Salutations Everyone,
I hope you’re all enjoying the start of summer! Montreal is a beautiful city—minus the constant construction—and it’s even more vibrant and alive in the summertime. There’s so much to do and enjoy! I decided to share something I initially hesitated to say out loud to the entire community, but I believe it’s necessary—because I made a big, scary move in the name of prioritizing my mental health: I resigned from full-time teaching. And no, at this moment, I don’t regret it. Hear me out…
For those who don’t know, my original plan was to work in a lab. One of my degrees is in Biochemistry with a minor in Scientific Research. Long story short, over a decade ago, I turned down a six-figure pharmaceutical job to become a full-time teacher, because back then, teaching felt more rewarding—and it remained that way for a long time. Until it didn’t…
No one goes into teaching for the money, especially not in youth-sector education. When you account for all the work done outside of teaching hours—lesson planning, marking, parent communication, emotional labor—it can sometimes feel like you’re earning \$5/hour. And if you’ve experienced or worked within the education system here, you already have a good sense of how broken it is. So when you decide to become a teacher, you either go with the flow, or you commit to doing what you can to help as many students navigate the system as unharmed as possible. The latter path is far more taxing, and this is the path that I chose…I went into teaching to make a difference, especially for marginalized and minoritized students. But I’ve been through it. I’ve taught in both private and public institutions and have experienced more than enough to make me question whether this work is truly worth the cost…I’ve had parents “come for me” simply because they weren’t used to a Black woman teaching their children Math and Science. Some even alluded that they were more accustomed to Black people being “the help,” not in positions of power or authority. I’ve had students corner me and yell at me because I emailed their parents about their poor test performance. I’ve had higher-ups gaslight me when I brought up issues of anti-Black racism within their schools. I’ve had a student throw a cell phone towards me in rage, after I asked him to hand it over, in accordance with the government-mandated ban on classroom phone use (thankfully, it only hit my desk and knocked some things over). I’ve seen students hit each other with chairs until there was blood (in my classroom). I’ve had colleagues comb through my social media and report posts where I expressed my lived experiences as a teacher—leading to administrative warnings about violating “policies.”
And if you’ve been following education news, you know I’m far from alone. Recent empirical research underscores how widespread burnout-to-exit patterns have become. A 2022 study found that 44% of K–12 educators report feeling burned out “very often” or “always,” compared to 30% in other professions. Among female teachers, that number jumps to 55%. Systematic reviews show that between 25% and 74% of teachers experience clinically significant burnout symptoms, including emotional exhaustion and depersonalization—a state where teachers begin to emotionally detach from students as a coping mechanism. This burnout is directly driving teacher attrition. In the U.S., about 16% of teachers either switch schools or leave the profession annually. Nearly half of new teachers quit within their first five years. In Canada, the numbers are equally alarming: around 50% of early-career teachers resign within five years, and up to 30% leave within just two.
There’s so much more that led to my decision. It wasn’t one school or one situation—it was an accumulation of experiences and one powerful epiphany… Once upon a time, the battle was against a broken system. Now, more and more, we are facing something teachers cannot fix: broken parenting. Of course, this doesn’t apply to all parents, but it’s a trend I’ve observed. A lot of children today lack discipline, values, accountability, etc.. They fear nothing. There was a time when saying, “If you don’t act accordingly, I’ll have to call home,” was enough to redirect a student. Now, that rarely works. When I hear how some children speak to their parents, I begin to understand why they struggle to respect educators. Who or what is to blame? There are many factors—excessive social media use, skyrocketing cost of living that forces parents to work longer hours, the mental health crisis affecting both parents and children. Parents are not at the root of the problem, but they are impacted by it, just like educators are. And ultimately, it’s become clear to me that this is not something teachers, administrators, or school boards can fix. We are fighting a losing battle. Over the years, I’ve listened to countless colleagues talk about how this profession costs them part of their mental wellness—some more than others. We often say, “Teachers aren’t on summer vacation—they’re on summer recovery.” And I realized that even a summer isn’t enough for me to recover anymore. So I chose to resign. I chose me (something that I normally struggle to do)…This isn’t something my immigrant parents would’ve done. Many immigrants come to Canada with the goal of playing it safe because they see this country as a land of opportunity—a chance at a better life. That’s why I played it safe for so long. But I had to let go of that mentality and embrace the truth: if something costs me my peace and mental health, it isn’t worth it.
I always tell my children to prioritize their mental health and peace—so I had to lead by example. When I came home and told my 15-year-old daughter that I had resigned, she quietly went upstairs, then returned with a painting she had made. It was of a Black woman with natural hair, surrounded by words like “STEAM,” “Positive,” “Strong,” “Resilient,” “Love,” “Caring,” etc. She looked me in the eyes and said, “Mom, I’m proud of you for being unapologetically yourself and for having the strength and courage to leave your job so that you can do so in peace.” That was the only confirmation I needed.
So what’s next for me? I’ll still be substitute teaching from time to time. One of my friends said, “Sabi, being a sub is a great thing because you’ll get to visit different schools—and more Black girls and boys in Montreal will get to meet you. And they need to meet you.” That meant the world to me. I’ll also spend more time focusing on my Doctoral research, which is grounded in social and educational justice. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how being under the permanent grip of systems that perpetuate educational injustice was in direct conflict with the work I’m trying to do. I’ll continue to grow the “STEM with Miss Sabi” learning space, which has brought me so much peace and joy. The students and families I serve there remind me why I love teaching.
As we enter this new season, I ask you to reflect on your own life: Is there anything you’re holding onto that’s taking more from you than it gives? If so, make intentional moves to release it. Prioritize yourself. Choose peace. Everything else can wait.
Yours in Recovery,
Sabi Kamilah Hinkson
