I Quit Teaching and Won’t Go Back

“I Quit Teaching and Won’t Go Back” is the second of a three-part series written by Dan Laird, a teacher of 17 years who left education to work in private industry. Part one, “Why I Quit Teaching After 17 Successful Years” can be read here. Part three, “The Teacher’s Guide to Changing Careers,” can be found here.

Dan Laird

It has been almost ten months since I started my new career giving me a chance to see the world from a set of non-teacher eyes. Each day, I’m happier I left. Each day, I want to lead everyone I left in the classroom on a revolt. The grass on the other side is greener. I’ve seen it.

Let’s “yada yada yada” our way through the obvious reasons why: the pay is better, the benefits are better, my retirement savings now grow three times as fast, I have an hour for lunch which gives me enough time to eat at home if I’d like, I can use the bathroom at any time without needing to find someone to sit at my desk while I’m gone, and my office building is modern and doesn’t smell like a gym locker. But you already expected that.

The real reason I will never go back to education is the culture. I discovered that teachers have been conditioned to believe that everything must be harder than it actually has to be. We are trained to think that the reasonable is unreasonable, that anything we are afforded should be considered a favor, that guilt should accompany permission for the most basic accommodations.

As it turns out, the professional world does not operate like it does inside the walls of a school. In the first month of my new job, three events solidified my departure from education as one of the best events that ever happened to me:

1.  Part of my job description includes the creation of digital interactive tutorials and the monitoring of the company’s learning management system. As if being paid to be creative every day isn’t monumental enough, that isn’t the most incredible part. When I asked my manager if I would have access to the designing software at home to continue working when needed, her response was, “The short answer is ‘yes,’ but we don’t expect you to take work home.” She went on to tell me that the company feels family is important and that an employee shouldn’t have to sacrifice one for the other. Now this doesn’t mean that I don’t have deadlines or that I still haven’t brought my laptop home from time to time. But I find that I accomplish more at work because I’m allowed to do my job uninterrupted, unlike teaching, where classroom instruction is the least respected part of the job.

As teachers, there is an expectation that large parts of your required duties are to be performed on your own personal time. Not only are you expected to teach during classroom hours, you are expected to give up your lunch and planning hour if a student requests it. The request never seems unreasonable to anyone other than the teacher. Saying “no” is a guaranteed PR nightmare because, once again, not being willing to sacrifice on command clearly means you don’t care about kids.

As teachers lose their planning time, their 25 minutes to shovel down a microwave meal, and their early mornings and afternoons in order to spend more time working with students, the other half of the job awaits them during their personal time, their time with family, their time to unwind. There is no such thing as “off duty” when you are a teacher. What you do to go above and beyond as a teacher quickly becomes the norm, which means you then have to figure out a new way to go above and beyond.

First, it was important to have your grades prepared for report cards at the end of the trimester, then it was important to have your grades prepared for progress reports in the middle of the trimester, then we were required to send grade notices home to give parents a heads up regarding what they will be seeing on the progress report. Now all of a sudden, you’re unable to work on long-term projects because you won’t have a grade in time for the next update and we all know that if you don’t have grades, then clearly it’s because you’re lazy.

The same thing happens with parent communication. You update a website regularly with daily class information and downloadable materials? How am I supposed to know when it’s updated each day? Oh, you’ve added a class Twitter account to announce updates to the website? But I prefer text messages. Oh, you have a website, a Twitter account, and a Remind texting account? Well, we didn’t have time to check it. Can you just send home everything my child is missing?

My work hours are a little longer now. Instead of 8 to 3, I work 8 to 5. But I wouldn’t say that my work day is longer. As a teacher, 8 am was the time work started but it wasn’t the time I started working. I was usually at school by 7 am at the latest (earlier if I didn’t have to take my kids to school or daycare) in order to get everything ready. And when 3 pm rolled around, I was packing multiple hours worth of work into my bag to take to my other office, also known as my dining room table.

At my new job, an 8 am start means I leave my house at 7:40. And at 5 pm, my bag returns home as light as it left. Again, this doesn’t mean that my new colleagues and I aren’t working hard, or that we don’t bust our asses to go above and beyond expectations, or that we don’t still take work home with us. In fact, right now my work hours are a blur because of the extra time being put in to plan the company’s annual national conference in Orlando. (Did I mention my job includes an all-expenses-paid trip to Florida?) But in the world outside education, we sacrifice our time when needed as opposed to being expected to sacrifice our time as a matter of course.

2.  In the year before I left teaching, my daughter started pre-school, so I enrolled her in the district where I taught. Of course, this meant that I dropped her off and picked her up from school. This created a problem when I had a staff meeting after school. The problem wasn’t picking her up. It was where to take her during my meeting. I asked if she could just sit at my desk since the meeting was in my room fully expecting a “no problem.” Instead, I was made to feel like the request was unreasonable, that an institution for teaching children was no place for a child. Instead, I had to find a student to babysit her in another room. Perhaps it was for the best. Who knows what could have happened had my 4-year-old daughter been privy to Homecoming planning details and SAT data.

When I started my new job, I was faced with a similarly difficult situation when our after-school care provider called in sick. My now five-year-old daughter couldn’t just stay at school for another two hours and she certainly wasn’t going to walk home by herself. I expected an awkward conversation with my manager. Instead, my manager and my team were practically giddy with excitement. They told me that I could work from home for the rest of the afternoon but that they would love it if I brought my daughter back to work with me.

“Are you serious?” I asked cautiously, as if this were a setup for being so gullible. I assumed the answer was “yes” since they immediately began planning activities for her. When I returned with my daughter, she was greeted by everyone with coloring pages, candy, and even a toy car with the company logo on it from the president of the company. Now my daughter always wants to know when she can come back to work with me. In that moment, I learned that respect for people’s lives outside of work exists. Way too often in teaching, teachers are treated as if caring for their own families means they are neglecting their students and that their job is putting everyone else’s children ahead of their own. It doesn’t have to be like that.

3.  I’m not going to lie and tell you that a part of me doesn’t feel guilty about leaving. Public education is currently waging a huge battle for its survival and I walked away. Despite the way teachers are perceived and disrespected in a social context, it’s a little bit easier to stand up tall and declare you are a teacher when someone asks what you do for a living than it is with a job title that requires explaining. However, I don’t regret leaving for a single moment and I have the rest of my teaching colleagues to thank for it.

When I made my departure official and announced it to the world, I was humbled by the response of kind words and expressions of sadness for losing what I had to offer the classroom. But I was also alarmed by the number of responses I received from teachers asking how I managed to do it. I received texts, emails, and phone calls from teachers all over the national network I had been a part of declaring that they wanted out, too. These messages weren’t coming from young teachers who decided they couldn’t hack it for the long haul. These were established teachers, leaders in their field, authors of respected educational research. Many, like me, could even see the finish line of a retirement from education within the next decade but decided that it wasn’t worth it. The requests for information started spreading. I began receiving messages from friends of friends and even a few strangers. I had somehow become the exodus guru. I still receive these messages, with the most recent just last week from a woman I once met at a conference who found me on LinkedIn and wondered if I could give her friend some advice.

With so many wanting out, my guilty feelings quickly subsided. However, I’m left with a fear for our education system. In my state of Michigan alone, enrollment in college teacher programs has declined drastically to the point where schools are hard pressed to find someone who will even be a substitute. For the last decade, teachers in my state have seen repeated attacks on their paychecks, their credibility, their voice, and the profession in general. We’ve reached an era where parents don’t have to dissuade their children from becoming teachers. Their kids no longer see any appeal. Pretty soon, the fight for public education might have to come from the outside because there will be no one left to throw punches on the inside.

I will continue to be one of those fighters on the outside, but I will also enjoy a well-deserved life outside of the trenches. Instead of phone calls to parents or stacks of papers to grade, my evenings are filled with time to play with my daughters. I use some of my new extra income to pay for those subscription home meal delivery kits and I’m learning to cook. I take a Florida vacation in the middle of winter at a time of my own choosing. I go to bed at a decent hour and have time to read a book before I go to sleep. It truly is amazing how stress-free my life has become. Part of me is pretty sure that my grey hair is getting its color back. While that might be a slight exaggeration, I do truly believe that I have drastically increased my odds of seeing my future grandkids grow up.

Whatever you decide to do with your future, whether it is holding strong in the trenches or seeking a more peaceful life, remember the most important point that I’ve gathered through this whole experience: You have worth outside of the classroom. In my case, I found a job that respects my professional accomplishments as a teacher more than those who employed me as one. You have not locked yourself into a career you can’t get out of. There are options. You just have to discover what they are. You may use this discovery to begin planning your exit. Or you may use this discovery to strengthen your resolve to fight for what is right in your school because now you know your school needs you more than you need it. For the sake of my children, one of which started kindergarten this year, I hope there are enough of you that choose the latter. But if you choose the former, I seriously doubt you’ll regret it.


In part three of this series, Dan shares the lessons he learned when he quit teaching and started searching for a new job. You can read it here.

You can also follow Dan on Twitter at @DanDanLaird and if you’d like to contact him directly his email is [email protected]



So Now They Trust Teachers?


In the aftermath of yet another school shooting, our national debate has centered around a handful of “solutions” that can be categorized into three groups:

We have the “no guns” crowd (masquerading as the “fewer guns” crowd) who believe that passing a series of laws making it harder for people to buy firearms is the answer.

There’s the “people not guns” contingent who believe we don’t do enough about those with mental health problems and who blame the coarsening of our culture (usually due to those damn videos games and Hollywood movies!) for turning people into unfeeling monsters.

Then we have the “more guns” folks who believe if we just put more weapons in schools then the would-be child killers would stay home or at least shoot up some other densely populated place. They recommend schools hire armed security guards or want laws that allow teachers to pack heat.

I won’t go into all of these proposed solutions, but I must admit to rolling my eyes at those who want to arm teachers. Many of them are the same people who think American education sucks and it’s the fault of lazy, untrustworthy educators.

I’m tempted to shout, “Oh, so now you trust us!” Because they certainly haven’t up to this point.

While politicians may talk about including teachers more, they continue to make policy without asking us. School boards make decisions without our input. Administrators establish policies that betray their true feelings about the people working under them. The treatment of teachers leaves little room for doubt: Most people, inside education and outside of it, think we’re not worthy of trust.

If your school district bans videos or requires you to get permission to show them, it’s because they don’t trust you to use them as instructional tools instead of as time wasters.

If your district requires you to show up when class is not in session to do administrative work, it’s because they don’t trust you to manage your own time and get the work done when and where you want.

If your district tracks the number of sick days you’ve used and levels insinuations, it’s because they don’t trust that you’re using them appropriately.

If your district counts the number of copies you make and makes teachers feel guilty for making them, it’s because they don’t trust you to make decisions about instructional resources (and also because they’re cheap).

If your district provides one-size-fits-all professional development, it’s because they don’t trust teachers to professionally develop themselves if they were simply given paid time to do so.

If your administration requires you to meet in PLCs and collects agendas from those meetings, it’s because they don’t trust you to use the time how you best see fit.

If the threat of evaluations is used to get teachers to use “best practices,” it’s because they’re not trusted to use them on their merits or figure out what works on their own.

If your district requires you to teach a Board-adopted program with strict fidelity, it’s because they don’t think much of your teaching abilities.

If you’re required to adhere to a pacing guide, it’s because you’re not trusted to determine what and how much instruction and practice your students need.

If administrator walkthroughs are evaluative instead of supportive, it’s because you’re not trusted to do your job.

If you need to seek approval before trying anything new, it’s because you’re not trusted to make decisions.

If you’re required to turn in lesson plans, it’s because you’re not trusted to design good lessons or even to follow the prescribed program that lays out all the lessons for you.

What’s baffling is there seems to be little reason for the lack of trust. Most teachers receive high ratings from their principals. In surveys, the public consistently rates teachers as some of the most trustworthy professionals in the workforce. Even students think their teachers are pretty good. The average score for teachers on Ratemyteachers.com is 4.46 out of 5.

So while it might be tempting to think that, when it comes to protecting our students’ lives, politicians have decided that teachers can finally be trusted, you’ll understand my skepticism. You don’t trust me to do my job, but you trust me to handle a gun? How’s that?

The truth is that arming teachers has nothing to do with trusting them. You don’t suddenly hand a firearm to the same people you’ve been micromanaging. It has everything to do with money and a lack of political will to actually address the problems. The reasons some politicians are suggesting we arm teachers is because:

They don’t like spending money on education, and school districts would expect additional funding to hire trained security guards. Little if any additional money is needed to allow teachers to carry their own pieces.
A cynic might suggest that arming teachers is simply another way to sell more guns, which is just what the powerful gun lobby wants.
Such a law would provide convenient scapegoats every time there’s a shooting.

Here’s how you know this isn’t about trust: Because once again, no one has asked teachers what they think about a law that would directly influence them and their students.

But hey, at least if states allow teachers to arm themselves, then when another shooting does happen, politicians won’t have to blame their own inaction, or guns, or inadequate mental health care, or video games. They can blame the teachers, who either weren’t brave enough to fire back or weren’t selfless enough to arm themselves, even though they didn’t want and shouldn’t have that responsibility in the first place.

Then the gutless politicians can point where they’re used to pointing and say, “Well, we shouldn’t have trusted them.”

Why I Quit Teaching After 17 Successful Years

This article is the first in a three-part series written by Dan Laird, a teacher of 17 years who quit at the top of his game and found success in private industry. In part one, Dan explains what led to his decision to give up on teaching. In part two, you will read why Dan will never go back now that’s he seen “the other side.” In part three, Dan will offer hard-won advice to any teacher who is looking for a job outside of education. 

Dan Laird

When I first decided to become a teacher back in the 20th century, my parents tried to talk me out of it. It wasn’t because they looked down on the profession. My mom is a retired teacher. My sister is a teacher. And some of my cousins are teachers. It’s in the genes. While I will also certainly make an attempt to talk my children out of becoming teachers, my parents’ reasoning was simple: There were more opportunities for success elsewhere.

Today, however, the reasons for avoiding the teaching profession are more serious. The pay has become a stagnant system of scratching and clawing for an occasional measly half-percent off-schedule “raise.” In many years, not taking a pay cut is considered a success. But there is a bigger issue. Teaching is demoralizing. The strain of unrealistic demands has made it even more exhausting than it already was. Sacrifice is now the expectation and that expectation is typically rewarded with criticism and a demand for more.

The Beatings Will Continue

When Detroit teachers walked out of their classrooms in 2016 to protest the atrocious working conditions that included everything from overcrowded classrooms to mold and mushrooms growing on the walls and floor, I read comments on social media demanding that these teachers be fired and that they “knew what they were getting into when they took the job.” Of course, there were also comments criticizing teachers for hurting kids by denying them an education and arguing that these teachers needed to go through the proper channels to effect change. These conditions were not new in 2016. Where were the commendations for using the “proper channels” in previous years?

The crisis in Detroit and subsequent ones like the lack of heat in Baltimore this winter demonstrate two things: Drastic measures are sometimes needed to draw attention to the most basic of educational needs and drastic measures make it uncomfortably difficult for others to ignore the problem. Education professionals suffer when they don’t advocate for their students, but they suffer even more when they do. A friend of mine has a toy plaque with a pirate skull that says, “The beatings will continue until morale improves.” I can’t think of a more appropriate motto for the teaching profession.

The Height of My Career

I resigned from my teaching position in 2017 after 17 years. To provide some perspective, I spent all 17 years (plus an additional full year as an intern) in the same district. I was invested in the school. I put down roots. Leaving the teaching profession meant leaving much more than just a job. My colleagues were my family. An entire generation of parents in the community sent every one of their children to my classroom at some point. I was even starting to see the children of students from my internship year.

My connection to the community wasn’t the only reason it was difficult. I was at the height of my career. I had just co-authored the book Real Writing: Modernizing the Old School Essay with Rowman & Littlefield Publishing. I was presenting my work at national conferences in cities like Minneapolis, Atlanta, and Washington, D.C. And I was collaborating on educational initiatives with teachers across the country through my work with the National Writing Project. I even earned my administration endorsement the year before I left. I was invested in advancing in my profession all the way to the end.

This isn’t a story about one man hating his job for years until he finally had enough. There was no gradual decline. Quite the contrary. I loved teaching and spent countless hours advocating for it. I spent over half of my career as a building representative, vice-president, or president of my local education association. I marched. I picketed. I protested. I voted!

The Least Trusted Source

While I did love my time in the classroom — the connections, the light bulb moments of discovery — my workplace was becoming a constant reminder of what was happening to the teaching profession. New restrictions, meritless legislation, evaluation tools that hadn’t been properly evaluated themselves, mandated standardized tests that were thrown away or redesigned year after year while their results were nevertheless used to compare one year’s performance to the next, a demand from politicians and parents to “make our kids better, but don’t you dare tell them what to do.”

Somehow, the professional became the least trusted source, and the growing trend for outsiders in showing they cared about education had become to point a finger. I think it’s fair to say that the emotional drain had surpassed the physical one. Something had to change. My change was to become selfish and walk away. I quit.

A New Job

I dipped my toes in the waters of a career outside of teaching when I created my own professional development consulting business. I formed an LLC, created a website, ordered business cards, and even hired a former student to create the logo for me. I sent promotional materials to just about every school in Michigan. It seemed like a logical fit. I’d get to continue in the world of education using all of the knowledge and experience I had gained in almost two decades of teaching. More importantly, I could enjoy focusing on instruction. No more grading papers past midnight, no more parent/teacher conferences, no more battles about sound educational practices with school board members who’d barely earned their high school diplomas, no more spineless administrators who pretended to be uninformed so they could avoid making difficult decisions. The thought of it was exhilarating.

But since making this my primary source of income wasn’t exactly the soundest financial decision, I started looking at job postings that could supplement the venture. Unfortunately for the business, it wasn’t long after all of the momentum started to build that I was offered a job as a Training and Development Specialist for a privately operated company that had nothing to do with education.

I accepted and within one month I discovered every reason why I will never return to teaching again.


Part 2: I Quit Teaching and Won’t Go Back

Part 3: The Teacher’s Guide to Changing Careers


Have you also walked away from teaching?

Or maybe you left the corporate world to become a teacher?

I’d love to hear from you. Comment on this or subsequent articles in this series and I may get in touch with you for a book I’m writing. Thanks!

Keep Your Hands Off My Planning Time

The following is excerpted from my book, Leave School at School: Work Less, Live More, Teach Better, available from Amazon.

If you work for a district or a principal that regularly takes away your planning time — either through contractual language, mandatory meetings or other obligations, or because substitute teacher shortages require you to cover other teachers’ classes — then you should either fight for your right to plan or you should quit.

Taking away teacher planning time is exploitative and borderline abusive. Teachers cannot prepare effective lessons and provide useful feedback to students without prep time. If your district doesn’t provide it, or if they regularly take it away, then they are telling you one of two things:

We don’t care how effective you are.

Or, more likely:

We expect you to be effective, but we don’t want to provide you with the time you need. Therefore, we expect you to use your personal, unpaid time to ensure effectiveness.

If you work for a district that has taken away your planning time, you either work for people who have no clue what it takes to do your job well, or who do and don’t care what it does to your well-being. They see you as an interchangeable part instead of a human being. This kind of mindset is poison and it’s not going to change overnight.

Fight or quit.

Those are your only options.

In his book, Originals, Adam Grant explains that disgruntled employees have four choices: Neglect, Persistence, Voice, and Exit.

Neglect means you show up and go through the motions. Most teachers take neglect off the table because it means being a shitty teacher and that’s not fair to the kids.

Many persist, which Grant describes as grinning and bearing it. They hang in there. They keep their mouth shut, put a lid on their frustrations, and tell themselves that they only have to gut it out until the administration changes or they can retire.

A fair number realize that things won’t get better unless they quit. They set off for greener pastures and more understanding administrators.

But I think even fewer speak up and try to change things, which is too bad.

Think of it like this: If you’re willing to quit, why shouldn’t you be willing to risk being let go by fighting for better working conditions? If you’ve reached the point where you’re willing to go through the hassle of changing jobs, why not adopt a “what’s-the-worst-that-can-happen” mindset? It seems way more fun to topple some furniture on the way out the door than to gracefully exit.*

With neglect and persistence, nothing changes. Things are not going to get better unless you fight or quit.

Without planning time, you’ll quickly end up exhausted and demoralized. You’ll struggle in the classroom and at home. Your professional and personal life will suffer. Eventually, the stress will cause you to quit or be fired anyway, so why put off the inevitable?

Fight for better treatment or get out.


* Teachers tell me they worry about the repercussions of being let go. They’d rather leave on their own than risk having to explain an inglorious exit to future employers. They likely fear too much. Teacher shortages aren’t going anywhere. I know of one teacher who was let go, had her former principal actively try to sabotage her hiring by another district, and still wound up with a full-time job. The one good thing about this job becoming progressively less attractive is that those of us who stick around ought to find ourselves with greater leverage to affect change. It’s getting to the point where districts will need us more than we need them.


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Why Pay a Great Teacher When You Can Hire a Cheap One?

Let’s say you have just been named your state’s teacher of the year. You have three years worth of data showing that students learn more in your class than in your colleagues’ classes. You might even have data showing that your students typically gain 1.5 years of growth in their ten months with you. Students love you. Parents love you. Hell, even your principal loves you. By any measure, you are an all-star. Congratulations.

Now what?

I can tell you what won’t happen. You will not be headhunted. You won’t be poached. Wealthy districts won’t engage in a bidding war to land you. You will not be taking your talents to South Beach.

There are only two explanations for this:

Despite what nearly everyone in education says — including every administrator I’ve ever met — district decision-makers don’t actually believe teachers make much of an impact.


District leaders know teachers make an impact, but they’re not willing to pay for it.

I think both are true. Most teachers don’t interact with every student in a building, much less a district. Superintendents may not be able to justify paying more for great teachers because such teachers will only impact a small percentage of their overall student population. Still, most district leaders probably realize that while such teachers’ direct influence might be limited, they can serve as mentors and role models for other teachers. Their high performance can enhance the reputation of an entire building. Hire more than a few and new families might even be attracted to the district.

No, I think most district leaders would love to have great teachers in their buildings, which means they’re unwilling to pay for them. They’re cheap. Regrettably, they’re right to be. These leaders recognize an ugly truth about pubic education in America:

There is a much greater incentive to control costs than there is to produce great students.

When it comes right down to it and a choice must be made, money matters more than kids.

At the state legislative level, education costs a lot of money. Legislators are reluctant to part with it. Republican legislators are especially unwilling because that would make it harder to lower taxes and balance budgets (something they used to claim they cared about). And they really don’t want to give schools more money because a lot of that money will end up in the hands of teachers, who will then turn over a portion of that money to their unions, who will then fight to get them out of office.

The amount of money a district gets is fixed. It can’t spend more than it has. School boards do what they can to keep from harming students, but they’re constrained. In the case of public schools, mismanagement of funds is much more likely to result in harsh consequences than poor academic outcomes. There is therefore a stronger incentive to keep costs under control than there is to increase achievement.

Let’s consider a hypothetical. A school district commits itself to producing better students. It decides it’s going to go out and hire the best teachers it can find (how they would identify these teachers is another matter). Nothing prevents them from offering a signing bonus to these teachers, so they cut elsewhere to come up with extra money that they will use to attract great teachers to work in their schools.

Let’s say it works. Scores rise. Kids learn more. Test scores increase. More kids go to college. The reputation of the school is burnished. Parents are fighting to get their kids in the door.

Where does that leave our district? They’d feel proud of their work. They might even use their success in marketing efforts to attract a few more students and receive a few more state dollars in return. But it’s eventually going to lead to money problems. The state isn’t going to reward the district with more cash for having greater success. So the district will be forced to cut costs down the road, and pretty soon they won’t be able to pay those great teachers what they were paying them before. And they won’t be able to lure more outstanding educators to their district. They’ll end up back where they started.

Critics of education often want schools to be run more like businesses. But when businesses succeed, there’s more money for everyone. Successful employees are rewarded. Companies go out and hire the best they can find. Money is invested back in the business. Success begets success in a virtuous cycle.

But in education, where funds are limited by state governments and better performance doesn’t result in more money, schools have a much greater incentive to watch their bottom lines. And if improving education outcomes raises costs, then you can be pretty sure those improvements won’t last. So to answer the title question, Why should you pay a great teacher when you can hire a cheap one?

As things stand right now, you shouldn’t.