Reconnecting with Joy: The Importance of Play for Educators

Last weekend, I found myself in a space I didn’t realize I had been craving. I attended the ISEA Professional Issues Conference, a gathering of educators committed not only to their profession, but to their own growth and well-being. Among the many sessions available, one stood out to me—not because it was flashy or filled with big data or strategic plans, but because it spoke directly to something I had been carrying quietly for too long. The session was titled From Fatigued to Fulfilled.

As educators, we often carry invisible weights. We juggle lesson plans, individualized needs, testing schedules, professional development, family obligations, and the constant hum of responsibility that seems to follow us everywhere. Fatigue can settle into our bones, sometimes so gradually we do not notice it until joy feels like a memory. We love what we do, yet we find ourselves depleted. Fulfillment seems like something reserved for summer break or some faraway season in life. That is why this session felt so important.

The session was led by Ann Mincks, the 2024 Iowa Teacher of the Year. Ann is not only a phenomenal educator, but a grounded and authentic voice in our profession. She began with a quote that resonated deeply. It is from Onward by Elena Aguilar:

“Creativity and play unlock inner resources for dealing with stress, solving problems, and enjoying life. When we are creative, we are resourceful, and we problem solve in new and original ways, which fuels our courage. Our thinking expands, and our connections with ourselves and others deepen.”

I sat with those words for a long moment. They weren’t just nice. They were true. And they spoke to a part of me that I too often silence in the rush to meet everyone else’s needs.

In that session, we were invited to do something rare in professional development. We were given space to create, not for evaluation, not for a classroom lesson, but for ourselves. A table held simple tools—paper and brush markers. Not the washable kind from our elementary classrooms, but rich, vibrant KingArt brush markers that made even the most hesitant strokes feel beautiful. I found myself choosing colors without a plan, letting lines flow into shapes, then into words, then into a small, joyful list of things I wanted to do when I played.

Yes, played.

That word felt foreign at first. Play is for children, right? Or maybe for weekends or people with less responsibility. But in this session, Ann challenged us to see play differently. Not as a luxury or an escape, but as a vital source of resilience. We were encouraged to schedule time for play into our daily routines. Not occasionally. Not when the to-do list was complete. Every day.

I wrote down things I had forgotten I loved. Watercolor painting. Singing out loud in the kitchen. Walking a trail without tracking steps. Reading something that wasn’t for work. Making something with my hands just for the sake of creating. These were not extravagant ideas, but they felt revolutionary in a schedule that often prioritizes output over nourishment.

The truth is, play is not childish. It is not wasted time. It is a sacred act of self-preservation in a world that constantly asks for more. When we play, we reconnect with the part of ourselves that is curious, open, and hopeful. We silence the inner critic and allow the inner child a moment to breathe. We return to our work replenished, not because the work has changed, but because we have.

As I looked around the room, I saw other educators leaning into that same realization. Heads bent over pages, colors swirling, laughter quietly rising. No one was rushing. No one was performing. We were just present. And in that presence, we were healing.

Since that day, I have thought often about how rarely we, as educators, give ourselves permission to play. We speak often about social-emotional learning for our students, yet we forget that we, too, need to feel safe, creative, and joyful. We are not machines. We are human beings whose work depends on connection. And connection begins with being connected to ourselves.

This week, I began keeping my markers nearby. I made a small block of time each evening—just fifteen minutes—for something playful. No phone. No pressure. Just color and music and movement. It has been a gentle but powerful shift.

So today, I offer this reflection not just as an educator, but as a reminder to all who give of themselves daily. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to create. You are allowed to find fulfillment in small, beautiful things. Let play return to your life not as something you must earn, but as something you deeply deserve.

Let this be the moment you begin to move from fatigued to fulfilled.

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