I didn’t become a teacher because I love policy. I became a teacher because I love people. Children. Creativity. Transformation. But over time, it became clear: the system isn’t built to support those values—it’s built to extract from them. And the more you care, the more it costs you.

In education, the word “calling” is often weaponized. It’s dangled over our heads as a reason to accept unacceptable conditions. You don’t need adequate pay—you have a calling. You don’t need time to rest—you have a calling. You don’t need the freedom to leave without punishment—you have a calling.

If devotion requires self-abandonment, it’s not a calling.
It’s a trap.

When I asked why my district charges a $2,000 penalty if a teacher resigns after the school year begins, I was told, “All professionals are treated this way.” As if widespread mistreatment makes it okay.

Let’s be honest—teachers aren’t treated like other professionals. We’re micromanaged, under-resourced, blamed when policies fail, and then penalized for wanting out. In what other profession is loyalty financially coerced, but respect? That’s optional. Even if other professionals are treated this way, that doesn’t make it ethical—it just means exploitation is more common than we’d like to admit.

When I pointed out that attaching a fine to resignation undermines teacher autonomy, I was told the policy is meant to “leverage” and “deter” employees from leaving. Exact words. That is coercion. That is control. That is an admission that the district depends not on support, but on fear. The HR rep who drew the short straw that day—whom I’ll lovingly refer to as HR Short Straw— and had to deal with my insubordination refused to acknowledge that her own words—deter and leverage—very clearly communicate control and a power imbalance. She replied “Okay. So what about the flip side of that. We are guaranteeing you a job. We’re guaranteeing you that we aren’t going to switch teachers.” Notice how the power dynamic and coercion weren’t addressed? We just circled back around to ‘you should be grateful we guarantee you a position.’

Truly this is laughable for a few reasons. Laughable reason #1: A few years back my school had two art teaching positions open. One of these positions required the teacher to travel between two schools. We had 3 applicants for 2 positions. We offered the job to one of the applicants, but she had already taken another position, so the other two applicants were given the job. Yes, I should be ever so grateful that you haven’t offered my job to…whom exactly?

Laughable reason #2: this past year I worked a full 6 months without a formal contract. I still showed up and did my job. The delay was due to a pending referendum, but that doesn’t change the fact that for six months, I worked without formal protection—because it was the right thing to do. It also doesn’t change the fact that in my 14 years as a teacher there have been several years that I started the year without a contract. For the first 8 years I worked for this district the pay scale was “frozen”- meaning no one’s pay moved a cent for 8 full years. When the scale was no longer frozen, there was no talk of back pay. Still, we all showed up and did our jobs. We are loyal and hardworking above all else.

But I digress. If a classroom teacher used that same logic as the HR department—penalizing students for transferring out of the class—we’d call it unethical. But when it’s baked into policy, it gets a gold star and a shrug.

I was also told that I was offensive for questioning a policy. I was told I was unprofessional for answering an HR employee honestly. She called to remind me that the form must be signed, fees agreed to, or I would forfeit my job, and she asked if I was having trouble with the form. I told her that I find the addition of fees disturbing, controlling, coercive, and gross, and for those reasons I’m dragging my feet on signing it. I specified that my issue was with the policy, not with her personally— but she took it personally anyway. This was framed as me taking out my frustration of her. Welcome ClariTea to the stage— “If speaking the truth makes me unprofessional and offensive, then frankly, I have no desire to be polite and professional.”

(Haven’t met my inner Tea Party? You’re in for a treat → Meet the Teas)

The HR rep went on to tell me that the policy is ethical because, “we are offering you a contract and if you break it, then that’s the consequence.” She must be confused. That’s not an ethical argument—it’s procedural. Saying ‘we offer a contract, and if you break it, there are consequences’ doesn’t address fairness or morality. It’s just stating the rule. And rules, as we all know, aren’t always just. She stated that the district can’t break our contracts either, so I think what she meant is she feels that the policy is fair. But it isn’t fair. The district can end my contract at any time as long as they have “just cause,” and seeing as I am responsible for knowing all of my job responsibilities and expectations within a 103-page handbook, I imagine it wouldn’t be too hard to find some measure of ‘just cause.’ They can also non-renew my contract for the following school year at any time so long as they notify me in writing by May 15th.

She had the audacity to say, and I quote, “We get people who leave just because they want more money, and that’s not fair to us.” Yeah, you read that right. It is entirely fair to leave a job for better pay. Teachers are not responsible for how the district responds to a teacher shortage that they caused by undervaluing their own staff. If a district genuinely wanted to retain teachers, it wouldn’t trap them—it would treat them well enough that they want to stay.

HR Short Straw also used her 15 years as a teacher to justify these practices, and claimed it was no different when she was teaching. She later shot a hole in her own argument by saying that teacher retention has been abysmal since Covid. I chuckled and said, “That’s because we are asked to do two jobs for the price of one since Covid.” She was immediately defensive and launched into a monolog about when she started teaching there were no computers. You couldn’t just send something to the printer from your desk. Everything had to be hand-written. She forgets that she can’t comment on things she hasn’t experienced- she hasn’t taught post Covid. We are expected to teach in person and also to maintain an online Canvas course; to be an in person and virtual instructor rolled into one.

She’s now nearly 34 years into her calling in education and the long hours, lack of compensation, and even higher fees in her contract don’t bother her one bit, because education is her calling. Apparently, she has no issue with her time and energy being abused because she is totally thrilled being a martyr. It’s really just so unfortunate that the martyr roll is no longer for me. Maybe education just isn’t my calling the way it is for her 🙄.

I think more than a few people have their priorities a little twisted. Loving my students doesn’t mean I owe my silence. Valuing my job doesn’t mean I have to devalue myself. And the real offense isn’t my voice—it’s the normalization of silence.

I’m am not the problem. I’m just refusing to play along anymore.

This isn’t just about one district or one policy. It’s about an entire system that punishes teachers for wanting boundaries, rest, or alternatives. And if that makes me disruptive, so be it.

Because I didn’t answer a calling just to end up in a cage.