When I came out to my family during my first year of college in the early 2000s, my mother’s immediate concerns extended beyond my safety and well-being to include my future as an educator. She asked, “But what about your career?” As if being authentic means having to hide your queerness to succeed in education. At that moment, even before I enrolled in a teacher preparation program, I was faced with an alarming reality. It was that in education there was always a script to follow.
But as a budding teacher, it wasn’t my sexuality that initially overshadowed my work. It was yet another scripted expectation. My undergraduate education, grounded in social justice and critical literacy, energized me to create equitable opportunities in the classroom. but, The reality of neoliberal educationshaped by policies such as: leave no child behind and the rise of Common Core State Standardscontradicted this vision. These policies prioritized standardization and testing, turning schools into spaces of conformity and compliance. The script was clear, favoring fidelity to the status quo over meaningful change.
This sense of tension was evident in my daily work. I had envisioned an education that would challenge students to question and connect their learning to larger social issues, but the expectations placed on me as an educator were quite different. When I included a unit on racial injustice, there was immediate criticism and backlash. Colleagues often self-censor; deeming certain texts or topics “too controversial” For our school community. I still remember one parent emailing me and asking, “Why aren’t you teaching me English?” This sentiment reflected an expectation to follow the traditional script of teaching English language arts. For me, “just teaching English” means centering the very inequalities and critical issues that I was trained to address in the literature classroom in my teacher preparation program. It was impossible to ignore the cacophony.
Recent curriculum legislation and implementation leaves little room for student voices and lived experiences. We are expected to insist on a “quality” curriculum, treat students as blank slates rather than complete individuals, and set aside real engagement. All of these constraints felt stifling. I longed to grow as an educator, but nothing felt more constricting than the expectation to be a “well-behaved teacher” who never questioned authority. This narrow role was exhausting and disingenuous. I realized that I was engaging in attitudes that undermined me as a teacher and did not reflect or respect my commitment to teaching and learning. The moments of silence and submission were painful.
the last straw
As I prepared to enter my 18th year of education, a series of events caused me to lose faith in the system. I decided to move away from screenwriting completely. I said no to disrespect and bullying by leaving a toxic work environment and accepting 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 teacher like me. But staying meant continuing to work within a system that silenced my voice. By leaving, I chose my integrity over the false comfort of staying in a situation that no longer served me.
After 11 years in the same school district, my resignation was not impulsive. I have witnessed trust erode when administrators ignore teachers’ concerns and suppress honest dialogue. I found myself falling into the role of the “well-behaved teacher.” I was expected to abide by every decision made against me and my students, no matter how harmful or negative it felt. The breaking point came when the superintendent’s bullying revealed that teachers were seen as instruments of compliance rather than partners in education. After that, I realized I couldn’t stay in this area. My resignation was an act of reclaiming my self-respect and professional agency.
In a brief passing conversation with the superintendent before I resigned, they shared one final comment that solidified my decision. “I hope you know that I mean no malice.” These words, though harmful, were decisive and confirmed their lack of leadership. I realized I had outgrown the script they wanted me to follow and walked away.
Seeing is believing
When I first joined the district in 2013, I believed it was the perfect place to foster my growth as a teacher. However, constant turnover created instability. Teachers’ voices were silenced and our concerns ignored. My questions about retention and morale—questions aimed at fostering open dialogue rather than assigning blame—were rudely ignored. The gaslighting that followed, with “I’m surprised at you” and “you know better than anyone,” was designed to make me question my own judgment and avoid addressing the real issue at hand. Instead of dealing with it, they shifted the blame onto me.
I felt more like an easily controlled pawn than a trusted partner within the community. My growing anger stemmed not only from the lack of answers, but also from my expectations of the role of “well-behaved teacher.” When rudeness from district administrators becomes a regular occurrence, it indicates a serious problem.
Even though I had the dream schedule of an English teacher, I was unfulfilled. I had the freedom to design meaningful learning experiences and security of tenure, none of which came close to minimizing my dignity. Disdain from district leadership overshadowed my professional accomplishments. By invalidating my concerns, they also silenced my colleagues and perpetuated a system that prioritizes control and compliance over community.
Liberation from the script
Toward the end of the summer, I realized that I had lost faith in the ability of district leaders to foster civility. Leaving is not just about running away from a hostile environment. It was about defending my dignity and refusing to compromise my values for a system that no longer values me or my colleagues. I value my integrity more than my role as an educator. When those in power resort to fear and bullying to control and manipulate rather than provide support, entire communities suffer.
But what I didn’t realize was that this situation provided an opportunity to reinvent and explore new paths. I still believe in the power and potential of education and collaboration with the community. In retrospect, although my resignation was a defeat, I believe it was a stepping stone to something bigger. These challenges became a springboard for possibilities that once seemed out of reach.
My story reflects the larger story in schools across the country. Teachers are increasingly expected to follow strict norms and lose trust in leadership that ignores our agency. Many people are leaving the profession they once loved. When leaders prioritize control over collaboration, they undermine the heart and soul of teaching and learning.
