I quit
I finally did it. I quit. I no longer work for Chicago Public Schools. And I feel great.
Quitting my job has given me an enormous positive rush: the dammed stress of a year and a half finally burst forth, and the release was cathartic.
Actually saying the words “I quit” out loud was a huge rush—it was like a tidal wave of frustration had finally reached the shore, and carried away all of the detritus of inertia that kept me at CPS; it carried me right out the door.
Sure, I’m a little worried about the eventual effects of my decision on my bank account, but money is less important to me than sanity. My fiancée and I moved in together in December so that I could quit then, if I wanted to (she and my counselor have been suggesting I leave this “toxic environment” since October). I thought I could tough it out until the end of the year. In the end, I refused to accept the compromises I would have to make, personally and professionally, to survive CPS until June.
It wasn’t that Thursday was any worse than any other day: it was actually about the same as every other day, and that was the problem; the students weren’t getting my lesson, they weren’t paying any attention at all, except to yell profanity or other negative language across the room at each other. Nothing I did—continuing to teach, asking them to stop, writing up the continuous offenders—had any effect. It never has any effect, and I realized it never would have any effect. Sure, the nightmare would end in June, but until then, I’d have to endure 57 more days of this. And that was 57 days too many.
I could have just taken Friday off. I could have taken every Friday off from then until the end of the school year. I was planning on taking another “sick day vacation” toward the end of May. A lot of people do it. It’s how they cope. It’s how they manage to endure this job long enough to get paid, and maybe reach one or two students in the meantime.
There were a few students I was making a difference with, but the personal cost got to be too high: you go into a burning building enough times to save others stranded in the conflagration, and eventually the flames will get you, too.
I’ve inhaled enough smoke. It’s time to save myself. I gave it my best shot. I did good work while I was there. I would rather quit now than fake my way through the rest of the year. I got out before I burned out.
Quitting my job has given me an enormous positive rush: the dammed stress of a year and a half finally burst forth, and the release was cathartic.
Actually saying the words “I quit” out loud was a huge rush—it was like a tidal wave of frustration had finally reached the shore, and carried away all of the detritus of inertia that kept me at CPS; it carried me right out the door.
Sure, I’m a little worried about the eventual effects of my decision on my bank account, but money is less important to me than sanity. My fiancée and I moved in together in December so that I could quit then, if I wanted to (she and my counselor have been suggesting I leave this “toxic environment” since October). I thought I could tough it out until the end of the year. In the end, I refused to accept the compromises I would have to make, personally and professionally, to survive CPS until June.
It wasn’t that Thursday was any worse than any other day: it was actually about the same as every other day, and that was the problem; the students weren’t getting my lesson, they weren’t paying any attention at all, except to yell profanity or other negative language across the room at each other. Nothing I did—continuing to teach, asking them to stop, writing up the continuous offenders—had any effect. It never has any effect, and I realized it never would have any effect. Sure, the nightmare would end in June, but until then, I’d have to endure 57 more days of this. And that was 57 days too many.
I could have just taken Friday off. I could have taken every Friday off from then until the end of the school year. I was planning on taking another “sick day vacation” toward the end of May. A lot of people do it. It’s how they cope. It’s how they manage to endure this job long enough to get paid, and maybe reach one or two students in the meantime.
There were a few students I was making a difference with, but the personal cost got to be too high: you go into a burning building enough times to save others stranded in the conflagration, and eventually the flames will get you, too.
I’ve inhaled enough smoke. It’s time to save myself. I gave it my best shot. I did good work while I was there. I would rather quit now than fake my way through the rest of the year. I got out before I burned out.
posted by Christopher at
12:31 PM
1 Comments:
You very well may be my new hero! I've been teaching in an urban school in Kansas City, Missouri, a notoriously dysfunctional school district. I left a good job as a computer programmer to "save the urban students" but have had the same experience as you -- babysitting apathetic students in a hostile environment, where every problem and low test score is blamed on the teachers. As I've tried to make it through to this June, reading your weblog has encouraged me, if for no other reason than I have seen I'm not alone.
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