Why I Left Teaching
When I look back at my teaching career, it’s like a series of moments that should have told me to walk away sooner, and despite being gaslit by Nike commercials my entire life, I just… didn’t.
One of these moments came during my rookie days when I thought enthusiasm could substitute for experience. After a rough week, my coach told me I was improving in behavior management, and I saw a small glimmer of hope. The next day, that glimmer face planted harder than me trying to keep up with TikTok trends. I was called to meet the principal and executive principal. They reviewed my low scores, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Is this the right career for you?” Instead of saying no and walking away, I left that meeting in tears, convinced that working harder would magically fix everything.
Why Quit When You Can Coast?
Six years into my teaching career, in my penultimate year, my principal handed me an improvement plan during a meeting. I had to bite my cheek to stop from laughing at the absurdity of it all. Improvement? At that point, I was coasting—checking boxes, waiting for the next summer break, and doing just enough to keep things running. My students were learning, my classroom wasn’t a scene from Lord of the Flies, yet admin ordered me to ‘do better.’ I might as well have been in Hell’s Kitchen, with Gordon Ramsay calling me an idiot sandwich.
In some ways, I had it easy. My position included 30 minutes of silent reading each class period, a dream for someone who loves books as much as I do. I drove home for lunch to see my dogs, which made the rest of the day’s chaos more manageable. Lesson planning was minimal since I had developed and refined my year-long curriculum. I wasn’t passionate about teaching—I spent more time organizing my bookshelf by genre than grading papers.
When the Pimple Finally Popped
By the middle of my seventh year, my festering pimple of a career popped when the school announced department cuts. I remember sitting in that staff meeting, hearing the news, and feeling a jarring juxtaposition of panic and relief. It was almost too easy. Volunteering as t-RIB-ute was a way out of my personal Hunger Games—and it seemed the odds were ever in my favor.
In hindsight, my growing disillusionment with teaching started long before that meeting. Over time, I became fed up with a system that undermined my autonomy. I don’t think anyone should be told how to do their job unless the results show they aren’t meeting expectations. Nevertheless, people far removed from the classroom micromanaged me, giving irrelevant and unhelpful advice. I wanted to be respected and valued—validated by professionals whose ability I could trust—not criticized for how I achieved successful results.
I also had a personal realization: I don’t like kids. It’s something I’ve wrestled with admitting, knowing it might resonate deeply with some and alienate others. But for me, teaching was never about the kids—it was about choosing something comfortable. The promise of summers off and a job I thought I could excel at with little friction felt appealing. But teaching is never easy, even when you’re good at it. Without passion, the work became a Sisyphean task, and over time, I lost confidence, happiness, and even a sense of myself.
Not with a Bang, but a Whimper
Looking back, I was less tethered to the job and more duct-taped to my comfort zone. I let the warm blanket of routine smother any ambition I had. I wasn’t heroic in deciding to leave, but I was human. And sometimes, the first step toward change isn’t a dramatic leap—it’s a quiet, unsteady step toward something better. And that’s still a step worth taking.
This blog is where I’ll share my experiences transitioning from teaching and figuring out what’s next. If you’ve ever wondered what happens when you step away from the classroom—or are considering it yourself—you’re in the right place.
If you’ve ever felt stuck in a career or wrestled with leaving something comfortable, I’d love to hear your story. What held you back—or pushed you forward?
