Teaching is a Thankless Profession
Why I Keep Showing Up
In the U.S., teachers exist in a state of duality. We are both essential and expendable, celebrated and dismissed, regulated to exhaustion yet given little respect. We are told we’re doing “God’s work,” but society—through its policies, pay scales, and public discourse—proves time and again that it doesn’t value us.
I was recently reminded of this contradiction while reading American Negra by Natasha Alford. She writes:
"I had finally walked a mile in Mami’s shoes and experienced what I’d always suspected: teachers got the lip service of being told they were doing God’s work, but our society truly didn’t honor or appreciate them. From the modest pay to the ways certain people in fancy DC circles’ eyes glazed over once I told them I was a teacher."
That hit me. Because I live that reality every single day.
A System Designed to Exhaust Us
Teaching is a profession that demands everything but gives little in return. The financial strain alone is enough to push many educators out. The gap between teacher salaries and other professions requiring similar education is staggering. Many of us have master’s degrees, some even PhDs, yet we’re still underpaid to the point where working a second job is normal. I know teachers who tutor after school, bartend on weekends, and drive Uber just to make ends meet. Meanwhile, in other professions, that level of education commands six-figure salaries and benefits that allow for a decent quality of life.
But compensation is only one part of the problem. The disrespect is relentless. Everyone—politicians, parents, influencers—has an opinion about how we should do our jobs, even though they’ve never stepped foot in a classroom. From curriculum decisions to classroom management, people who wouldn’t last an hour teaching 19 kids with different learning needs somehow believe they know better than the trained professionals who do it every day.
And then there’s the inequity, the structural design that keeps Black, Latino, and ESL students at a permanent disadvantage. Public school funding is tied to local tax revenue, meaning that students in wealthy districts get new buildings, updated textbooks, and advanced technology while kids in underfunded schools are still learning from 20-year-old materials in overcrowded classrooms. It’s a system built to ensure that resources flow to the privileged while everyone else fights over scraps.
Even within well-resourced independent, aka private schools, the sheer volume of what teachers are expected to handle is unsustainable. The work doesn’t stop at the final bell. There are papers to grade, lesson plans to write, emails to answer, and assessment data to analyze. We are not just teachers—we are social workers, counselors, disciplinarians, administrators, and sometimes even parental figures to students who don’t have that stability at home. The emotional labor is just as taxing as the workload, yet the expectation is that we take it all on without complaint.
And through it all, we keep showing up. Because we have to. Because kids need us.
Performative Praise & the Pandemic Aftermath
For a brief moment in 2020, teachers were the heroes. Parents, struggling to homeschool their children, finally understood the weight of our work. There were social media tributes, gift cards, and viral appreciation posts.
Then? Nothing.
As soon as schools reopened, the conversation shifted. The goodwill evaporated. The same teachers who were hailed as lifesavers were suddenly the villains, accused of “indoctrinating” students, blamed for learning loss, disrespected by parents, and even attacked by lawmakers.
The gaslighting is infuriating. We never had the resources we needed before the pandemic, and we certainly don’t have them now. Yet, the expectations keep increasing, and the support keeps dwindling.
It Doesn’t Have to Be This Way
Historically, the Black community has always valued education. Black women like Mary McLeod Bethune built schools from nothing, knowing that literacy and knowledge were tools of liberation. Education has never just been about academics for us—it has been about survival, advancement, and breaking cycles of oppression.
So, when I think about the state of education today, I refuse to accept that this is how it has to be. Other countries—Finland, Sweden, Japan—treat teaching as a respected, well-compensated career. They trust educators. They invest in schools. They see education as a public good, not a political battleground.
Why can’t we?
What Can We Do?
I don’t have all the answers, but I know we need to start by:
Demanding better pay and working conditions—not just for ourselves but for the next generation of teachers who will leave before they even begin.
Fighting against policies that defund public schools while funneling money into private and charter schools that cater to the privileged.
Calling out the gaslighting—because we’re not just "complaining"; we’re advocating for a system that works for everyone, not just the wealthy.
Looking at global models that actually support educators instead of burning them out.
I know that, despite everything, I will keep showing up. Not because the system deserves my energy but because the kids do. They always have.
But let’s be clear: Good intentions and dedication won’t fix this broken system. Only real, systemic change will. And I refuse to accept anything less.
What I’m Reading
I’m a prolific nonfiction reader, and I just finished Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings—a book that’s been on my list for years. It thoughtfully explores the intersection of race, gender, and fatphobia. I only wish it were longer; there’s so much more I wanted it to dive into.
Even though I gravitate toward nonfiction, I’ve been consciously trying to read more fiction. About two weeks ago, I finished Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams and loved it. The lead character is imperfect, and the novel offers a nuanced look at mental health in the Black community.
This week, I started The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris and already can’t put it down.
Next up in my Libby app queue is the audiobook of Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism by Amanda Montell.
Work With Me
As we head into May, here’s what I have available:
Education Consulting — I provide personalized support for students, parents, and educators, focusing on holistic growth and social-emotional development through equitable, research-based curricula, targeted interventions, and effective strategies. Join me at the Henrietta Public Library on April 10.
Content writing & editing — I’d love to write more about a variety of topics, like food, disability awareness, and health and wellness.
Creative Consulting— I help brands and individuals develop mindful, equitable, and mission-aligned strategies that are both innovative and impactful.
Social media strategy projects — Through content creation, social media strategy, copywriting, and program development, I ensure authentic and engaging connections with their audience.
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