From Whiteboards to Whisks: Why I Left Teaching to Bake Full Time

If I’m being completely honest, I never planned to become a teacher. It just… happened. I had my eyes set on the medical field—maybe a doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist. I’ve always been drawn to the human body and how it works. But after barely surviving chemistry and realizing organic chemistry was next, I knew I needed a different path.

What path? I wasn’t sure. I stepped away from school for a year or two—it's blurry now. Then one day, an old friend called and said, “You should do the speech program with me.” I’d never even heard of speech therapy. But when she told me it could lead me into the medical field as a speech pathologist? I was all in.

I earned my bachelor’s in Communication Sciences and Disorders and began applying to graduate programs in speech pathology. Three years. Three rounds of rejection. Still, before I even graduated, I was offered a job as a speech therapist in a small school district. I signed the contract, ready to begin in August. But deep down, I knew I had to pivot again.

I’ve never been someone who settles. I’m ambitious—I set goals and then I chase them down. So I told myself, “Maybe this was never about medicine. Maybe I’m supposed to be in education.” But even then, I couldn’t accept just any role in education. I remember saying out loud, “Lord, if I’m supposed to be in education, then I’m going to the top of the food chain—because education is stupid and I can’t rock with stupid.” 😅

So I got to work.

My husband and I had already been planning to move to Texas, and in 2015, I was accepted into a master’s program in Houston. Finished in 2017. Jumped right into an educational administration program, finished in 2019. I felt like I was on the path. I applied for assistant principal positions, had interviews—but was never hired. So I kept pushing. In 2020, I started a doctoral program. I crushed the coursework, finished the first two chapters of my dissertation… and then the program threw in a high-stakes exam. I didn’t pass. I was dismissed.

I was devastated. Embarrassed. Exhausted.

But if I’m truly honest… I was also relieved. My fire for education had burned low. I’d seen too much—politics, disrespect, burnout. And maybe—just maybe—God made the decision I wasn’t ready to make myself. I needed to rest.

Let’s rewind again, this time to 2020. The world was shut down. COVID had us questioning everything. One evening, my husband and I were watching Love & Hip Hop Atlanta when I heard something—clear as day:

“You should bake cakes.”

I looked at my husband. He was glued to the screen. A few seconds later, I heard it again:

“You should bake cakes.”

I leaned forward, confused. Same result—he hadn’t said a word. That’s when I knew… God was talking to me.

Now let me be honest again: I had never baked anything from scratch. Not one thing. But in that moment, I knew if I was going to do this, it had to be real. No box mixes. No shortcuts. Just me, flour, and faith.

I went to the store and bought everything I thought I needed. I started baking. I brought my cakes and cupcakes to work—and people LOVED them. Every district I’ve worked in since has raved about my bakes. People say there’s something in the flavor they haven’t tasted anywhere else.

It must be the Mississippi in me. 🥰

Baking became more than a hobby. It became a revelation.

See, COVID forced me—and many of us—to reevaluate what matters. I started asking, Is this really the life I want to live? We’re taught to go to school, get a job, work for 30 years, and maybe then enjoy life… when we’re tired and worn out. But what if that’s not the way it’s supposed to be?

If you could press repeat on your life, would you choose the same one? Most of us would change something—maybe everything.

For me, the final push came when I realized I was giving everything I had to someone else’s children all day… and had nothing left for my own. I was stuck in a building with no space to dream, no time to create. I was pouring into students who weren’t being raised to value learning—and getting poured out in return. The disrespect. The exhaustion. The system. It was too much.

One day, I just knew: I’m not living. I’m existing. And that’s not enough.

So I made a decision.

I decided to pour into myself. To get a little selfish. To create space for joy. To taste life again.

I’ve chosen to experience life on my terms. I’ve chosen to chase passion, not just a paycheck. I’ve chosen to follow God, even when it doesn’t make sense. Because life is a gift—and I refuse to live it unopened.

If you’re reading this, I hope you give yourself permission to pause. To reflect. To dream again. Pour into you. Choose joy. Choose peace. The world is big and beautiful—and you were meant to taste it.

So now I ask you: What are you going to do with your time?