When I came out to my family during my first year of college in the early 2000s, my mother’s immediate concern extended beyond my safety and happiness and was about my future as an educator. She asked, “But what about your career?” as if living authentically meant I had to hide my homosexuality to succeed in teaching. At that point, before even entering my teacher preparation program, I was faced with a disturbing reality: In education, there would always be scripts that I would have to follow.
However, as a beginning teacher, it was not my sexuality that initially cast a shadow over my work – it was the expectations embedded in another scenario. My undergraduate studies, grounded in social justice and critical literacy, inspired me to create equitable opportunities in my classroom. However, the realities of the neoliberal educational landscapeshaped by policies such as No child left behind and the rise of Common Core State Standardscontradicts this view. These policies prioritized standardization and testing, transforming schools into spaces of conformity and conformity. The scenario was clear: loyalty to the status quo took priority over meaningful change.
This tension was palpable in my daily work. While I envisioned teaching that challenged students to question and connect their learning to larger social issues, the expectations placed on me as an educator were very different. When I incorporated units on racial injustice, the criticism and pushback was immediate. Colleagues often self-censor, judging certain texts and subjects “too controversial” for our school community. I still remember a parent emailing me and asking, “Why can’t you just teach English?” This sentiment reflected an expectation to adhere to the traditional English language arts teaching script. For me, “just teaching English” means centering the inequalities and critical questions that my teacher preparation program taught me to address in the literature classroom. The dissonance was impossible to ignore.
Recent legislation and curriculum implementation have left little space for the voices and lived experiences of my students. The goal is to stick to a “high quality” curriculum and sideline real engagement, treating students as blank slates rather than as whole individuals. Each of these constraints seemed stifling. I wanted to grow as an educator, but nothing seemed more limiting than the expectation of being a “well-mannered teacher” who never questions authority. This narrow role was exhausting and disingenuous. I found myself depressing my teaching self, presenting myself in a way that did not reflect or respect my commitment to teaching and learning. These moments of silence and obedience were painful.
The final straw
As I prepared to enter my eighteenth year of teaching, a series of events eroded my confidence in the system. I decided to completely break from the script: I said no to the disrespect and bullying by removing myself from a toxic work environment to accept a new role in another school district. This was not a decision I made lightly, as I had been led to believe that no one would hire a top-notch professor like me. However, staying meant continuing to work within a system that silenced my voice. By leaving, I chose my integrity over the false comfort of remaining in a situation that no longer served me.
My resignation – after eleven years in the same school district – was not impulsive. I witnessed the erosion of trust when administrators ignored teachers’ concerns and stifled open dialogue. I found myself in the role of a “well-mannered teacher,” expected to comply with every decision that was made for me and my students, no matter how detrimental or dismissive it seemed. The breaking point came when a superintendent’s bullying revealed that teachers were seen as tools of compliance, not partners in education. After that, I knew I couldn’t continue in the district. My resignation was an act of reclaiming my self-esteem and professional agency.
Before my resignation, during a brief conversation with the superintendent, they shared one final comment that solidified my decision: “I hope you know that I have no ill will. These words, toxic but definitive, confirmed their lack of leadership. I walked away, realizing I had moved beyond the script they wanted me to follow.
Seeing is believing
When I joined the district in 2013, I thought it was the right place to further my growth as a teacher. However, the constant turnover created instability. Teachers’ voices were silenced and our concerns were dismissed. My questions about retention and morale – questions aimed at fostering open dialogue rather than casting blame – were dismissed with disrespect. The sentences that followed: “I’m surprised by you” and “You know that better than anyone” were designed to make me question my own judgment, placing the blame on myself instead of addressing the real issues at hand. .
I felt like a pawn, easy to manage rather than a trusted partner within the community. My growing resentment stemmed not only from a lack of answers, but also from the expectation of playing the role of a “well-mannered teacher.” When disrespect from district administrators becomes the norm, it signals a serious problem.
Despite what many would consider an English teacher’s dream schedule, I was not satisfied. I had the freedom to design meaningful learning experiences and security of tenure, but none of that could outweigh the downplaying of my dignity. The lack of respect from district leadership overshadowed my professional success. By invalidating my concerns, they were also silencing my colleagues, perpetuating a system that prioritized control and compliance over community.
Free yourself from the scenario
By the end of the summer, I realized that I had lost confidence in the ability of district leaders to foster civility. Leaving was not just about escaping a hostile environment; it was about protecting my dignity and refusing to compromise my values for a system that no longer valued me or my colleagues. I value my integrity more than my role as an educator. When those in power use fear and intimidation to control and manipulate rather than offer support, the entire community suffers.
What I didn’t realize, however, was that this situation presented an opportunity to rebuild and explore new paths. I still believe in the power and potential of education and the possibilities for community collaboration. Looking back, I see my resignation as a defeat but as a stepping stone to something greater. Challenges have become a launching pad for possibilities that once seemed out of reach.
My story reflects a larger narrative in schools across the country. Teachers are increasingly expected to conform to rigid scripts, thereby losing trust in leaders who do not take our free will into account. Many are abandoning a profession they once loved. When leaders prioritize control over collaboration, they undermine the heart and soul of teaching and learning.
