Six weeks ago, I overslept. Not just a groggy slap on the snooze button, but a complete shutdown, turning off all six alarms without a hint of consciousness. As I awoke to a sun higher in the sky than it should have been, I felt a mix of disbelief and resignation. In my years of molding young minds, of juggling lesson plans with administrative demands, I had never once been late to class due to oversleeping. This was my wake-up call — quite literally — that something was amiss.

The realization hit me with a dull ache; my passion for teaching had withered away, leaving in its place a husk of exhaustion. I felt used up, burnt out, and profoundly empty. The fervor that once propelled me out of bed each morning had been extinguished by the relentless grind that had become my daily routine. In that moment of quiet panic, watching the clock tick away the minutes of my tardiness, I understood that it wasn’t just the alarm I had turned off, but a part of myself as well.

This was my wake-up call — quite literally — that something was amiss.

Burnout: The Smoldering Embers of a Once-Blazing Passion

The warning signs had been there, of course, but I chose to ignore them, believing a teacher must always push through. My days began, sometimes, before dawn and stretched endlessly, a marathon with no finish line in sight. Lesson planning, grading, and managing an ever-growing pile of administrative duties consumed my evenings and weekends. The classroom, once a sanctuary of learning and discovery, had become a stage where I performed the role of an enthusiastic educator, even as my inner spark flickered and waned.

The support that should have fanned the flames — professional development, collaborative planning, even basic empathy from administration — was scarce. Resources dwindled as expectations soared, a mismatch that chipped away at my resolve. I poured my heart into each lesson, but with every passing day, the return on that emotional investment diminished. I was spending the currency of my spirit on a system that seemed to value test scores over teacher well-being.

One particular day, as I faced a sea of indifferent faces, I grasped the painful truth: I was no longer kindling fires of curiosity; I was merely standing guard over embers. The realization that I had nothing left to give was a silent scream in a room full of noise, a private defeat in a public arena. I was used up, burnt out, and I knew I could not go on like this.

Pandemic Challenges: Juggling Screens and Well-Being

In the initial throes of the pandemic, there was a certain novelty to the upheaval. With the world in disarray, I found a purpose in providing a semblance of normalcy. My virtual classroom became a lifeline — a place for routine, engagement, and the occasional laughter, even as we tackled social studies and math. It felt like we were building a raft, piece by piece, to navigate an unprecedented storm together.

But as the novelty wore off and the crisis stretched into the following year, the raft began to take on water. My district, like many others, adopted a hybrid model of instruction, catering to students both in person and online, simultaneously. The challenges were immediate and overwhelming; technology failed us repeatedly, the digital divide among students became glaringly apparent, and the infrastructure simply wasn’t there to support this dual existence. The system was not built for this, and neither was I.

It was during this time that my own health took a backseat. Stricken with COVID-19 not once, but twice, I found myself in the surreal position of teaching from my quarantine — the world reduced to the confines of my home, yet still responsible for a full roster of students. Expectations remained high. The message from my district was clear: my well-being was secondary to the operational needs of the school. I was a cog in the machine, expected to turn regardless of the rust.

Work Conditions: A System Stretched Too Thin

The hybrid teaching model promised a solution to an impossible problem, yet it delivered a host of new challenges that no one was prepared for. Our work conditions, already strained under the weight of expectations and responsibilities, buckled as we pivoted to accommodate both in-person and virtual learners. The digital divide was not just a gap; it was a chasm that many of our students couldn’t bridge, and the burden to somehow make this work fell squarely on the shoulders of teachers.

The toll was not just technical but deeply emotional. Each failed connection, every pixelated face frozen in time, was a reminder of how far we were from the ideal of education we strived to provide. The tools we were given were akin to band-aids when what we needed was a tourniquet. We were expected to ensure that all students received a quality education with resources that were inadequate at best, nonexistent at worst.

It became abundantly clear that the district viewed teachers as a means to an end. When my own health was compromised, the expectation to continue teaching without pause was more than a professional insult — it was a personal betrayal. The system I had devoted myself to, which I believed was about nurturing children, seemed indifferent to the well-being of its stewards.

Student Behavior and School Environment: The Final Strain

As teachers, we’re no strangers to the challenge of managing a diverse array of student behaviors, but the hybrid model tested our limits like never before. The classroom dynamics were fraught with new pressures; attention was divided, engagement waned, and the once-clear boundaries between school and home blurred into a chaotic tableau. The energy I had for classroom management was sapped by a constant battle with technology or student behavior, leaving little left for those who showed up ready to learn each day.

Compounding this was the school environment itself — a landscape that seemed to shift beneath our feet with each new directive or policy change. Time, that most precious commodity in education, was now in even shorter supply. The increased demands on our schedules, the never-ending paperwork, and the push for accountability in the face of insurmountable odds created a perfect storm for burnout. The environment wasn’t just challenging; it was unsustainable.

In this maelstrom of new teaching models and expectations, my own resilience began to wane. The recognition that no matter how much I adapted, the systemic deficiencies would remain, became a pill too bitter to swallow. I entered this profession to ignite curiosity and foster learning, but found myself mired in an environment that seemed more concerned with protocols than people.

What’s Next?: Turning the Page

My journey as an educator has been one of immense passion and dedication — a path I walked with both pride and perseverance. Yet, the path has grown thorny, and the burdens have become too heavy to bear alone. The system, which I entered with dreams of making a difference, has let me down, leaving me adrift in a sea of mandates with little regard for the human element at the heart of teaching.

Leaving is not an admission of defeat, but rather a declaration of self-preservation and a testament to my belief that education should not come at the cost of one’s well-being. It is a bittersweet goodbye to a profession I once loved, marred by the systemic failures that have clouded the joy of teaching with the shadow of burnout.

But even as I step away, I carry with me the hope that dialogue will spark change, that the system will right itself, and that future educators will inherit a profession that honors their commitment with the support and respect they deserve. My final lesson is this: to teach is to touch lives, but we must never forget that teachers’ lives are equally worthy of care and consideration.

As for me, I turn the page to a new chapter, carrying the lessons learned into a future where my passion for education can find new soil to flourish, free from the confines of a system that could not grow with me.

Are you a teacher who has left, or is considering leaving, the teaching field? If so, I’d like to hear from you! What’s next on the horizon for you?