So You Don't Want to Teach Anymore? Here Are 7 Guesses Why (2023)

Today marks exactly one year without teaching.To acknowledgethe occasion, let metake you behind the scenes of my blog and share the number one phrase — BY FAR — that brings people to my site:

I don’t want to teach anymore.

A plethora of versions abound.Done being a teacher. Don’t want to teach. I can’t teach anymore.People punch these thingsinto Google, and Google sends them here, because algorithms are strange, enigmatic beasts that I will never fully understand. These stressed-to-the-max, ready-to-quiteducators keep finding their way to my blog, and it’s sort of weird becauseI’ve never written a post about that.

It’s time. It’s time to write a post about that.

In the twelve years I was a high school English teacher, I watched people leave the profession in droves. Some abandoned shipbefore they even boarded: a couplecolleaguesin my graduating class completed their student teaching, collected their college diploma, and promptly went back to school for an entirely different degree. Some hung in there for a handful of years before eventually succumbing to cynicism and fatigue. Aprecious few retired with a full career in their rearview —but, like Nancie Atwell, even they might advise the potential teachersof today to choose something else. The climate is different. The culture is different. The system is breaking, and educators are scattering to avoid the inevitable crushing debris when it all comes crumbling down.

I hope you will join the conversation.

I did not choose to leave— which means that maybe I didn’t have the cojones my Google searchersdo, to look around and take stock of my situation and say, I’m done. To make my own decision. I let fate and a cross-country movemake it for me, and there are a lot of incredible things about teaching that I really miss.

Actually, there are only two: my colleagues, and my kids.

They are the incredible things.

But everything else? I won’t go into detail about the budget cuts or the massive class sizesor the average salary, as that’s allbeen discussed ad nauseam. I’m not going to talk about the bone-deep exhaustion that comes frombeing onstage all day, or the drowning sensation that follows you home on nights and weekends when you have hundreds of papers to grade.

These are the otherthings — the stuffyou might only understandif you havea key to the teachers’ lounge.

1. You are an “authority figure” with no real authority.

A friend once told me, “You have no idea what it’s like to have a real job — something with deadlines and adults breathing down your neck. You get to be your own boss.” The sheer ignorance of herdeclaration has stuck with me for years, and still needles me — mostly because that line of thinkingis an extremelycommonmisconception.

When weclose ourdoor each day and stride to the front of the classroom, it’s easy to fall prey to the illusion that we are in charge. It’syour name on thatdoor, after all, so you must be the boss.

Reality check: you are not the boss.

Parents are the boss of you. The administration is the boss of you. Common Core is the boss of you. The students can sense it, which occasionallyleads to comments like, “Myparents pay your salary, you know.” Truth. And because of that truth, there is often immense pressureto compromise your integrity: to pass a child whohas not demonstrated mastery, to allow an extension on a paperyou assigned two months ago, to give less homework or different projectsor more lenient grades, because sometimes you are expected toavoidrockingthe boat.

2. Your day does not resemble that of a typical white-collar professional.

Despite my aforementioned friend’s ignorance, I’ll give her this:sometimes you arepainfully aware that your “real job” does seemsuspiciously different from other “real jobs” whichrequire a college degree.

Here are the things your friends cando at work:

1. Pee
2. Get coffee
3. Spend fifteenminutes chatting leisurely with a colleague
4. Go out to lunch
5. Complete paperwork and other job-related tasks during the actual work day
6. Sit down occasionally

I’m pretty sure the real reason summer break exists is because the School Gods counted up all the secondsyoudon’t get to use the bathroom and handed them back to youin one big chunk. Twenty-five-minute lunches are not conducive to nice, relaxing meals beyond the building’swalls,and you can only relieve yourselfduring passing time — which, unfortunately, is the only opportunity all the OTHERteachers haveto take care of business.

Because you know what else is the boss of you? The bell schedule.

3. Everyone thinks they know how to do your job. EVERYONE.

Adding to the sting of your not-in-charge-ness, manypeople who ARE in charge have literally never taught a day in their lives— anda lotof them arepretty sure they know how to do it better than you.

Mostpeoplehave lights in their home, but that doesn’t make themelectricians. My husbanddoesn’t know how tomanage a restaurant just because we’vegone out to eat. Can I profess to be an expert on successful lawyering because I watch Law & Order: SVU once a week?

Surely, teaching is different, though, right? At some point, just about everyone has satin a classroom. Wewere students, after all. We watched our teachers — some we loved, some not so much — and because ofthat lengthy, multi-year observation we assume we know what they do for a living, because we sat in a classroom for years and years and years, and we watched them, andthatmustbe enough research.Six, seven, eight hours a day, ever since preschool, everyone has seen this job, so everyone is allowed to have an opinion.

But even brand new teachers can tell: the view looks a whole lot different from behind the podium. So when yourhigh, high, highest-ups are committees of people who only know what it’s like to be a student, it feels akin toa team of accountantstrying to wire a building.

You know what’s probably going to happen? That sucker’s going up in flames.

4. You wanted to foster imagination, not slaughter it.

For a while now, teachers have been battling anincreasing pressure to “teach to the test.” Despite our banshee-esque warning cries, this situation is not improving. Courses with “real-world” value(home economics, for example, or shop class) are dying a not-so-gradual death, as there is no “Foods & Nutrition” section on the SAT. Art and music programs are still in grave danger— and, in some districts, have already been slashed to ribbons.

An elementary school teacher I know — who is a part of one of the wealthiest, most reputable districts in her state — attended a recent meeting where staff members wereinstructed to “drastically limit or entirely eliminate” story time. “It’s not differentiated enough,” they were told, “and therefore is a waste of valuable class time.” THE KIDS ARE IN THIRDGRADE. They deserve to gather around a rocking chair and feed their imaginations. They deserve the magic of a captivatingstory. Theydeserve to learn that you can read for pleasure instead of strictlyfor information.

“Core” high school classes aren’t immune to the damage, either. Elsewhere, in an entirely different part of the country, a ninth-grade teacher-friend of mine was askedto abandon anyeducationalmath gamesand “make more of an effort to spoon-feed, please.”English teachers look onhelplessly as more and more works of fiction areplucked from the curriculum and replaced by fact-driven nonfiction. Even though we’re sometimes invited to join curriculum committees (as I did) under the guise that we might have a say, it’s ultimately just a ruse: we have only as much freedom as our national and state standards allow. At the moment, there is a relentless push toward FACTS. DATA. STATISTICS.

That doesn’t leave very much room for make-believe.

But here’s the thing:discussions about fictionlead to rich discussions about life, whichdrivessomething much more important than the growth of a student — it guides the growth of a human being.

5. The technology obsessionis making you CRAZY.

Our beloved works of fiction aren’t just getting elbowed aside by facts and figures. They’re also beingtrounced by the frenetic crush of technology. “The children must learn ALL THE TECH!” everyone shouts, flailing their arms and stampeding toward the nearest Apple store. “It is the way of the future!”

Then why are some big-shot technology CEOssending their kids to computer-free Waldorf Schools? There’s an app — er, areason — for that.

This one is tricky. OF COURSE, as teachers, our job isto adapt to the changing times. But I might argue that our job is also to challenge our students withsomething new— and, to this generation, technology is not new. In fact, it is all they know. Our kidsdon’t needmore of it — most of them have been swiping and zooming and smartphone-ing since they were toddlers — and they continue to do itright in the middle of your (probably fact-driven) lecture about some (probably nonfiction) book, by the way. It’s incredibly frustrating whenall that glorious innovation serves as more of a distraction than a learning tool.

I’m not trying to get all Yeah, well, back in MY day…on you. But, um, back in my day — look, even a decade ago — it felt a little simpler to practice using something TRULY innovative: our brains. Thatability is disappearing, in large part because technology has eliminated the need to wonder.

One of my favorite lessons to teach involved a set of four philosophical questions. I typed them up and distributed them to my sophomores, who were allowed to work in groups.

2006: The studentswondered about the answers, pondered the possibilities together, bounced ideas back and forth.

2015: The students said, “I’ll Google it.”

“No,” I said. “This is a Google-less assignment. You need to THINK.” They stared at me, agape, and in a mild state of panic.

They grumbled, but then they put the technology away, and they turned to their peers,and they wondered.

Though we teachers tend to stick together, Ialso have a group of friends and family with a wide rangeof careers— they run the gamut from successful marketers to mechanicalengineers to human resource managers. All of them have interviewed prospective employees for over a decade, and all of them nowhave a similarcomplaint: it’s becoming close toimpossibleto find candidates they actually want to hire.

The three C’s peoplesuddenly seem to be missing? Curiosity, creativity, and communication skills.

Technology is wonderful — nay, necessary — for a plethora ofthings, but it’s killing those beautiful C’s. And as a teacher, youdon’t just witnessthedeath, you are expectedto assist in themurder. Because of standardized expectations, youmustincorporate more and more tech, even when all you want to do is take a hammer to anything with a screen.

6. All the entitlement and the trophies and the apathy and whatever.

The air inside your classroom walls is probably thick with the stench of“It’s not my fault, it’s yourfault,” and it sure seems likethe smell is coming from the students.

Ironically, this is nottheir fault.

Like cigarette smoke, it gets carried in from home, rising from their backpacks, woven through the threads of their clothes and the fibers of their upbringing. Their whole lives, they have received copious awards and accolades just for playing — NOT for excelling — so it’s no wonder kids have come to expect an A “because I tried.” But sometimes a D paper is just a D, which doesn’t necessarily mean that Johnny has an evil teacher. It means that Johnny might have actually earned a D this time. It means he might not have written a perfect paper. It means he needs to stop waiting until THE VERY LAST SECONDto startan essay he’s known about for three weeks.

But Johnny doesn’t know it means all that, because what he hearsat the dinner table is that his parents areUNBELIEVABLY ANGRY that his teacher had the nerve —the nerve!— to give their baby a D. (Brace yourself for the irate phone call in the morning.)

Of course, for every helicopter parent, there is a devastatingly absentee parent, as well as an equal number who areso remarkablysupportive that you wonder if they’re even real. They are warm and generous and responsible. You tell them at conferences, You are REALLY doing something right,and you mean it.

I hope I will be that kind of parent.

I became a mothera few years ago, and I must shamefully admit I get it now. My children ARE special. My children DO try. I do not EVER want them to feel like they are anything less than the most important people in the world. When my daughter’s preschool notetells me she was not a good listener that day, I feel frustrated and helpless and a little bit sure the teacher is just being too demanding.When sheran her first Toddler Turkey Trot lastNovember,the people in charge asked if I wanted to buy her a medal. “Um, obviously,” I said. “She willobviously, absolutelyget a medal.” Without hesitation, I forked over my money and contributed to the Trophy Generation Fund.

As a parent, I understand.

But as a teacher, this is what you wish you couldsay:Stopmaking excuses for your kids. STOP IT. Teach them to earn things, not demand things. Hold them to a higher standard. Challenge them.That way, when I try to challenge them, they’ll know weboth expect it.

They’ll know weare on the same team.

Left to their own devices, the kids will be the first to tell you: Yeah, I totally forgot about that assignment. I didn’t really try my best. I just didn’t feel like finishing the reading. Whoops — sorry, Ms. B!They’ll cringe at you with raised eyebrows and endearing self-awareness. They nod emphatically when you analyze the apropos theme of “Harrison Bergeron,” and they laugh uproariously when you pull a pretend trophy from your deskand give it a quick shine as soon as they catch themselves in the act of whining.

They know. Deep down, they know exactly what’s going on. They are smarter than that, and they are capable of more failures — and consequently, more successes — than the world is allowing them to experience.

7. There is no reliable way to assess who is ACTUALLY good at this.

If you’re a teacher worth your salt, this might be the most troublingof the bunch.

In order for peopleto really know how well you’redoing your job, they have to watch you do it. But when there is only one administrator forevery thirty-plus teachers, adequate observation time is often a physical impossibility. Even if an administrator’s ONLY JOB was to sit in classroom after classroom, there would still be too few hours in the day — and principals and assistant principals are responsible for a lot more than staff assessments. Between the scheduling and standardized-test-organizing and discipline issues andparent phone calls and endlesson- and off-campus meetings, sometimes even a ten-minute walk-through is an achievement.

Not to mention the embarrassing issue of content area expertise: how can an administrator with a history degreeassess whether or not a physics teacher is delivering accurate information? How can an assistant principal with a sciencebackgroundcritique an English teacher’s lessons about sentence structure?

Depending upon your stateand your years of experience, you might be observed anywhere from oncea month to once every couple of years.Who knows what magic is happening in your classroom all those other days? So in the meantime, lawmakers and district higher-ups are scrambling to figure out a way to fill in the blanks.

A popularbright idea is to examine students’ test scores. In theory, this should work — but in practice, you’ve got to be kidding. Students are not products tumblingoffa cookie-cutterassembly line. They arehuman beings, and there are thirty-five of them per class period, and they are influenced by FAR more than yesterday’svocabulary lesson. You are not in charge of how well they slept, or the breakup that happened last week, or iftheir family has enough money for breakfast— but all of those things affect test scores. So do IEPs, 504 plans, and whether or not you are teaching an AP or Honors class filled with students who mightperform well with or without your help.

As more and more districts begin to adopt this nonsensical practice, who will teach the kids who are struggling? Which educatorswill potentially sacrifice their own careers to guidethe students who work hard for a D+? Some of thevery best teachers do that now, withonly intrinsic motivation working to retain them.

Another method isto placethe burden of proof upon the teacher. Each year, there isadifferent set of goals to accomplish — some you set yourself, and some that have almost nothingto do with your specific classroom environment — and it is up to you to prove you’ve met them.

So instead of spending your prep hour — or your Sunday night — creating abrilliant lesson plan or grading the ten dozenessays you just collected, you mustspend that time figuring out how to meet arbitrary goals and initiatives that will become irrelevant andobsolete by the following school year. After that, you must waste utilize class time implementing said goals and initiatives, and then you must spend more prep timeand Sunday nights writing reports toprovehow well you implemented them. That, combined with your students’ test scores, shall determine whether or not you are an effective educator.

Can I pleasejust talk aboutOf Mice and Meninstead? Can we spend that time learning why some words on a page just madeuscry a little bit? That’s the important stuff. That’s what matters. Those are the things that teach us who we are.

Here are the other things that matter: Helping a group ofstudents work through a disagreement civilly. Keeping everyone calm when someone vomits on the floor. Watching the shyest student in your class, the one whonever ever spokeback in September,volunteer to read a part inThe Crucible — and he’s hilarious, and he does itwith an accent, and he makes two new friends because he finally let himself be vulnerable.

Your job is so much more than test scores, meaninglessgoals, and cyclical initiatives. It is tying shoelaces and distributing Band-Aids. It is listeningto a parent cry about her crumbling marriage. It is showing teenagers how to debate thoughtfully, how to think critically, how to disagree respectfully. It is hearing from studentsten years after graduation, because they just thought you should know it was your Spanishclass that made them want to study abroad, your passion for sciencethat ledto a major in biochemistry, your quiet encouragement during their dark daysthat convinced them to keep coming to school in the first place.

Where does that fall on the “Highly Effective” checklist? How can you documentthat kind of delayed impact? It certainly can’t be measured by A’s and E’s, or even by weekly walk-throughs. It’s no wonderyou’re getting frustrated.

It’s no wonder you don’t want to do this anymore.

But if these are the reasons you might leave, here is the reason you might stay: the kids, man.The kids. After a year without them, you might miss their unbridled school spirit during Homecoming Week, their contagious sense of humor, the way they draw pictures for youand wave joyous hellosin the hallways. You might miss their ability to make you forget about therough start to your morning, or the looks of awe on theircaptivatedfaces when they finally learn something that matters.

If it weren’t for them, instead of Googling “I don’t want to teach anymore,” you might already be gone.