Born a Teacher: A Story I Never Meant to Live

My mom is a teacher. Which, in a strange way, makes me a teacher by birth.I used to joke about it, but deep down, it was serious. Growing up, I watched her hustle — juggling lesson plans, marking books, waking up at the crack of dawn, and somehow still managing to raise my siblings and me with so much love and sacrifice. She worked so hard for so little. Her basic salary barely stretched far enough, yet she made it work. And every time I saw her come home tired, yet still passionate, I made a quiet vow to myself: I will never become a teacher.

I meant it with every part of me. I didn’t want the low pay. I didn’t want the long hours. I didn’t want the thankless job or the crowded classrooms. I didn’t want the early mornings or the pressure of shaping young minds in broken systems. Most of all, I didn’t want to return to the school environment. It felt limiting. I imagined a different kind of life for myself — one with more freedom, more flexibility. One where I didn’t have to wake up at 5 a.m.

But growing up teaches you things that childhood dreams don’t prepare you for.

You learn that every meaningful job requires early mornings. That even the entrepreneurs, the ones with “flexibility,” wake up before the rest of the world to prepare, plan, and push. You learn that purpose demands discipline. That greatness isn’t born in sleeping in — it’s born in showing up, every single day.

Still, I resisted the idea of teaching — until life, in its quiet way, revealed that I had been a teacher all along.

In high school, I somehow became the unofficial history teacher. I loved the subject so much that I ended up teaching entire units to my classmates. I even wrote and taught five whole topics, dramatizing the content so it stuck better. They understood it better when I explained it, and I loved watching their eyes light up in realization. It felt natural, even thrilling — and yet I still denied it.

Later, in my work and community projects, I found myself again in the role of a teacher — not formally employed by a school, but always stepping in to explain, guide, and lead. Even in Project Digital Impact, the organization I founded, the most fulfilling part isn’t sitting behind a desk and watching others teach. It’s going out into the field, rolling up my sleeves, losing my voice after hours of repeating a concept just to make sure the learners get it.

I realized something profound: I may not have wanted to be a teacher, but I was always meant to teach.

The passion I thought I was running from? It was in my DNA. My mom didn’t just pass down her profession — she passed down her heart. Her deep love for children. Her fierce belief in every learner’s potential. Her loud, joyful presence in the classroom. She’s one of those teachers you can’t help but admire. When you see her with her students, it’s like watching a hen with her chicks — full of warmth, care, and fierce protection. She teaches with her whole soul. And it’s beautiful.

And somehow, that same fire is in me.

Today, I sat and reflected — not on a special day like World Teachers’ Day, but on a random, quiet moment — and it hit me just how much the dreams we resist sometimes become the dreams we grow into. And how the very thing I vowed never to become has turned out to be one of the most beautiful parts of who I am.

I didn’t choose teaching.

But maybe it chose me.

And now, I choose it back — with love.