What Caused My Teacher Burnout: A Former Teacher Breaks Down the Real Culprit
It was 4:17 p.m. on a mid-April Wednesday in 2019, and I was hunched over my 4th grade classroom art shelf gluing googly eyes onto 28 crumpled construction paper bunny bags. My phone was buzzing against my hip: one text from a parent asking if I’d forgotten to send home their kid’s math test, another from the room mom asking me to approve a snack order for the next week’s field trip, a third from the admin team reminding me to update my semester behavior tracking spreadsheets by 8 a.m. the next day. I’d brought a peanut butter granola bar for lunch that morning, and when I patted my bag to find it, it was still in its wrapper, warm from sitting under my desk all day. That was the first time I admitted out loud (to the rubber stamp collection next to my desk) that I was quitting at the end of the year.
When people ask what the biggest cause of my burnout was, they usually expect me to name one big thing: unruly kids, low pay, micromanaging admins. All of those were real, frustrating factors, but the thing that pushed me out the door was the constant, unending pile of unpaid extra work that no one outside of education really talks about. It wasn’t one big crisis that broke me. It was a thousand tiny, uncompensated tasks that stacked up until I had zero time or energy left for myself or my own family.
When I first started teaching, I bought into the idea that good teachers give everything, all the time. I spent weekends cutting laminated sentence strips for reading groups, reorganized my classroom library three times in one year because admin changed the required reading level labeling system, and bought bulk crayons and snacks out of my own paycheck for kids who couldn’t afford them. I agreed to meet a student’s private tutor on a Saturday morning because that was the only time the tutor could make it, and I missed my niece’s 5th birthday party to be there. I spent two weeks every holiday writing personalized handwritten cards and buying $1 small gifts for every student, because that’s what my favorite elementary teacher did for me, so I thought it was expected.
By my third year, I was working an average of 12 hours a day, and only 6 of those were on the clock. The rest was all extra. I know most parents don’t mean to add to that load. When a parent texts me at 9 p.m. asking for a makeup assignment, they just need the information, they don’t stop to think I’m off the clock, folding laundry, trying to get my own 3-year-old to bed. But those two or three extra requests a week add up, on top of the hall decorating, the after-school club, the mandatory Saturday professional development that doesn’t even count toward overtime.
When I packed up my classroom the last week of school, I found a drawer full of crumpled receipts I’d never gotten around to submitting for reimbursement: $12 for construction paper, $28 for crayons, $15 for weekly snacks for a student who never brought lunch, adding up to almost $300 that semester. That’s when it hit me: I was paying to work. That’s not a sustainable way to do any job, let alone one that asks you to show up and give 28 kids your full attention every single day.
There are small, concrete things anyone can do to lighten this load, no big policy overhauls required. For parents, the easiest change is to add a one-sentence line to any after-hours message: “No rush to reply until you’re back at work tomorrow.” That small line removes the unspoken pressure to drop everything and respond immediately, which would’ve saved me so much stress when I was teaching. Second, drop forgotten lunches, homework, or sports gear at the front office instead of texting the teacher to leave class and come get it. That interrupts learning for every kid in the room and adds an extra trip across the school that most teachers don’t have time for. Third, if you need to schedule an extra meeting outside of contract hours, ask what time works for the teacher instead of demanding your preferred slot, and if you’re meeting in person, bring a $5 coffee or a pack of their favorite cookies. It’s a tiny gesture that acknowledges their time is valuable.
For current teachers, the changes don’t have to be big either. Start by turning off push notifications for your work communication app after your contract ends. It feels scary at first, but after a month, parents get used to it, and admins rarely say anything. Quit the extra traditions that don’t actually help kids learn: I spent 10 hours a month changing out my bulletin boards to match every holiday and season, and I realized halfway through my third year that the kids barely glanced at them. Once I stopped updating them every month, no one even mentioned it. If you do buy supplies for your classroom, submit your receipts for reimbursement every two weeks instead of letting them pile up – that small habit keeps you from resenting the expense over time.
I’ve been out of the full-time classroom for five years now, and I don’t regret leaving. It gave me time to be present for my own kids, which I couldn’t do when I was working 12-hour days. My best friend still teaches 2nd grade at my old school, and she’s started implementing those small boundaries. She says it’s cut her after-school work time by almost two hours a week, which has made a huge difference. It’s not a fix for underfunded schools or oversized classes, but it takes a little weight off. Burnout doesn’t happen from one bad day. It’s the uneaten lunch, the 10 p.m. text, the googly eyes glued after everyone’s gone home, one after another, until there’s nothing left for you. It doesn’t have to be that way, but it takes small, consistent changes from everyone to shift the culture that expects teachers to give everything they have just to be considered good at their job.
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