Beach Chair Reflection: The End of the School Year Should Be Bittersweet

As I sit by the lake – sun shining bright, laughter all around, and the beautiful expanse of water stretched out before me – I find myself thinking about the school year that recently ended. About my students. About the ones I may never see again.

I spent 180 days with these kids. Teaching them, guiding them, supporting them – not just academically, but socially, emotionally, behaviorally. Trying, every day, to help them grow into people of integrity. And now…they’re gone.

Bittersweet. That’s the only word that ever fits.

What We Remember

It’s funny how the end of the school year has this way of blurring the trials and shining a light on the triumphs. Maybe it’s the sunshine or the calm and excitement of summer, but I find myself holding on to the laughs, the growth, the breakthroughs. The tough moments? They fade a bit.

And maybe that’s the way it should be.

Because when we reflect – hardcore reflect – we remember how deeply we care. We remember that, above all else, we loved teaching these kids. We loved helping them grow. That’s a beautiful thing. And as a new school year inches closer, we hold on to those memories as motivation to do it all again.

The Hidden Weight of Goodbye

Here’s something I wish more people understood: saying goodbye is one of the hardest parts of being a teacher.

Not devastating, not “I can’t do this job anymore” hard.  But real, emotional, weighty. Something that lingers. Parents, administrators, school board members…our whole school community should know that this profession isn’t just about lesson plans and report cards. It’s about relationships. And when those relationships suddenly end, it can be tough.

Some students’ faces pop up instantly.  The hardworking kids. The extremely kind ones. The kids who made their classmates better. Their memories come with a smile.

But then there are the students who challenged us. The ones we spent the most energy on. The ones who pushed back, who needed reminders every day, who tested boundaries, who didn’t always respond to consequences. They’re the ones we thought about on the drive home, and the ones we strategized about during our morning commute. How do we help them? How do we reach them? How do we help them grow?

And often, those are the ones we never hear from again. Sometimes their families never reach out. We don’t get the thank-yous, the updates, the closure. And we’re not looking for praise, but we do appreciate at least a little recognition from the student, or the student’s family, that we had some sort of positive impact on their lives.  It helps. It reminds us that our work mattered. It reminds us that the heart we poured in wasn’t invisible.  Wasn’t insignificant.  

Still, those goodbyes are hard. Really hard.

This Isn’t a Tip Sheet, It’s a Truth-Telling Moment

Most of my blog posts are about strategies.  Tips for classroom management, academic tools, helpful resources. But not today.

Today, I’m writing to tell the truth. To speak directly to my fellow teachers, and maybe to the folks who support them. I want to acknowledge what isn’t in the job description: that part of our job is saying goodbye to kids we’ve come to care about deeply.

It’s part of what makes this work so meaningful, and also so exhausting.

We don’t just teach curriculum. We nurture human beings. We see them more than we see our own families most days. We connect with them. We guide them. We care for them. In so many ways, we protect them.

On any given day, we are:

• Teachers
  
• Counselors
  
• Behavioral coaches
  
• Mediators
  
• Healthcare providers
  

We are responsible for their well-being. And then, suddenly, in one single goodbye, that responsibility ends. And we may never see them again.

If you teach the final grade in your school building such as fifth grade in an elementary school, eighth in a middle school, or twelfth in a high school, you feel this even more intensely. They walk out the door…and that’s it.  That’s tough.

Bittersweet for a Reason

I always tell my students and their families that the end of the year is bittersweet. Sweet because they’ve grown. Sweet because they’re ready for the next level. Sweet because it’s summer.  And who doesn’t love summer?

But bitter? Bitter because they’re leaving. Bitter because we may never see them again. Bitter because this relationship we’ve built is now changing, maybe ending altogether.

That’s real. And that’s okay.

Why It Matters That You Feel This Way

So what’s the takeaway? Why dwell on this bittersweetness? Why write about it at all?

Because it matters.

If the end of the school year is bittersweet for you, that’s a good thing.
It means your heart is still in it. It means you’re doing this job for the right reasons. It means you haven’t lost your love for teaching.

If it’s only sweet…if you’re racing out the door and never giving your students a second thought…well, I’d challenge you to ask yourself why you’re still teaching. Because this work is too important to do without heart.

Feeling the ache of goodbye? That’s a sign you’re right where you belong.

The Gift of Doing It All Over Again

The other powerful side of this reflection is that it reminds us of what’s ahead. A new class. New names. New stories. New relationships.  It’s easy to feel anxious: Who will I get this year? What challenges will come? Will I be able to handle it all again? But instead of dread, what if we leaned into hope?

We get to teach again. We get to guide, support, and uplift a brand new group of kids. That’s a gift.  Not every profession offers that kind of renewal. We do.

And sure, we’ll face new challenges. But we also have the chance to do it better. Every year brings another opportunity to improve. Another shot at being the teacher we want to be.

Acknowledge Mistakes, Then Grow From Them

One of the toughest parts of reflection is recognizing where we fell short.

Sometimes, we didn’t listen when we should have.
Sometimes, we rushed a moment instead of slowing down.                              Sometimes, we missed signs of struggle.
Sometimes, we argued when we should have listened.
Sometimes, we failed to understand what a student truly needed.

That hurts. But it’s also how we grow.

Reflection doesn’t mean wallowing. It means vowing to do better. And we can. We will. We won’t be perfect, but we’ll be better because we’ve learned, because we care, and because we want our students to thrive.

Every summer is a second chance. Every year is a do-over.

Wherever You Reflect, Reflect

Whether you’re reflecting in your classroom, your car, your recliner, a bleacher seat,  or a beach chair, take the time to celebrate your successes. Acknowledge the mistakes. Feel the sadness of goodbye, but let it feed your hope for the future.

We get to do this again. We get to do this better. That’s the beauty of teaching.

So while you’re sipping your summer drink, enjoying the view, and dodging those “Back to School” sale signs,  at least until August, take a moment. Think about your year. Feel the bittersweetness. And smile.

Key Takeaways

We are privileged to teach.
Not everyone gets to shape lives. Not everyone gets a fresh start each year. Despite the challenges, this profession is filled with purpose, and that’s something to be deeplfy grateful for.

If it feels bittersweet, that’s a good sign.
It means you care. It means your heart is in the right place. The ache of goodbye shows the depth of your connection, and that’s worth celebrating.

Every year is a chance to grow.
Use reflection to acknowledge your wins and your missteps. Don’t beat yourself up, but do commit to doing even better next time.