I’m a Teacher, but I’m Afraid it’s Killing Me
As a child, I dreamed of becoming a teacher. I taught lessons to my stuffed animals using an old chalkboard my grandma had around. As a teen, my babysitting jobs included educational activities I’d plan for the kids. I couldn’t help it. I was born to teach.
Fifteen years ago I was handed the key to my first classroom. Twenty-two years old and teeming with energy, I was thrilled. I spent every penny I had to my name on supplies for my classroom and spent each weekend scouring the local garage sales for used books to build my classroom library.
Every weekend I spent planning lessons for the next week, grading student work, and attending professional development sessions. It was 2007, and I was earning $26,000 per year as a starting teacher. With $32,000 of student loan debt to pay off I was shopping for clothes at Goodwill and living on canned soup and bagels.
I once saw one of those decorative wooden signs at a craft booth. It said, “Teaching: Not in it for the income, in it for the outcome.” It resonated with me. I’d been teaching for a couple years now and lived this saying every day.
A few more years in, my husband and I had two children, and we’d decided to move to the West Coast. To my surprise, the pay scale was a little higher, but they weren’t going to recognize the hundreds of hours of professional development I’d completed in Colorado. You know, those weekends I put in. At that point I realized, I had to get my masters degree. It wouldn’t give me a huge pay increase but at least it’s something that would be recognized regardless of what state I was teaching in.
With a 6 year old and a toddler at home, a job teaching special ed. in a high poverty school, I completed my master’s degree in less than two years. After getting the kids to bed each night I’d stay up until eleven or midnight working on paperwork, lesson plans, and course work. My masters degree was finally complete.
In 2018 my school district went on strike. We spent two weeks on the picket line demanding higher pay and policies to address the increasing severity of behaviors we were dealing with in our classrooms. Our union fought hard, and we won a fair contract. Suddenly, I was making $85,000 a year and felt my colleagues and I were finally valued. I enjoyed two years of this amazing salary. It gave me the ability to relax when I went home each night because I no longer had to worry about finances. I was finally earning a reasonable wage for a professional with a master’s degree, 12 years of experience, and well-above average student outcomes.
Why quit now?
My family has recently moved back to Colorado where teaching wages are still depressingly low. Upon hiring, I learned that my new school district would only recognize 10 of my 14 years of experience. You see, they had a pay freeze years ago and it just wouldn’t be fair to veteran teachers for new hires to not be faced with the same hold back. I’m now making $49,000 and some change. The medical benefits are laughable. With the number of hours I put in each week, I’m making about $15 per hour. I’m stressed about our finances and my part in supporting our family. I’m depressed. I’m anxious. I can’t afford a therapist.
With the demands of the job, the emotional drain, and the financial stress, I’m burnt out. My love for teaching is no longer enough to keep me going at $15 an hour. My friends tell me now is a more important time than ever to be teaching. “We need good teachers” they say. “These kids are faced with so much these days. They need you”.
I know they do, but I have so little left to give. The future of our education system depends on great teachers. Without better pay, we can’t stay. I plan to finish this school year and then I’ll have to find something else. I can’t continue on like this and it kills me.
