"Gentlemen - ladies - I wash my hands of this madness"

To My “Beloved” Students,

Congratulations! You’ve done it. You’ve finally broken me.

I am officially resigning from my post as your glorified babysitter, unpaid therapist, personal Google, and the human embodiment of “Why do we even need to learn this?” Effective immediately (or earlier, if the urge to run screaming into the woods becomes too strong to resist), I am taking my red pens, my lesson plans, and the last shreds of my dignity (and sanity) and walking directly into the sunset. Or traffic. TBD.

Let me be clear: this isn’t a decision I made lightly. It took months of soul-searching, late-night weeping into my lesson plans, and witnessing the massacre of the countless pencils, markers, and other supplies purchased with my own money to come to this conclusion. But after deep reflection and repeated emotional whiplash, I’ve realized something very important:

I’m done.

I’m done trying to get you to care about anything that doesn’t exist on a phone screen or come with likes, followers, or “clout.”

I’m done watching you weaponize apathy like it’s a sport, grading your half-efforts like they’re acts of charity, and dodging the emotional shrapnel of your daily chaos like it’s part of the job description.

And I’m officially over watching you roll into class half-baked, eyes glazed like a Krispy Kreme donut hot off the line, asking if we can “just watch a movie today” while you inhale your fourth bag of Flamin’ Hot anything.

Some of you may be shocked. Some of you won’t notice. Some of you will pretend to care for the span of a TikTok dance, and then return to rage-baiting each other until someone crashes out.

To those of you who showed up — not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and with a functioning pencil — thank you. You’re the reason I lasted this long. You brought me slivers of hope when I was scraping the barrel of my patience. You said thank you. You asked questions. You tried. I’ll remember you. I’ll root for you forever.

To the rest of you:

Thank you for showing me how creative teenagers can be when it comes to not doing anything. Truly inspiring. Thank you for your total commitment to volume over substance, insults over insight, and memes over mindfulness. And thank you — sincerely — for giving me the gift of absolute certainty that I do not want to see you darken my classroom doorway. Ever. Again.

You’ve taught me more than any professional development workshop ever could.

You've taught me that raising your hand is optional, but interrupting is a human right.

That turning in an assignment two months late with a smile counts as “communication.”

You’ve taught me that “shut up” is now a term of endearment.

That scrolling through your phone mid-lesson is a constitutional right.

That asking to go to the bathroom is less about hygiene and more about escape artistry.

And that, apparently, I should have become a content creator if I ever wanted even one iota of your attention.

Thank you for these life lessons. I will take them with me, along with my personal stash of emergency chocolate, half-dried whiteboard markers, and the last functioning stapler in the building.

Let me also extend a heartfelt congratulations to the group of you who have made this decision so, so easy:

To the ones who turned emotional torture into a team-building exercise — well done. You’ve got talent, I’ll give you that.

To the ones who sneered at kindness, mocked effort, and tossed around cruelty like confetti.

To the ones who saw my exhaustion and treated it like weakness.

You didn’t just burn bridges — you torched the entire village.

And I want to say this — because no one else will: Some of you are mean.

Not misunderstood. Not “just having a rough day.”

Mean.

You say things to each other and to me that would buckle grown adults. And I’ve watched it happen so often that I’m starting to think you don’t even know it’s not normal.

It’s not.

Some of you will roll your eyes at all this because “she’s doing too much.”

That’s fine. I gave up seeking your approval around the same time I gave up believing you'd stop saying words like “skibidi,” “cheugy,” and “rizz.”

I used to believe in changing lives. Now I believe in boundaries, therapy, and wine with breakfast.

Your apathy, cruelty, and collective inability to submit an assignment on time without twenty reminders has been truly... educational.

I leave you all not as a failure, but as a survivor with my dignity duct-taped together and dragging behind me like a half-deflated parade balloon.

This decision wasn’t easy, and no, it’s not entirely your fault… but let’s not pretend you didn’t help speed things along.

And now?

Now it’s summer — blessed, sacred summer — I don’t have to hear “Do we need to write this down?” or “Can I go to the bathroom?” or “You mad for no reason” for the next two and a half months.

I can eat lunch like a normal human and not a feral raccoon crouched over a trashcan inhaling cold leftovers, praying no one bursts in asking how to "get their grade up."

I can wake up at a reasonable hour without that creeping sense of dread that today is going to be the day one of you tells me to “fuck off” to my face.

I can breathe. And for now, that is enough.

Enjoy your summer. I know I will. In fact, I’m already halfway through a steamy beach read, two pitchers of margaritas, and a list of dream jobs where no one calls me “bruh” with THAT tone.

And the best part? I won’t be seeing your faces again until someone accidentally tags me in a TikTok. Or until next year, when the same students who openly hated every second of my class reappear in my doorway like I’m their long-lost bestie and not the person they once called “that bitch ass n----r (skin color notwithstanding).”

Before you clap back, roll your eyes, or throw shade — and I know you will — consider this radical move:

Try kindness. It confuses people because it’s free and surprisingly underused around here.

And for the love of whatever god you believe in, stop throwing carrot sticks and cheetos at each other. The rodents in this building are now morbidly obese, and honestly, that's on you.

Wishing you a future more promising than your academic integrity and personal hygiene combined,

Mrs. Little (Formerly “Miss (insert name of literally any other teacher in this godforsaken school),” “Yo,” “Bruh,” and “Bitch, why you always trippin’?”)

P.S.

See you dipshits next year...