Leaving Teaching: Dear Teaching…It’s you, not me

It’s you, not me. I see that now.

After almost nine years of giving you my absolute all, I can safely say I am done. I have nothing left to give. I am empty. I cannot put myself through this anymore, in mind, body or spirit. I am worth more than this, and dare I say it, I want more for myself. At some point over the years (I don’t know when), our relationship became abusive. You have impacted my mental health, my physical health, made me feel isolated from friends and family and from the life I have built for myself. I don’t want that anymore.

I have clung on to the highs – the children, the families and those ‘lightbulb’ moments with the children which are simply priceless. But you have become all consuming: the workload, the pressures, the unrealistic and unsustainable expectations, the emotional manipulation, the lack of trust and autonomy, the box ticking and the compassion fatigue has taken its toll. I feel that my body has had enough and simply said no, you will not put us through this anymore. You are not sustainable. Teaching, you have lost your way. You forget that you are not in the field of business, finance, property or assets. You are in the business of human beings; educating young hearts and minds. And what am I really helping you to teach them, the way that you are currently set up? I realise now that our values are simply not aligned. After almost a decade with you, I leave demoralised and disheartened by what you have become, wondering if you were always like this, or if it is me who has changed as I grow older.

A broken system

Just know that it was never the children, and it was never the families, it is you…the system, for you are broken. I have had enough. Enough of the gaslighting, of the mental strain, and enough of trying. Time and time again. After 4 schools, 3 London boroughs and a number of different roles, ranging from unqualified teacher to Senior Leadership, it is time to call it a day. I feel as though you have backed me into a corner, and my body has said enough is enough, I must quit and leave to save myself, despite no idea about what could be next. It is not because I don’t do enough yoga, or look after my nutrition, or don’t get 8 hours of consistent sleep every night, or don’t use my time effectively or don’t know how to do my job, or any of the other endless excuses you throw my way. The onus is not on me. I am more than just efficient, I am good at my job. This is why you kept piling more and more on, knowing that my passion and genuine care for my work would mean that I just got on with it, without listening to my cries that it was too much and I would burn out.

I know that I am good at my job and I don’t need that to be validated by you and your meaningless data, learning walks, book looks and deep dives to know this. Your performance punishment is not welcome here. The onus is on you. You are failing the people who care about you, who know what you can be and what you are needed to be by so many. All anyone really wants in life is to be seen, I mean really seen and heard. You are not seeing me, you are not seeing my colleagues and you are most definitely not seeing the children right now. You have lost your way.

You are the one who is broken, who has unresolved mountains of issues which are glazed and plastered over in an attempt to keep things moving with no real investment or development in yourself. You are the one who needs to reflect and do the work, in so many respects. It is a two-way street and I cannot do it alone. You need to change on an introspective, systematic level. I cannot single handedly fix you and it’s not healthy for me to hang on to your potential in the hope that you will change into what I know you can be and should become. I need to be trusted, to have autonomy, to not be controlled and checked on all the time. It is suffocating. It is toxic. It is damaging, soul destroying and has left me scarred. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. If this is how you are making me feel, what impact is that having on my children and families who need me, who I endeavour to serve day in, day out? I knew it wouldn’t be easy with you, I didn’t do this for an easy ride, but this is beyond a joke now, and if I am so unhappy and stressed all the time, how does that enable me to serve the families and children in any meaningful way?

A changed person

In some ways, I am incomparable to the young, optimistic and naive trainee who you met almost nine years ago. I am now a cynical shell of a person, you have permeated and negatively impacted all aspects of my life. You have left me scarred and battered. I want to help mend you still, God knows the children, the families and the staff need you to be better. But I am not helping improve things by working within the system. My school environment was a toxic one, and even as a senior leader, I don’t have the capacity to do that either. To really help, I have to leave, as difficult and heartbreaking a decision as it is. It is the only way. My experience with you humanises the statistics. It is not in my head, I am not the only one. At some point, you have to acknowledge that it is not everyone else – it is YOU, teaching. The annual Teacher Wellbeing Index 2022 from Education Support highlights that a staggering 84% of senior leaders describe themselves as stressed, with a further 54% of school staff considering leaving the profession between 2019-2021. I am certain since publication this figure has increased further. I hope that my letter to you humanises these figures and sparks real conversation about what is actually happening with you. I endeavour to shine a light in a hope to contribute to developing you and making you what you can be, and what we all need you to be, but not like this, not in a school with a toxic environment for its staff and not as a senior leader.

My learnings from leaving teaching

All this being said, I am grateful. I am grateful for it all. For the amount you have taught me about myself, how resilient I can be, how dedicated and committed I can be and how much I genuinely care about people and have to offer. I have learnt how to support families through their everyday struggles, I have learnt the importance of early reading, and the integral role of early childhood. I have learnt about how significant the first 5 years of a child’s life are, how children’s innate curiosity, inquisitiveness and ability to live in the moment need to be harnessed and learnt from. I have learnt about the importance of representation, diversity, equity and equality. I have learnt about the role of critical thinking and sustained shared thinking. I have learnt how to present to different audiences, how to interact with different stakeholders and how to analyse data. I have learnt that relationships and how you make someone feel are arguably the most important things, the need to be reflective and adaptable, as well as the need to actively listen to people, to ensure children and adults feel genuinely seen, heard and supported.

Nevertheless, I need to take some time to heal. The word ‘heal’ is used intentionally to address the trauma you are inflicting on teachers and staff. To those who don’t work in public education, this may sound dramatic, but I am sure that to most who do, it will resonate. Trauma is defined as either an experience which is especially upsetting, or a shock which is severe and may cause psychological damage. My experience with you teaching has been just this, a prolonged overall upsetting experience which has impacted my mental health significantly. So yes, I need to take time to heal now, to make sense of what I have just observed, witnessed and been a part of. But I know that I will come back stronger for it, equipped with the knowledge and understanding of just how broken you really are. So that when I am ready, healed and strong enough, I can be part of the solution, to contribute to working on your transformation into the English education system needed by the children, the families and staff up and down the country, in whatever capacity this might be. But for now, goodbye teaching. It’s you, not me.