What is actually happening when back-to-school season still feels like an emergency, even though you're still technically on summer break.
By Kim Lester
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You walk past the back-to-school section at Target and something shifts inside you.
Your stomach tightens. Your shoulders climb toward your ears. Suddenly you're thinking about lesson plans you haven't written yet, emails you haven't answered, and the fact that your classroom looks nothing like it's supposed to look.
You're still on summer break.
But your body doesn't know that.
You're not imagining it. That feeling is real. Your nervous system is responding to something that hasn't even happened yet—and it's exhausting before the school year ever starts.
It actually has a name.
Anticipatory anxiety.
This is what happens when your brain learns to prepare for something big before that thing actually arrives. Your nervous system gets a signal—a trigger—and it starts preparing your body as if the thing is happening right now, even though it's still weeks away.
For teachers, those back-to-school displays aren't just decorations at Target. They're signals. Your brain has learned what they mean. Transition ahead. Responsibility ahead. Hundreds of decisions you'll have to make. All of it is coming.
So even though it's July and you're technically still on break, your nervous system says: get ready.
Why this is different for teachers.
I want you to understand something about how teaching conditions your nervous system.
Every August when you walk into that building, the stakes are real. Your decisions matter. Students are counting on you. Parents are counting on you. The system is counting on you. And no matter how prepared you are, something unexpected happens. Because that's teaching.
Your classroom management plan won't account for one particular kid. Your curriculum won't match the actual pace of learning. That test will come back with data you didn't expect. A parent will email you about something you didn't see coming. The bell will ring and you'll remember three things you meant to do and didn't.
So your brain learns something important: There is always something to prepare for.
There is always something you didn't anticipate. Something that could go wrong. Always one more thing you should have thought of. Always a way you could have been better prepared.
Your nervous system learns this. Over months and years of teaching, it becomes a preparation machine. It's always scanning. Always looking ahead. Always trying to anticipate what could happen so you can be ready.
This is actually smart. This is your brain trying to protect you.
But here's the problem: when June rolls around, your nervous system doesn't understand that summer is different. It's learned one thing very deeply—you work in a place where you always have to be ready. The only way to survive teaching is to be prepared for what's coming.
So when it sees the back-to-school display in June, or gets an email from administration in July, or even just sees you scrolling through classroom ideas on your phone—it activates. It says, "Okay, we're preparing again."
Even though you're trying to rest.
Here's what this actually looks like.
It's not one big panic attack. It's the accumulation.
You're at dinner in mid-July when someone mentions back-to-school. Instantly your brain shifts. How many weeks do I have? What haven't I done? Your mind starts sorting through your classroom, your plans, your materials. That night you can't quite settle. You sleep okay but not deeply. There's something underneath keeping you partially alert.
You're at the pool with your family when you see another teacher. You talk about school starting, you laugh about it, but underneath you both feel it. That little hum of anxiety that won't turn off.
You get an email from your principal. It's a routine email about something administrative. Nothing urgent. But your chest tightens. Suddenly your brain is in problem-solving mode. What does this mean? Is there something I should know? Should I be worried? And your nervous system is activated. Your heart rate goes up. Your shoulders tense. Even though nothing actually happened.
You scroll past a classroom setup video on Instagram at 11 PM when you're supposed to be winding down. And you spend twenty minutes thinking about your bulletin boards. About what color you want. About how you want your room to look. And then you close the app and feel a wave of dread because suddenly you're aware that there is so much to do.
These moments add up.
By the time August arrives, you're exhausted. More exhausted than when summer started. Because you haven't actually rested. You've spent six weeks in a low-level state of nervous system activation. Your body has been holding tension. Your mind has been spinning through scenarios and preparations. Your sleep has been fragmented by this underlying sense of anticipation.
And then the first day of school comes and you think there will be relief. Finally, the anticipation is over. But instead you realize you're completely, genuinely exhausted. The kind of tired that doesn't make sense because you just had the whole summer off.
The real cost.
Here's what I think people miss about anticipatory anxiety in teachers: it's not just uncomfortable. Over time, it costs you something real.
It teaches your nervous system that there is no safe moment to actually rest. Work is always coming. Even when you're not at work. Even when the building is empty. Even when you're supposed to be safe, your brain is preparing for what's next.
This shrinks your summer. You get nine weeks and you actually get to feel present and safe in maybe four of them. The rest of the time, some part of you is preparing for a transition that hasn't happened yet.
It conditions your nervous system to stay on alert. Your body learns that the signal to rest hasn't actually come. So it keeps looking. Keeps preparing. Keeps waiting for a safety that never quite arrives.
And it means that when August does come and you walk back into that building, you're not rested. You're walking in tired from trying to rest while your nervous system was working.
I've talked to so many teachers who get to August and say, "I don't know why I don't feel better. I took the whole summer off."
But you didn't really take the whole summer. Your mind took four weeks off while your nervous system worked the other five.
Over a career, that's years of summers where you never actually got to rest. Years where part of you was always preparing. Always bracing for what's coming.
That changes you. It teaches you that this is just how your life is. That you don't get real breaks. That rest isn't for people like you.
Nothing is wrong with you.
I need you to hear this clearly: your nervous system isn't broken. It's not weak. It's not overreacting.
Your nervous system is doing exactly what it learned to do. It learned that teaching requires preparation. That you have to think ahead. That you have to anticipate problems. That the only way to survive in a building where the stakes are real is to be ready for what's coming.
That's actually smart. That's actually protective.
The problem isn't your nervous system. The problem is that your nervous system doesn't understand that summer is supposed to be different. It doesn't know when to turn off. It doesn't understand that July is not a threat you need to prepare for. That you are actually safe right now. That you're allowed to rest.
Your brain is trying to protect you from a future moment—August—by activating you in July.
But in doing that, it's stealing from your present moment.
This is where you get to choose.
I know anticipatory anxiety feels automatic. Like it just happens to you. Like you can't control it. And in one way, that's true—your nervous system is responding to patterns it learned over years of teaching. You can't think your way out of it. You can't logic yourself into calm.
But you can see it differently.
Once you understand that this is anticipatory anxiety, you have information your nervous system doesn't have. You know something your automatic stress response doesn't know: August is not here yet. The building is empty. You are safe right now. You have time.
You can start to make different choices about what triggers that preparation response. You can notice the back-to-school display and consciously choose not to let it activate you. You can get that email and read it for information instead of for threat. You can scroll past the classroom videos and appreciate them without letting them pull you into planning mode.
This won't happen overnight. Your nervous system didn't learn to prepare instantly, and it won't instantly unlearn it. But you can interrupt the pattern. One moment at a time.
Notice what is happening.
When that feeling shows up—the tightness in your stomach, the anxiety that won't settle, the sense that you should be doing something—notice it.
Don't judge it. Don't think it means something is wrong. Just notice.
"This is anticipatory anxiety."
"My brain is preparing for a transition that isn't here yet."
"I'm safe right now."
Name it for what it is—not for what you think it says about you.
This is not a sign that you're weak. This is not proof that you can't do this job. This is not you failing at rest or failing at summer.
This is your nervous system doing what it learned. And now you're learning something new: what it means. What's actually happening.
And that's where understanding begins.
Once you can name it, you can start to make different choices. You can recognize the trigger. You can pause. You can remind yourself of what's actually true right now.
You don't have to let August take what's yours.
Give yourself the same care you give everyone else.
— Kim 🩷🌿
If this resonated with you, the After the Bells 3-Day Summer Series was built for exactly this. Three evenings in July—free, online, and completely worth your time. We're talking about why rest alone won't fix the cycle, what actually interrupts the exhaustion, and why the teachers who make lasting change almost never do it alone. Three nights. One hour each. Something you can actually use before September arrives.
Save Your Spot for the Summer Series
Know where you are.
Now that you can name what's happening, it's time to know where you actually stand.
The Stage Finder is ten questions. Three minutes. Your personalized place in the Teaching Without Losing Yourself Framework—what's actually driving this for you, and one thing to start with today.
Enter your name and email and I'll send your results. Your stage will shift throughout the year, so come back when September feels different than it does right now. The framework responds to where you are.