Why I Left an Abusive Relationship Called Teaching
I quit.
I made it for 6 years. 6 years of pouring my heart and soul into my students. 6 years of late nights, early mornings, long weekends, short lunches (if you get them), the inability to use the bathroom as needed, and little respect. I came into the game wanting to be a star player. I spent hours reading, researching, planning exemplar lessons. I made my classroom home and took great pride in the fact that part of my identity was being a teacher.
I remember glowing with excitement when my classroom was featured in an article in the Austin American Statesman and when I was nominated for teacher of the year. My grandmother was a teacher, my role model, who I wanted to be as an educator. I wanted nothing more than to make her proud of me.
Being a teacher is not unlike being in an abusive relationship and the only reason we stay is for the kids. We’ve all seen the signs and if you replace “abuser” with “education” you’ve got teaching.
I would sit in my car in the school parking lot and cry before going home. Then suck it up, put on a smile and go back in the next morning all the while thinking it would be a better day, that surely the worst had passed. Only it didn’t pass, it just got worse.
