. She hates this. I’m terrible. This is going horribly.
It was an incredibly unsettling experience.
Yet, I kept doing it.
And then, something shifted.
The more I taught, the less it was about performing and the less scary it was. It became about connection. About meaning. About service. Teaching became a bridge—between me and others, between fear and confidence, between panic and purpose.
So maybe little-kid Lisa did know something after all. Maybe she saw something I couldn’t yet see. Because even though I stumbled into teaching, it turns out—it’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
Your Turn
Have you ever dismissed a part of yourself—something you loved as a child or a quiet pull you’ve ignored—because fear told you it didn’t matter, or that you weren’t ready?
Take a moment to reflect:
✨ What part of you have you tucked away out of fear?
✨ Where might fear be disguising itself as logic, caution, or “not yet”?
✨ And where in your life are you being invited to move from panic… to purpose?
Sometimes fear isn’t a stop sign—it’s a doorway. And the things we stumble into, despite the fear, may be the ones we were always meant to find.
Lisa
*Photo Credit: Sam Cartwright Photography
