To The Teacher Who's Leaving The Teaching Profession

I don’t know what your reasons are for wanting to leave teaching, but trust me, I get it. 
There are more reasons to quit than there are to stay.

This is NOT an attempt to change your mind. No, this will not be some inspirational pep talk to get you back in the game and signed on for next year. You won’t get any platitudes about “self-care” or “avoiding burnout” or “doing it for the kids.”

This is for the teachers who have already made up their minds. The teachers who have already decided that teaching is an unsustainable career with impossible expectations, ridiculous demands, and too much sacrifice. Those who are ready to trade-in the thankless work and low paychecks for a chance at regaining sanity and self-respect.

Maybe you’re one of those teachers who is still on the fence — those of you who are flirting with the idea of freedom from parent-teacher conferences, IEP meetings, and grading essays at midnight. This may or may not help you make your decision. It’s an impossible decision to make, it truly is, but when it’s time, you’ll know.

I don’t know what your reasons are for wanting to leave teaching, but trust me, I get it. There are more reasons to quit than there are to stay.

If I had stayed in teaching,

I know for certain

it would have literally killed me.

I left. Yes, I’m one of those statistics that you’ll read about with the whole “teacher crisis” and how we are leaving the profession in droves. I didn’t want to leave — I loved teaching, and I was decently good at it. I changed lives in my short seven years of teaching English. I was “highly qualified” with a Master’s degree in Teaching and lived and breathed all things education. I built an incredibly strong rapport with my students and championed innovation in the classroom.

But, my perfectionism (something that is quite common in teachers, it seems) had made my mental health deteriorate so much that classroom teaching in the American public school system was no longer a viable career option for me. If I had stayed in teaching, I know for certain it would have literally killed me. In the end, I realized that I was making sacrifices for something that would never pay me back in anything but heartache and headache.

It has been almost a year since I locked the door to what was my last classroom. A year since I entered a grade into a grade book, rolled my eyes at a loud fart in class, fielded a parent phone call, or took charge in a fire drill. A year since I had to pretend I knew what I was doing, decorate a bulletin board, or wake up at 5:30 am to wear clothes that aged me beyond my 33 years.

And I’ve learned a lot in the past year. A lot about myself, a lot about our society, a lot about job searching and unemployment and therapy and loneliness and identity and loss. Some of these were tough pills to swallow and many of them blindsided me.

So, to the teachers who have already made up their minds, let me share with you some of the fallout I have personally experienced that I wish someone would have warned me about.

You will grieve.

Much like the loss of a dear friend or family member, losing your career or profession is as serious a loss as any other. It’s devastating, particularly if you have been in the game for a while or had always pictured teaching the rest of your life. You will wander aimlessly through the school supply aisle during Back-to-school season and your heart will ache. You will constantly find yourself thinking, Oh, that would make a great activity! for a classroom of students you no longer have. You will think of your students constantly, wondering what they are up to and how they are going and what college they got into.

Saying goodbye to a career that you have worked so hard at for so long is crippling, and it is a disappearance of a future you had long imagined and an identity you had gotten to know so well. It's okay to mourn the loss of your career. It is normal and valid. But like any loss, it will begin to fade as the weeks and months go by. Soon, you will stop feeling that twinge in your chest when you see school supplies or a bus full of kids. It’s been nearly a year, and I’m finally coming to terms with it. So will you.

If you had asked me to describe myself, the first thing I would have said is,

“I am a teacher.”

You will have forgotten who you are.

Teaching is a unique profession in that it can easily be all-consuming and often is. Us teachers have a hard time turning off our “teacher brains,” particularly when the demands of the job means taking it home with you and working on weekends and in doctor’s offices and at school recitals. (I mean, for chrissake, does any other profession have a professional club dedicated solely to the unthinkable idea of cutting back work time to ONLY 40 hours a week? There is a reason why so many teachers are burning out so quickly.)

But it’s more than just thinking about school. Teaching, for me at least, had become my identity. If you had asked me to describe myself, the first thing I would have said is, “I am a teacher.” What do you do? I am a teacher. What do you love? I am a teacher. What do you do for fun? I am a teacher.

So when that identity is taken away or surrendered, you are left to deal with what’s remaining. For me, there wasn’t much left, and so I’ve had to learn — and I mean, make a concentrated effort — to find out who the hell I am. I don’t even know what my hobbies used to be or what I like to do in my free time because it’s been years since I had free time. If I’m not Mrs. Dexter, then who am I?

You will also learn stuff about yourself that you never knew or had long forgotten. You will find strengths where you didn’t know you had any. And someday, little by little, you will remember that there is more to you than being a teacher.

You will question your purpose.

Similarly, without a career, I found myself asking what was I even here for? Teaching had given me a purpose in life, a mission, a plan, a goal — it had been my lighthouse. I knew I was doing good in the world and for some reason, that made me feel like I was put here for a reason. Without teaching, I suddenly started to question what my role is here on this earth.

If you’re like me and didn’t really have a plan B to fall back on, you may struggle with self-worth and confidence as you attempt to figure out what you’re gonna do next. Months of unemployment were devastating to my self-esteem and I constantly questioned if I was even qualified to do anything else. And as more teachers leave the profession, you will notice that education-related/non-teaching job openings will be few and far between and the ones you see will already have hundreds of applicants — other former teachers who, like you, are struggling with the idea of giving up on a career in education altogether.

But eventually, you will find something else that uses your talents or some of the incredible amount of transferable skills that teaching gave you. From project management to training, from secretary to CEO, you have amazing talents that can be used elsewhere. And you will sigh in relief when you never have to plan again for a substitute again and when you get to have adult conversations throughout the day.

You will question your choice.

Sure, you are going to be so relieved that you never have to worry about dealing with irate parents or snotty students again. You might revel in the fact that you now have quality time to spend with your spouse, friends, and family and can pee whenever you want. But you will miss teaching. You will miss crazy dress-up days and finding new ways to incorporate sticky notes in class. You will miss catching those “Aha! Moments” and having an audience for your corny Shakespeare puns. You’ll miss geeking out over polynomials or photosynthesis or Shirley Jackson's short stories… and at the same time, you will be relieved that you no longer have to deal with disinterested and disrespectful students. You’ll be excited about not having to inhale your lunch every day and not being dead on your feet every evening. And the next minute, you will consider going back to teaching (because wouldn’t that just be easier?) You’ll wonder, Was this all a mistake? Am I meant to be a teacher?

Once you are a teacher,

you will never not be.

I’m still trying to figure out who I am without a class of crazy kiddos to teach. One thing I have realized, though, is that once you are a teacher, you will never not be. It doesn’t matter if you have your own classroom or not; you will forever be a teacher, much like an actor is forever an actor or an artist is forever an artist, even if they don't act or paint anymore. You just have a different canvas now.

You will always think of cool lesson plan ideas even when you have no one to teach them to. You will find books that are just perfect for So-and-So, or see videos that remind you of What’s-his-Butt. Names will slowly start to fade, as will your obsession with TpT and flair pens (well, maybe).

But when you see a former student at the grocery store who lights up at the sight of you and yells “Mrs. Dexter!” and tells their mom, “This is the teacher I told you about!” or tells you that they still write in their notebook every day or that you were the only reason they made it through school, you will find solace in the fact that you made a difference. You will forever be a teacher in both your heart and theirs.