I was recently suspended from my teaching job.
Not because I didn’t care. But because I did — maybe too much.
You might be wondering, “Why can’t you keep a job?”
But the truth is: I don’t do well in spaces that thrive on dysfunction and punish people for wanting better.
I’ve worked in challenging school environments before. I know that no system is perfect. I tried to stay low, focus on my students, and protect my peace. But some environments are more than just “challenging” — they’re harmful. And when you’re working in a place where chaos is the norm, and leadership mirrors that chaos instead of calming it, the pressure becomes unbearable.
It’s not the kids. What breaks teachers down is the lack of support, the unrealistic expectations, the disrespect, and the martyrdom mindset we’re supposed to adopt.
More work. Less support. Zero accountability — for anyone but the teacher.
When I started advocating for myself, everything shifted. I was once praised as a “top teacher.” But the moment I tried to have honest conversations, to set up meetings for clarity and support, the surveillance heightened. Every small thing I did was scrutinized. Things that had once been seen as coachable were used against me as punishment.
I knew what was happening. I was being punished for speaking up.
At first, I tried to continue pushing through — wake up early, drive long distances, show up for my students, stay late. I was getting up at 4 a.m., hitting the gym, and commuting nearly an hour — just to arrive and be reminded I didn’t have a voice.
Eventually, I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay. I declined meetings that felt emotionally unsafe. I slammed some doors. I chose to walk away — I knew walking away before being physically removed would benefit everyone.
Now I’m suspended. And I do miss the students.
But I’m also clear: this system was never built with people like me in mind.
I was never meant to make it to the “top” of the system and change it from within.
Maybe I was meant to speak from the outside.
As someone who has seen it from the inside and knows that pushing harder doesn’t fix what’s broken — it just breaks you in the process.
Teachers are told to sacrifice everything for the greater good. But that good has to include us, too. You can’t say you care about kids while destroying the adults who serve them.
So I’m stepping away — not because I failed, but because I finally stopped trying to fit somewhere I never belonged.
I don’t know what’s next. But I do know what I stand for.
I’m choosing to move forward in advocacy and in truth.
And as someone once said: “Don’t be mad at the people who put you in position to become who you were always meant to be.”
I was going to try to comply. But I’ve decided to rise instead.
Not as a martyr. Not as a pawn.
But as an outlier — with experience, clarity, and a story to tell.
Nashema's Blog 