As from today, I am not a teacher. I don’t know what I am now. But I am not a teacher.

I have been teaching for four years. Not long, I know, but long enough to know that I can’t be a teacher any longer. I love teaching. I think I’m good at it. My students just nominated me for an inspirational teacher award. But as of today, I am not a teacher. 

I came into teaching late (aged 40). I’ve had jobs where I got paid a lot for doing very little. I’ve had jobs where I worked very hard, but where it was noticed and there was always a “thank you” or a bonus or at least a “well done”.  

Teaching was a whole new ball game. Never have I worked so hard for so little. So little financially, so little thanks, such long hours, so little reward.  

My last job, the reason why I am now not a teacher, was teaching GCSE English at a further education college. It was a real eye-opener to see that corruption, massaging of figures and jobs for the boys were more rife than anything I witnessed when I worked in the city. 

My students had a lot of additional learning needs and the classes were mixed ability, with many at a low standard. We had email after memo after meeting about how we must differentiate, must set work for different levels, must be aspirational, inspirational, show positivity, change their mindset, tell them failure isn’t an option.  

‘Never have I worked so hard for so little’

For many of the students failure was the only option, as there was no way they could obtain the magic C grade in their GCSE exam. Management were not concerned about that - a pass was all that was needed. It really wasn’t about the C grade - it was about the “F”, the “F for funding”.   

As a teacher in this position, I was constantly made to feel like a failure. I was told my attitude was negative because I was angry when all my teaching was moved to a campus 21 miles away. I was told I wasn’t a team player when I couldn’t get in at 6.30am to help with the exam breakfasts because of childcare. I was told that my students didn’t understand my instructions. Many of them didn’t - it’s hard to explain how we’re looking for the emotive language and metaphors in an extract when they don’t know how to use capital letters and full stops. 

In the end, they broke me. Management broke me - not the students, never the students. Management, with their petty money-saving, their unrealistic targets and their unobtainable goals. Their constant adding - adding to the workload, adding to lesson length and adding to stress levels. The taking away - the taking away of my petrol reimbursement, the taking away of my overtime pay, the taking away of my confidence.  

Had someone told me a year ago that a part-time teaching job would end with me signed off with stress, I would have laughed at the absurdity. Yet there I was, crying at my computer as I read another email about some petty paperwork that I hadn’t done and how I needed to get in earlier to attend yet another weekly meeting. Feeling like my chest would explode as anxiety flared at the thought of having to plan another lesson that would not be good enough for the constant stream of management drop-ins. 

Whilst signed of with stress, I handed in my notice. I don’t know what the future holds for me but I feel more positive, confident and healthier that I have for the past few months. All you teachers, fighting the good fight, I salute you. I couldn’t do it. I am not a teacher - and that breaks my heart a little bit.

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