The end of the school year always feels like a strange mix of exhaustion, relief, and that itch to start making next year better… even before your classroom floor is dry from summer waxing. (Seriously, why are we like this?)
Over the years, I’ve realized that jumping into planning mode without processing the last year is a surefire way to repeat the same mistakes or lose sight of what actually worked. That’s why I’ve developed a simple reflection ritual that helps me reset… not just my lesson plans, but myself.
Step 1: The Good, the Bad, and the Meh
Before I file anything away or toss that crusty lab journal into the recycling bin, I grab a notebook and make three columns:
- What worked really well
- What totally flopped
- What was just… fine, but could be better
I keep this brutally honest. No sugarcoating. No perfectionism. Just facts and feelings. Sometimes I even scroll through my camera roll to jog my memory about labs, anchor charts, or that one time my kids actually loved a group project.
Step 2: Student Feedback—The Goldmine
Yes, I actually ask them. Not in a “rate your teacher from 1–10” kind of way, but with quick, open-ended questions like:
- What was your favorite activity this year?
- What’s something you wish we had done more of?
- When did science class not feel fun or helpful?
Their responses are often hilarious, sometimes humbling, and always useful. (Also, it turns out they don’t like when I try to rap vocabulary words. Noted.)
Step 3: The 3-2-1 Reset
To keep my summer brain from spiraling into 43 new curriculum ideas at once, I give myself a reset limit:
- 3 things I want to keep exactly the same
- 2 things I want to change or improve
- 1 new idea I want to try
That’s it. It keeps me focused and keeps the to-do list from growing a life of its own.
Step 4: Write the Letter
This is a little cheesy, but hear me out: I write a letter to myself as a teacher at the start of next year. Something short like:
“Dear future me, remember: You don’t have to do it all. That escape room worked better than expected. Don’t bother printing that 12-page interactive notebook again. And keep the coffee drawer stocked by September.”
I stick it in a folder labeled “Open in August.” It’s like a pep talk from someone who’s already survived it.
Why It Matters
Reflection doesn’t have to be formal or fancy. But taking the time to really process the year gives me closure and clarity. It reminds me that I’m growing too (not just my students).
And in a profession where you rarely get to hit pause, a little ritual like this can be the reset you didn’t know you needed.
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