On Leaving

Normally my first weeks of June are spent catching up on months of sleep deprivation, preparing for summer trips, reviving friendships I’ve neglected, and beginning my garden. But this year unlike most educators I know I am well rested, no trips are planned, and my garden has never looked better. In March I traded my days of indoctrinating children with my liberal agenda for dirt under my fingernails and afternoon naps with my dogs. In short, I chose myself* over teaching.

I dreamt last night that I had Covid while attending graduation. I knew it wasn’t safe for me to be there but I just couldn’t miss seeing my students walk across the stage. I was horrified with myself even in my dream state. But these are the sorts of dreams I had as a teacher all the time, dreams about specific students and their needs often in contrast to my own. 

Over the past seven years there have been two versions of me. School year Meg was a kick-ass educator, always exhausted and unkempt and spending a fair amount of her weekend grading and planning. Summer Meg tried to fit a full life into June and July- reading for pleasure, having sex, staying up past 10, doing anything on Sundays besides wallowing in existential dread.   

If you’ve seen me since my life change you know my elevator speech is well-rehearsed: “Yes, I left because of Covid. Teachers were being asked to sacrifice themselves and their safety and I was too ornery to give in. But I also had developed the best work-life balance I’d ever had. I had energy left at the end of each day after teaching little black boxes. (Energy that would be zapped by teaching in-person actual teenage humans and all their bullshit). I was a better partner, a better friend, a better human. And I wasn’t willing to give that up.”

It’s an unpopular choice. It makes people uncomfortable when teachers aren’t willing to sacrifice themselves for other people’s children. Some of the responses I’ve gotten have been eerily similar to the ones I get when I tell people I’ve chosen to be child-free. Teaching used to be my get out of jail free card with that one- “I’m with kids all day, I don’t need any of my own.” But I don’t have that now. There’s nothing I can say now to put people at ease about either of these decisions.

Teachers are told their profession is among the most noble. They’re also often told they cannot leave-what else could they do with this skill set that would “change lives” or have as much meaning as this! Contractually, of course, teachers must sign on for a year of their lives-regardless of what that year might bring. Breaking free from education mid-year is seen as a death sentence to many. No school district will hire you if you’ve proven you can’t hack it until June. I left in March because my school was returning to in-person learning and I wasn’t willing to. But I also left because I want to be asked ‘why did you leave in the middle of the year.’ Those conversations have been avoided for long enough. My dad begged me to resign rather than insist on being fired, he thought it would be easier to explain. But I maintain that the narrative here is on my side. 

I naively held out hope at the beginning of remote learning last spring that this would be a true earthquake in education-we’d have to question it all and rethink the way we access students. We could start from scratch and create something that works for ALL students and teachers. But as it became evident that school systems across the country were unwilling to engage in those conversations and would rush back to the status quo at the first chance they got I knew all hope was lost. If this year did not force those conversations, nothing would. So I tapped out.

The people I love most in this world will return to classrooms this fall: my sisters, my former colleagues, and dear friends. They are doing good work inside a broken system because they believe they can make a difference. I just don't believe that I can anymore. So, here I am: picking worms off of broccoli, canning pesto, and looking forward to remaining summer Meg for a while. 

*I understand the privilege that comes with this choice-I’m only able to have my moment of fuck you to capitalism because my partner is still working in corporate America every day and providing us with basic necessities save the few greens I’ve harvested from our raised beds.