You chose teaching because you believed in it. The possibility of a child’s face lighting up when something finally clicks. The quiet satisfaction of knowing you helped shape someone’s future. The sense of purpose that comes from doing work that genuinely matters.

So why does it feel like you’re drowning?

Chances are, your shoulders curled inward. Your chin dropped toward your chest. Your gaze fell to the floor. Your chest felt tight, compressed, as though your body was physically trying to make itself smaller. You may not have noticed it consciously — but your body knew exactly how you felt, and it showed.

Now consider the reverse: what if the relationship runs both ways? What if the way you hold your body doesn’t just reflect how you feel — but actually shapes it?

You pick up your phone to check one notification. Twenty minutes later, you’re deep in a feed of strangers’ highlight reels, political arguments, and algorithmically curated outrage — and somehow you feel worse than before you started.

This isn’t a coincidence. It isn’t a lack of willpower. It’s neuroscience.