I noticed it when teaching days started to feel heavier than research days.
Teaching wasn’t hard—it was costly.
The strain didn’t come from teaching itself—it came from what it pulled me away from.
Early on, teaching felt grounding.
It gave structure, connection, and a sense of purpose beyond my own work.
It made the work feel human.
Before, teaching and research felt complementary.
During the PhD, teaching began to compete for the same limited attention.
Eventually, it felt like a detour from what actually counted.
Teaching became stressful when it started feeling strategically risky.
When success felt insecure, every hour needed justification.
I noticed how carefully I tracked time.
Not for balance, but for damage control.
Teaching preparation began to feel like invisible labor I couldn’t afford.
I was always calculating the tradeoff.
This wasn’t disinterest—it was pressure narrowing my priorities.
The fear of not producing enough made teaching feel like a liability.
What made it harder was caring.
I didn’t want to do less, cut corners, or disengage.
But caring took time the system didn’t reward equally.
Care started to feel misallocated.
Teaching felt like a distraction because survival felt conditional.
Endless productivity left no room for work that didn’t compound visibly.
Over time, my nervous system treated teaching days as behind days.
I showed up, but with an undercurrent of urgency.
I was present, but preoccupied.
Teaching didn’t lose its value—it lost its safety.
Why does teaching start to feel stressful in academia?
Because it competes with research for time and attention, and research is often weighted more heavily in evaluation.
Is it normal to feel conflicted about teaching?
Yes. Many academics value teaching but feel pressure when it doesn’t clearly advance job security.
Does this mean I shouldn’t care about teaching?
No. It usually means care is being squeezed by uneven incentives.
Teaching felt like a distraction not because it lacked meaning—but because meaning wasn’t what protected me.
