My name is May. I’m 55 this year and about to retire from my career as a teacher.
After more than 30 years in education, I thought I was quite familiar with emotional development. I’ve counseled so many students, walked alongside countless parents through turbulent years.
At one point, I was researching emotional support resources for students online when I stumbled across an article about someone named Lu Xiu Jin and something called Pop Workshop.

I thought it was interesting at the time—jotted the name down in my notebook, thinking maybe someday I could recommend it to a student who really needed it.

Little did I know, the one who would need it most… would end up being me.

As My Classroom Teaching Life Dimmed

Retirement looks like freedom from the outside, but for me, it felt more like losing gravity.
Without lesson prep, roll calls, or the school bell ringing every few hours, my life suddenly became quiet—so quiet it felt unfamiliar.

No more early mornings, yet I didn’t know what I should get up for.
No more lunch breaks spent marking papers, yet I’d lost my appetite.

My family was busy with their own lives. My husband didn’t talk much. My children had long started their own families, only replying with the occasional sticker in the family group chat.
I didn’t want to burden anyone, so I kept quiet. But I knew deep down, this loneliness didn’t appear overnight—it had been slowly building.

While Cleaning Out My Drawer, I Found That Note: “Pop Workshop – Lu Xiu Jin”
It was a name I had written down over a year ago, originally for my students.
But now, it felt like a note left for my future self. I went online, looked up the course, and called the number.

I signed up—not because I had a big reason, not because I wanted a life transformation.
I simply wanted to try doing something purely for myself, something that could fill this odd emptiness I was starting to feel.

I Wasn’t a Teacher, a Wife, or a Mother—Just Me

No one there asked what job I had. No one cared how many children I raised.
Everyone just came in with their own stories and their own emotions.

I began to realize: it had been a long time since I’d asked myself, “What am I feeling?”
For years, my thoughts were always about how to help this student improve, how to guide without making anyone uncomfortable—but I had never asked, “How am I, really?”

One question from the workshop struck me:
“What are you most looking forward to after retirement?”
I couldn’t answer. Not because I didn’t want anything—but because I had forgotten how to ask myself questions.

I Didn’t Become a New Person, But I Found New Things Worth Doing

After returning home, I still cook, clean, and answer the phone every day.
But now, I allow myself to carve out some time—not to manage chores, but just to be with myself.

I’ll make a cup of tea and listen to an old CD I used to love.
I’ll go to the market and buy vegetables I’ve never tried, just to cook something different for me.
I’ve started calling up former colleagues for lunch—not for any occasion, but simply to reconnect and talk about how we’re doing.

That feeling of “rediscovering myself” doesn’t feel dramatic—it’s not like a thunderstorm.
It’s more like a small lamp quietly lighting up a corner of a room I hadn’t entered in years.

A Letter to You, If You’re Also Standing at a Crossroad

If you’re someone who, like me, has spent a lifetime giving to others—only to one day realize that you’ve forgotten you’re also someone who deserves care—
Then maybe, you too can give yourself a little space.
Just like I did, quietly step into a space where there’s no need to perform, no need to say the right things.

Pop Workshop doesn’t ask you to become a hero.
It doesn’t push you to change overnight.
It simply shows you that:
You’re still here.
Your feelings are still here.
And your heart… it’s still capable of movement.