It wasn't in the middle of a lesson. It wasn’t about the students, and it wasn’t even about teaching itself.
It was paperwork.
At my school, we had to complete Personalized Education Plans, PEPs, for every student performing below grade level who didn’t already have an IEP. They were handwritten on carbon copy sheets done every quarter. There was always a strict deadline, and if you missed it, you got chewed out.
Goes to say, my team and I didn’t miss deadlines. Not worth the dressing down. So, we turned them in on time, every time.
When the end of the year came we expected to get the stack of plans, update them, and give them to the next grade level. Time consuming but totally manageable.
We were told we had never turned them in. It didn’t make any sense. If that were true, we would have been called into the office months earlier. But the head of the school was dug in. According to her, it was on us and we needed to redo all of them.
Every single quarter.
Every single student.
We had about 80 students. Around 65 needed PEPs. That means we were each on the hook to rewrite 260 individual updates along with supporting data.
So we stayed after school for days, rewriting months of work on carbon copy paper. I wrote the math sections for all 65 students and my teammate handled the reading sections. Interventions, notes, progress, parent meetings, all of it.
We were expressly told that we were not allowed to leave to start our summer break until they were done. We stayed late every single day.
We finally finished and turned them in.
As we were packing up to leave, we were called into her office.
She held the entire stack over the trash can and told us they were terrible. Then she asked if we wanted her to throw them away like we had thrown away our students.
One of my teammates, who had been at the school for ten years explained that we had followed the district training provided by Anna* followed by "may she rest in peace since she passed away last year." Then, she asked for an example of what needed to be different. (*Name changed)
The response was immediate. "Like you said, the person who trained you is dead and now we're doing things differently." She offered no example. No guidance. Just a new expectation and instructions to stay as late as it took.
I. Was. Flabbergasted.
That night, I went home and went to sleep.
The next morning, I drove to my school to tell my principal, in person, that I quit.
It was early June and I didn't have another job lined up.
That was my rock bottom.
Oh no! Steph, what did you do then?!
Great question. Glad you asked.
Let me tell you. Uncertainty is a hell of a thing for an anxiety-prone educator, but what would have been worse for me was a loss of dignity. I wouldn't be able to respect myself if I went back to a place where I had no voice.
I'm glad to say, my quitting most certainly wasn’t the end of the story.
I ended up taking a job at a different school. I needed to know. I needed to see if it was all like that or if I had just been in a bad situation. And honestly, that school was great. Things actually worked the way I imagined they should have. For the first time in a while, I found myself enjoying most of the day-to-day.
But even then, I knew.
I knew this wasn’t where I needed to be. These weren’t the meetings that were actually going to change the world. If I was forced to do one more "turn-and-talk" or "jigsaw" activity during a teacher work day, I was going to lose it. And once I knew I was going to leave, I stopped wasting time.
I used the time I had left in education way more wisely. I took on leadership roles.
Data improvement committee needs a chair? YEP.
Discovery Ed needs teacher ambassadors for PD? PICK ME.
Want to throw the school's first Science Night? I'LL ORGANIZE IT!
I got more involved. Dodged all the politics. Squeezed everything I could out of that experience and I stopped taking my formal observations so darn seriously. I realized my next boss wouldn't care about that endless list of checkboxes.
They would care about how I worked with my peers and what I actually created to make their jobs better.
And it worked.
Within a few months, I got hired and said my final goodbye to the classroom.
In hindsight, I should have left earlier but I’m glad I got what I needed.
The moral of the story here is that it wouldn't have worked if I didn't wake up and go "I refuse to let any more of my lines get crossed. This life is mine to build as I want and need."
So I did.
If I could do it, so can you.
The Challenge We're Solving Today
How do you know when you’ve hit YOUR line… and it’s time to say no more?
If you’re even asking that question, you’re probably MUCH closer to your line than you think.
Good teachers don’t leave because they can’t handle the work. You’re used to working hard. You’ve done that for years.
What wears you down is when things stop making sense… and you’re still expected to carry on like they do.
So you adjust. You tell yourself it’s temporary. You give it one more semester, one more year.
And slowly, what used to feel unacceptable starts to feel normal.
That’s why this matters. If you don’t decide where your line is, it keeps moving.
Common Solutions and Why They Won't Work
A lot of teachers try to wait it out.
Maybe next year will be better. Maybe something will change. Maybe this is just a rough stretch.
Others switch schools, hoping a different environment will fix the problem.
And sometimes it helps. It did for me, for a short while.
But if you haven’t been honest about your line, you can still find yourself in a better place, doing the same thing. Telling yourself it’s fine when it’s not.
A Better Approach for You
You need to decide what your line actually is.
What are you no longer willing to carry? What are you no longer willing to explain away? What are you no longer willing to tolerate just to keep things going?
For me, it wasn’t the long hours. It wasn’t even the workload.
It was being told to redo months of solid work that I had already done, then being told it still wasn’t enough with no clear direction on what “enough” even meant.
That was my line.
And once you see your line clearly, you instantly reclaim a part of yourself you didn't even realize you were missing.
You stop negotiating with yourself. You stop trying to make it make sense.
You just know.
And when your line is crossed, it is okay to say, “no more.”
You don’t have to wait until you’re completely burned out. You don’t have to keep proving how much you can handle. You don't have to let things get to crisis mode to make some changes.
You’re allowed to decide that this is where it stops.
And when folks get to that point, they come to me.
I specialize in plans to get you up and out.
Summary
- Your line is the point where things stop making sense, even though you keep trying
- If you don’t define it, others will keep moving it to take advantage of you
- A better life comes from deciding what you will and won’t tolerate
- When your line is crossed, you’re allowed to say "no more"
Quick Question For You
Take a few minutes this week and write it down.
What is your line?
What are the specific situations or expectations that you are no longer willing to accept?
Then ask yourself honestly… are you already there?
If you are reading this via email, hit reply to this message and tell me your story. We can start building your way out in a way that actually works.
If you're reading this on my website, click here to tell me more about you so I can point you in the right direction.
P.s.
If you’ve hit that point and you’re ready for a clear, structured path out of teaching, my Career Change Accelerator™ will show you exactly how to move forward. This transition is already taxing enough. I'll handle the tactical part so you can get to the life you love even faster.
That's all for this week.
Hope you'll give this a go.
Steph Yesil
Find me on LinkedIn, Get My Career Change Kit,
Book a 60-Min Strategy Call
