Teachers Aren’t Okay

I was a foster child and the daughter of a crack-addicted mother and a dead father, standing in the courtyard of PS 46 when it all changed for me. I still remember it as vividly as the day it happened. I had already been labeled—“emotionally disturbed.” Teachers whispered about me, pointed at me, shook their heads.

But then a young Black teacher I had never seen before—Ms. Kilgore—walked right over, took my hand, and said: “I don’t care what they say about you. You are a good child, and you can learn.”

That year, I fell in love with Edgar Allan Poe. That year, someone finally held me to the same standards as everyone else—but did it with love, even when it wasn’t wrapped up nicely. Back then, folks understood that heat brings fire. And that year, a fire was lit in me.

I went from “the angry, stupid foster kid” to winning the Presidential Academic Award, signed by George H.W. Bush. All because one teacher refused to define me by a file.

Now, decades later, I’m my own version of Ms. Kilgore. A special education teacher. A therapeutic foster mother. A parent coach. A daycare owner. A mother of six. Still carrying the fire she lit.

And Yet…

Working in education has opened my eyes in ways I wish I could unsee. Teachers are carrying more than any job should demand. And the truth is—we’re not okay.

We don’t just “teach.” We spend eight hours a day, five days a week, filling every need a child walks in with. Hunger, anger, sadness, anxiety—you name it, we’re expected to absorb it while still making sure lessons get taught. Meanwhile, administrators are pushing deadlines, emails, trainings, lesson plans, IEP reviews, IEP meetings, parent calls, data logs… the list goes on.

I used to feel bad about missing things at my own children’s schools. Not anymore. I’m still in it. Still carrying the weight, still doing the work. Their teachers may think I’m missing in action, but the truth is I’m standing in the same fire they are.

Accountability vs. “Easy Teaching”

Here’s the part no one wants to admit: when teachers actually call out negative behaviors and hold kids accountable, we’re often treated like we’re the problem. Whispered about in hallways. Side-eyed in meetings. Labeled as “too strict.”

And yet, these are the same teachers who will later look for the “strict teachers” to come in and help with their classroom management. No, ma’am. Let them all play with scissors and Play-Doh if that’s the road you want to take. But don’t look to me to come in and clean it up when the room turns into chaos.

Because let me be real—if you let a seventh grader play with Play-Doh during lecture time, that’s not support. That’s babysitting. That’s avoidance. And it sets a precedent that only makes things worse. Kids are smart—they’ll always lean toward the adult who lets them off the hook. Meanwhile, the teacher, trying to keep order, looks like the villain.

Newsflash: seventh graders aren’t in Pre-K anymore. At some point, somebody has to tell them the truth. Because if not? Those same students will be the ones in customer service fields ten years from now, giving you bad attitudes, slamming your fries in the bag, and crashing out at work. Bet that.

IEP or Not

And here’s something else: IEP or not, the expectation is the same. The system wants inclusion, but too often that gets twisted into “assimilation.” Inclusive, not exclusive—that should mean building the social-emotional piece into learning, not excusing every behavior in the name of paperwork.

See, I don’t stand in teacher groups and gossip about what a child’s family is like. I don’t look at test scores and say, “This kid is stupid.” What I do is tell them: stand the hell up. No matter what someone has written on a piece of paper about you, no matter what label they stamped on your file, you are capable of being the best version of yourself.

I believe that because I was one of those kids. The foster child and the daughter of a crack-addicted mother and a dead father, carrying every diagnosis they could slap on me. I know what it’s like to be written off. And I know what it feels like when one adult says, “You matter.”

Why I Fight

That’s why I pour everything I have into this work. Because I know what it’s like to be that child in the system. I know what it’s like to be whispered about, written off, pointed at. And I know what it feels like when one person dares to see you differently.

So yes, I am a special education teacher, a therapeutic foster mother, a parent coach, a daycare owner, and a mother of six. I have a degree in Childhood Education, and I’m grinding my way through a Master’s (when I can afford those last five classes—because Lord knows, it’s a struggle out here, lol).

So do I think I know a thing or two about kids, trauma, learning, and resilience? You’re damn right I do.

The Breaking Point

And still—it’s breaking me. It’s been four weeks into the school year and my body already feels like it’s been through a marathon. The constant emails, electronic modules, behavior reports, secret conversations, and never-ending forms? Draining. Parents not showing up to meetings? Common. And the whole “self-care” pep talk? Please. If the system actually cared about self-care, they’d take a few things off our plates instead of piling more on.

Some days I wonder why I stay. Walmart pays more and doesn’t expect me to carry the emotional weight of dozens of kids every day. My heart says stay and help. My brain? It says run. Run like hell.

Maybe the first step is just saying it out loud: Teachers aren’t okay. And unless something changes, neither will the kids we’re trying so hard to serve.