TEFL Courses & Certification

I am an introvert. If someone had told high school me that I would become a teacher, I would have rolled my eyes in disbelief. Yet, here I am, growing, becoming a better teacher than I was last year and looking forward to becoming even better a year from now. By no means was it a piece of cake, or even a piece of pumpkin pie. The turning point was taking this course with XploreAsia. This course gave me a structure to base lessons on, a structure that I still use and adapt to any subject. More importantly, my teacher was very encouraging. There are still low times but during so I remember her words: 'Your persistence shines through. Good luck and never give up on teaching. You are great.'

My world fell apart in a way I never anticipated before Thailand ever became a dream. People often think it's brave to move abroad, but in reality, I left because my heart was slowly breaking. My dog Titus, my shadow, my emotional support system, and my lifelong best friend, was the first to pass away. His death was brutal and unexpected. He was there one second and gone the next. I was not given a proper farewell. I didn't receive another embrace, another drowsy morning, or another comforting paw thump. Losing a pet like him can cause significant grief. It's deep down. For a while, I believed that to be the worst thing life could do to me. I misjudged. One of my closest friends, Jeremy Lee Spears, who struggled silently and painfully with life's burdens, passed away shortly after Titus. I had no idea that something inside of me could shatter again so quickly when he passed away. I kept thinking about what I could have done, said, or been more as I read through previous messages and replayed our conversations. I learned from that loss that even those who laugh the loudest can be vulnerable. Then, a few weeks before I was scheduled to depart for Thailand, my Uncle JR passed away. My family was thrown into a grieving spiral by the shock, the injustice, and the timing. And there I was, trying to keep my composure while packing my bags and wondering: "How do I go now? How can I relocate across the globe while my family is in pain? When does my pain persist? I regretted going. I'm sorry I want to start over. I felt bad for attempting to breathe when it seemed like the world was depriving me of oxygen. I wasn't prepared to leave, to be honest. I had not prepared for Thailand. Nothing was ready for me. However, I was aware that if I didn't take this step, I might never do so. So I left with three heavy, unsaid losses in my luggage. ⁻ Thailand gave me a place to live through my grief, but it didn't make it go away. After months of darkness, training with Xplore in Hua Hin was like entering the light. At night, I still sobbed. I was still thinking about my uncle, missing Jeremy, and missing Titus when I woke up. However, something about Thailand—the people, the cuisine, the warmth, the pace of life—started to soften the jagged edges of my melancholy. And when I first arrived at my school in Ayutthaya, unprepared, overburdened, and thrown into the middle of the semester... I had no idea that those kids would ultimately save my life. They were unaware of my weight. They were unaware of the sorrow concealed by my smile. They were unaware of my feelings of fragility. However, I looked forward to their "Hello teacher!" every morning, their giggles during games, their shy moments, and their small English victories. Something distinct from my suffering. Each lesson plan I created represented progress. A tiny piece of my heart was being put back together by every student who grinned. Even when I was exhausted or overburdened, every day I showed up demonstrated my ability to persevere. I was able to rebuild myself from the ground up in Thailand. The unexpected—street markets, train rides, sunset temples, children yelling "Teacher! Teacher!" across the courtyard, Ayutthaya's chaos and beauty—was where I found moments of tranquility. I wasn't drowning for the first time in a long time. I wasn't trapped. Even though I was healing slowly, quietly, and imperfectly, I was still getting better. Not only did I teach. I discovered that hope and grief can coexist in the same body, that abandoning love doesn't mean leaving home, that you can choose to grow even after being broken, that sometimes the only way to survive is to start over. What I lost was not replaced in Thailand. However, it motivated me to continue. Let my story serve as evidence for anyone hesitant to take such a risk: To start, you don't need to be alright. It's sometimes the beginning that makes things better. Not only did Xplore assist me in teaching overseas. They assisted me in regaining my identity.