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 even now. 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, a turning point that shattered my enthusiasm.
I had dedicated an entire summer to crafting three months’ worth of lesson plans and resources for a new subject, a project I embraced with genuine excitement. 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.
I wouldn’t be teaching the course at all. A profound sense of disillusionment washed over me, a feeling of being utterly devalued. Something within me fractured. From that moment forward, my mental health began a rapid decline. I clung on until Christmas, but the relentless workload and lack of support proved insurmountable, forcing me to seek medical help.
Even while on sick leave, the college continued to contact me, a constant reminder of the environment I could no longer endure. I ultimately realized a return was impossible, leaving teaching with a heartbreaking sense of loss. Looking back, I recognize the need for firmer boundaries, a willingness to challenge unreasonable expectations.
But at the time, I felt powerless to assert myself. Teachers are driven by a deep desire to not let their students down, pushing themselves beyond reasonable limits, sometimes even jeopardizing their own wellbeing. The current statistics only confirm what many already know: unsustainable workloads, impossible targets, minimal downtime, and inadequate pastoral support are taking a devastating toll.
The impact on mental health is undeniable. Without systemic change, more teachers will inevitably leave the profession. Those who remain will face even heavier burdens, escalating stress levels, and students will ultimately suffer from a system stretched to its breaking point. It doesn’t have to be this way.
Protecting planning time, ensuring genuine breaks, providing accessible mental health support, establishing fair cover systems, and treating teachers as valued professionals – not simply as endlessly available resources – would be transformative. I still yearn for the energy of the classroom, the connections, the joy of witnessing young people discover their potential.
Those were the beautiful aspects of the job. 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, enthusiastic educators, fundamental change is essential.
