The spark of witnessing students find their calling – nursing, midwifery, teaching – that’s what initially made the demanding hours feel worthwhile. There was a genuine joy in their successes, a feeling that resonated deeply and remains with me still. The classroom itself was a vibrant space I truly loved.
But beneath the surface of inspiring young minds, an insidious pressure began to build. The workday never truly ended, stretching far beyond the scheduled hours. Arriving before lessons, unpaid, and staying late, also unpaid, became the norm. Even during the college day, a proper lunch break was a luxury, replaced by a frantic dash between classrooms.
Evenings and weekends dissolved into a blur of lesson planning and marking, stealing precious time with my own children. The weight of expectation grew heavier with each passing week. Then came September 2018, and a moment that irrevocably altered everything.
I had dedicated the entire summer to crafting three months’ worth of lesson plans and resources for a new subject, a project I embraced with genuine enthusiasm. Hours were poured into perfecting every detail, every task, every resource, all meticulously uploaded as requested. But on the first day, I was informed my lessons had been reassigned to a newly hired teacher, who would be utilizing my work.
The realization that I wouldn’t be teaching the course at all was devastating. Something fractured within me, a profound sense of disillusionment. It was soul-destroying. From that point forward, my mental health began a rapid decline.
I clung to the role until Christmas, but the workload continued to escalate, and the support I desperately needed simply wasn’t there. Eventually, I was forced to seek help from my doctor. Even while on sick leave, the college persistently contacted me, making it clear a return was impossible.
Leaving teaching was heartbreaking. Looking back, I recognize the changes I should have made: establishing firm boundaries, challenging unreasonable expectations. But at the time, I felt powerless, lacking the permission to prioritize my own wellbeing.
Teachers are driven by a deep desire to not let their students down, pushing themselves to the absolute limit, sometimes beyond what is safe or sustainable. Today’s statistics only confirm what many already know: relentless workloads, unattainable targets, minimal downtime, and a lack of genuine pastoral support are simply unsustainable.
The toll on mental health is undeniable. Without significant change, more teachers will inevitably leave the profession. Those who remain will bear an even heavier burden, stress levels will continue to soar, and ultimately, students will suffer the consequences of a system stretched to its breaking point.
But this doesn’t have to be the future. Protecting planning time, ensuring teachers have genuine breaks, providing accessible mental health support, creating fair cover systems, and treating educators as respected professionals – not endlessly available resources – would make a transformative difference.
I still yearn for my former career. I miss the energy of the classroom, the connections forged with students, the exhilaration of witnessing them discover their potential. Those were the elements that made the job truly beautiful. But the truth is, many teachers aren’t leaving because they lack passion for teaching; they’re leaving because the system fails to support them.
If we want to retain dedicated, passionate educators, that fundamental reality must change. It’s not about a lack of love for the profession, it’s about a desperate need for a sustainable system.
