By Nor Sarina Sarifi, Mother of three and Senior Preschool Educator, Iyad Perdaus Choa Chu Kang.
I am one of you. As a preschool educator and a mother of three, I can tell you the journey is not easy. There are days when the weight of both roles is almost unbearable. When work tasks pile up and I come home to crying children, my only refuge is the toilet, where I stay alone for five minutes before carrying on.
But I've come to see even that small, unglamorous moment as an act of resilience. Teaching and parenting are responsibilities I genuinely love. But what few know is just how much of an emotional burden early childhood educators carry, especially those of us raising children at home too.
MY DAILY EMOTIONAL MARATHON
My day often begins as early as 5am, when I prepare my own children, aged six, four, and three for school — packing bags, showers, breakfast, and put up with the occasional cranky morning that stretches my patience to its limits. Then I walk into a classroom and devote myself to another group of children, tending to their emotions, tracking their developmental milestones, and ensuring their safety every moment of the day. Nap time is my only window for lesson preparation, administrative work, and parent communication — and it passes in a blink.
With finite time and energy, something has to give sometimes, and I have to make sure it is not my mental health. The guilt is real. When I take leave for a sick child of my own, I worry about my class. When work demands my attention, I feel the pull away from my own children. I try to make small moments count — our commutes become conversation time, where I make sure each of my three children gets a turn to share. The teacher in me and the mother in me are not separate. They are the same person, doing her best.
WHY I KEEP GOING - AND STAYING HOPEFUL
Since I started teaching in 2014, it is the little triumphs that have anchored me — like the pride on a K1 child’s face the day he wrote his own name, after months of struggling just to hold a pencil. Those moments may not seem like much, but they are special milestones to me.
The exhaustion is real, but in those quiet moments when a shy child finally speaks up, when a struggling learner breaks through, or when a parent thanks you for truly seeing their child, you are reminded that this is not just a job — it’s a calling.
I also hold on to hope for the road ahead. Streamlined administrative processes, non-contact time for lesson planning, and more supportive and collaborative parents would go a long way. It is heartening that a sector-wide job redesign was launched in April, and includes initiatives such as Industry Digital Plan 2.0 which explores how technology can take some of the load off educators. This would free us up for the human connection that is at the heart of what we do.
SURVIVAL STRATEGIES THAT WORK
A few things that help me stay afloat: I pause before entering the preschool each morning to mentally prepare for the day, and take intentional time for myself at home. For instance, I would ask my husband or mother to watch the children while I recharge, guilt-free. I also lean on my colleagues. We hold each other up in this shared journey, and sometimes all it takes is a knowing nod to remind you that you are not alone.
As the iconic line in the movie Finding Nemo goes: Just keep swimming. Take your breaks, set your boundaries, but don't stop. You are doing something remarkable.
