Leap of Faith: From Classroom to Cleaning

When I first arrived in Perth, Western Australia, with my teaching degree and hopes of influencing young minds, I had no idea my hands would one day hold a mop instead of chalk. Life, however, had different intentions. After failing to find a teaching job in my new home on Wadjuk boodjar (the traditional territories of the Whadjuk Noongar people), I found myself at a crossroads. Determined to make a life here, I took a risk: I joined Blissful Place, a local cleaning firm, and set out on a path that would redefine my purpose.

The Sting of Transition
There were days when I questioned my decision. The shift from the revered role of teacher to what society frequently dismisses as “just a cleaner” stung. I mourned the loss of my identity, grappling with the invisibility many in this industry endure. Yet, I refused to quit. Instead, I channeled my teaching skills—organization, time management, empathy—into this new chapter. I prioritized tasks with military precision, advocated for better equipment, and turned each home into a lesson plan of sorts. Cleaning, I realized, wasn’t so different from teaching: both required patience, attention to detail, and a desire to nurture.

The Mentor Who Lit the Path
I’ll never forget my first day. Standing in a client’s sunlit Perth home, I felt overwhelmed. How do you sanitize marble countertops? What products are safe for hardwood floors? My mentor, a seasoned cleaner with the patience of the Nullarbor, became my guiding light. He taught me the art of cleaning: the rhythmic dance of vacuuming, the precision of dusting ceiling fans, the science of chemical dilution. “Cleaning isn’t just about dirt,” he’d say. “It’s about care.” Under his wing, I mastered scrubbing bathrooms to a sparkle, restoring kitchens to order, and transforming chaos into calm.

Battling Invisible Struggles
The journey wasn’t smooth. As a cleaner in Perth’s bustling suburbs, I faced relentless challenges:

• Time Constraints: Racing against the clock to meet deadlines, juggling multiple homes daily.

• Inconsistent Standards: One client demanded hospital-level sterility; another preferred a cozy, lived-in feel.

• Resource Limitations: Broken vacuums, scarce eco-friendly supplies, chemical fumes that left me dizzy.

Yet, each obstacle sharpened my resolve. My teaching instincts kicked in—I created checklists, optimized routes, and even gently educated clients on sustainable practices.

The Warmth of Connection
What kept me going? The people. In Perth’s leafy neighborhoods, I didn’t just clean houses; I became part of families. Mrs. Thompson in North Perth saved me slices of her famous lamington cake, eager to hear stories of my teaching days in Bhutan. Mia, a girl in Subiaco, scribbled “thank you” cards in crayon, her grin mirroring the joy I once saw in my students. Over shared tea and laughter, houses became homes, and clients became confidants. “You’re like family,” they’d say—words no paycheck could rival.

Pride in the Unseen
My hands, once chalk-dusted, now wear gloves stained with polish. Cleaning isn’t a fallback—it’s a calling. It’s in the sweat that buffs floors, the care that lines up a child’s toys, the quiet dignity of turning disorder into sanctuary. To those who ask, “Why leave teaching?” I smile. In scrubbing away grime, I found resilience. In sanitizing surfaces, I disinfected self-doubt. And in every “thank you,” I discovered a classroom without walls, where lessons in humanity unfold daily.

A New Chapter on Wadjuk Boodjar