Real Talk
I sat across from the same principal from whom I had accepted my job a few years prior. As I handed him my written two-week notice, I felt a mixture of relief and guilt as I essentially gave up on a career I’d spent years dreaming about. Maybe I felt guilty because my reason for leaving had nothing to do with the boss sitting across from me. Maybe I felt guilty because of the tens of thousands of student loans I’m still paying for my teaching degree. Or maybe it was the feeling of failure, or the years I felt I’d wasted in the classroom.
More importantly, I felt relieved. I felt the pressure rolling off of me as I released that notice from my hands. Sure, there was still a classroom to pack up, and a whole staff of people to tell, and of course a new job search in my future — but even those things felt easier than signing next year’s contract.
Making the choice to leave
With my husband and I expecting our second baby soon, I’d been feeling the pressure to string together enough sick days for some semblance of a maternity leave. The anxiety had been creeping in over childcare that I could barely afford after an unpaid parental leave.
I could already hear the opinions on my decision, on my family planning, on my leaving the softball without a coach this season; but I like to think I should never have to choose between maintaining a job and building a family. It turns out, the job that’s supposed to be “perfect” for working parents isn’t exactly family-friendly. Plus, the truth is there are many other reasons I’m leaving.
Let me preface this by saying that I have tried to stay, though I’ve often come close to leaving. Like many, I’ve stayed for the schedule, the consistency, and the stability. I’ve stayed for the students, and for the promise that one day “it will get better.” I’ve stayed out of fear that “the grass is always greener” and that I’d struggle just as much in any other profession. Yes, I’ve stayed until now, to the point that it’s begun to feel impossible with all of the walls closing in on me.
But now I’m gladly giving up stability for my sanity, and I’m prepared to deal with the repercussions if it means starting over. From the outside looking in, I know my decision looks drastic, but it couldn’t be more calculated.
What teaching has cost me
For every last-minute after-school event I’ve been expected to participate in, I’ve realized that I work more per-week than your typical 9-5 worker. For every planning period I’ve lost, I’ve realized that I don’t have a single moment to myself all day long. And for every lunch period I’ve spent with students, I’ve realized how 10 minutes to eat isn’t nearly enough.
For every student I’ve sent to the office who’s had zero consequences, I’ve realized I’m not supported. For every time I’ve left my school overwhelmed, I realize I’m bringing that negative energy right on home with me.
Even for every sport I’ve been expected to coach and extracurricular I’ve been handed, I’ve realized that I’m working multiple jobs in one, and not being compensated for them. For every grocery trip I’ve taken, I’ve realized how my salary alone can’t cover basic needs. For every doctor appointment I’ve been to, I’ve realized the cause of my high blood pressure.
It’s been a million little realizations over the past several years that have led me here to this moment. It’s been a thousand tiny moments that have beaten me down to the point where I’m ready to try something, ANYTHING, different.
This isn’t just a “me” problem, unfortunately. It’s a long list of systematic issues that have teachers questioning their desire and ability to teach. Don’t believe me? Ask any teacher if they’ve considered leaving.
In fact, 8% of teachers leave the profession every year. Forty-four percent of teachers, like me, will leave before year five.
Finding my “why”
“May I ask why you’re leaving?” my principal asked.
My mind went back to the late nights of entering grades, staring bitterly at a computer screen AFTER a 10 hour work day, and the nightly bedtime routine. Memories of bus rides home from away games and tournaments played in my head, along with 5 am wakeup calls the next day. I thought of the parent-teacher conferences I just couldn’t “win” and the many people I just couldn’t appease.
Teaching left me with some valuable lessons and good memories, too; but at that moment it all just felt jaded. I hoped I could look back on this time of *growth* lovingly one day, but today just wasn’t that day. Maybe in another season of life I could make it work, maybe in another headspace I could persevere, maybe in the future I could come back to teaching. Maybe not.
I pushed down all my big feelings about this absolute lifestyle of a job, and answered:
“I just want to spend time with my family.”
