I officially submitted my resignation as a teacher today. I’m finishing out the school year–for my students, for my team, and for myself–so I still have a few months to go, but I’m not coming back after this school year. I’ve given six years of my life to this profession, and leaving is incredibly bittersweet. I want to close out my final year teaching with the team that’s become as close as family through the struggles of teaching during a pandemic, and for my students, whom I love and care about so deeply.
But man, let me tell you. Clicking that resignation button today filled me with such immense relief.
No, I’m exhausted. Burned out. Drained. And I know that I’m not the only teacher feeling it.
I work at one of the top districts in my state and work at an amazing school with supportive admin and staff. I don’t have a backpack full of horror stories and betrayal like so many teachers do. And I’m still exhausted. I’m still leaving. And I’m only one of many, many teachers walking out of the classroom.
I’m worried about the future of the American education system. I’m worried about my students and about the future of this new generation. I’m angry that the only ones noticing it are teachers themselves, and no one is listening to them.
But I’m so relieved that after May, I’ll no longer be suffocating under the immense pressure and expectations placed on teachers. I’m excited to try out something new, and above all, to have more time and energy to dedicate to writing!
I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts on this later. For now, I’m just going to sit in the emotions and grab a pizza while finally watching the Boba Fett finale.