A Farewell Letter to My Students and Families

To my incredible students and their families,

It is with a heavy but hopeful heart that I share this message: I am stepping away from teaching indefinitely. It's not hyperbole when I say that this is, without a doubt, the hardest, most painful decision I've ever had to make. Teaching has been more than a job for me—it has been a lifelong calling, a source of connection, and an art form.

Over the past few months, I have been navigating a serious mental health diagnosis: Bipolar I Disorder with mixed features. My condition includes extreme fatigue, emotional volatility, tremors, and catatonia (a state in which my body temporarily locks up, making it difficult to move or speak—think Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz).

I’ve pushed myself as long and as hard as I could. But the truth is, I can no longer sustain the emotional, cognitive, and physical energy required to teach in the way I believe my students deserve.

This decision was not made lightly. I've been wrestling with it since February, when I was taken to the ER during a severe episode of catatonia. My primary doctor at first suspected serotonin syndrome, but that has since been ruled out. It became clear to me—especially after a heartbreaking personal loss last week—that the time has come for me to do a full stop and focus on my health and healing.

I’ve always strived to show up for my students with joy, patience, and presence. But that effort has come at a high personal cost. I can't just go through the motions with teaching. It demands my full attention, focus, energy, engagement, and presence—no matter how I'm feeling. For 19 years, I’ve gladly given it. Now, for the first time, I need to give that same attention to myself.

For those with remaining lessons or subscriptions, I will be processing refunds and subscription cancellations over the next 24 hours. If you need help transitioning to a new teacher, I recommend reaching out to Back Beat Music for in-person lessons.

My goal has always been for my students to become better than me—not just in music, but in their confidence, their expression, and their self-compassion. I’ve wanted you to feel confident in your playing, to just "go for it" without fear, to embrace mistakes, and to go easy on yourselves when they happen. I hope you continue to make music.

Advice for you going forward: KEEP PLAYING. Go back through old books or songs. Play for fun. Play for yourself. Whether you find another teacher or not, just keep playing a little bit every day.

And lastly, I want to be fully transparent about my condition. One reason I’ve chosen to share these details is to help reduce the stigma surrounding mental health. If my openness can make it easier for someone else to seek help or feel less alone, then this letter will have served another purpose beyond goodbye.

Please know how much you’ve meant to me. It’s been an honor to be part of your journey. I carry with me the memories we created, the music we shared, and most importantly the lessons you've taught me—into whatever comes next.

Thank you for everything.

With deep gratitude,