Type B Teacher Confessions: How to Survive Teaching in a Type A World

📝 Passion Post Alert!

It’s the last month of school and I’m clinging to sanity by a single paperclip — writing straight from the trenches. This wasn’t the post I planned for this week, but it couldn’t wait. Expect lots of teacher talk for the next few weeks because… #teacherinthehomestretch

My planner? Still at school—because I firmly believe in rarely working after contract hours.
My lesson plans for tomorrow? Just one word for each subject scribbled on a sticky note.
My to-do list? Every single item must be put into my reminders on my phone with times and alerts or they will never happen.

In case it’s not obvious: I’m a Type B teacher living in a Type A world.

I don’t color-code my data sheets. 

And those data sheets? Shoved in the same folder as random worksheets I printed a month ago and never even used.

 I’ve never laminated anything “for fun.” 

I don’t have next month’s anchor charts prepped—and I’d rather clean out the staff room fridge than organize my classroom library (which, by the way, is a beautiful disaster of well-loved paperbacks and overflowing bins– see evidence below). 

I’m not horribly disorganized. I just… thrive in organized chaos and last minute planning.

And yet, sometimes it’s hard not to feel like I’m doing it all wrong.

In a profession full of incredible educators who plan months ahead, have impeccable bulletin boards, and basically invented the art of coordinating spirit weeks with curriculum units, I sometimes feel like the odd one out.

Don’t get me wrong—those teachers are amazing. They make schools run. They are detail-oriented wizards who have backup plans for their backup plans. But for me? Sometimes I don’t even have a plan for today, let alone next Thursday.

Honestly, one of the most frustrating parts of being a “fly-by-the-seat-of-my-coffee-stained-planner” teacher is that I miss out on help when it’s offered. A coworker will ask, “Hey, can I make your copies?” and I’ll smile and say, “Oh, that’s okay — thank you though,” only because I don’t even have anything ready to copy for tomorrow. My brain just hasn’t gotten that far yet.

But here’s the thing: I’ve learned to stop beating myself up over it (most of the time).

Because while I may not have a Pinterest-worthy system for my math centers, I do have deep connections with some of my most challenging students. I adjust mid-lesson when the energy shifts. I meet kids where they are—because I’m not so tightly bound to where I “should” be.

My style of teaching, while a little more laid-back, gives me something I value deeply: presence.

It lets me be in the moment.

It lets me read the room instead of the scripted pacing guide.

It lets me honor my personality—and yes, my ADHD—instead of squeezing myself into a box I was never meant to fit in.

I may not look like the traditional version of “put-together,” but I’m working toward something even more important: sustainable teaching. Teaching that doesn’t burn me out. Teaching that feels like me.

Let’s be real: I still think “Maybe I’m not cut out for this” at least once a week. That thought shows up like clockwork. But what I’ve learned (shoutout to Dr. Amy Johnson) is that it doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s just a thought — and I don’t have to listen. I let it pass, and I keep showing up anyway, messy and imperfect and doing the best I can. And honestly? That’s enough. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s version of “together.”

So if you’re like me—trying to teach with heart, lead with flexibility, and stay mostly sane in a high-stress environment—you’re not alone.

Your worth as a teacher isn’t measured by how early you make your copies. Or how tidy your file cabinet is. Or how “on it” you seem all the time.

You can be a great teacher… even if you’re not Type A.

Sure, you may not have next month’s anchor charts laminated or color-coded bins for every genre of fiction. But guess what? Your Type B brain might just be your superpower — just like your Type A coworkers bring their own magic to the classroom.

When you’re not clinging to a rigid plan, you’re more present. 

You notice the kid who needs to talk more than they need to finish the worksheet. 

You pivot when a lesson flops. You follow curiosity down a rabbit hole. You throw in a dance break when the energy dips. 

You model flexibility, creativity, and authenticity—skills we say we value, but don’t always celebrate in ourselves.

And let’s be honest: while perfect planners and Pinterest-worthy bulletin boards are amazing, they don’t run the world. What’s important are people who can think on their feet, stay calm in chaos, and laugh when the copier jams for the fifth time.

And just to be clear: the Type A teachers? They’re absolutely crushing it too. This post isn’t about comparison or tearing anyone down. It’s about honoring our differences, cheering each other on, and remembering there’s no one “right” way to be a great teacher.

Type B teachers might not have a color-coded binder for every occasion—but they bring laughter, grace, and flexibility when it matters most.

So if you’ve ever felt ‘less than’ in the teacher workroom, know this: your classroom is likely a joyful, welcoming space where kids love to be—even if the supply bins are overflowing and the anchor charts are half-ripped and from last year.

This is something I’ve been really wrestling with as we head into the homestretch of the school year. This week, I’m reminding myself of these truths and doing my best to shift my perspective—from feeling grumpy, overwhelmed, and “less than” to feeling grateful, present, and willing to go with the flow. I hope you’re able to do the same this week.

💬 If this resonates with you, drop a comment or send me a message. Thanks for being here.

Let’s not lose our minds together,

Tori