She doesn’t know it yet, but the career she cried for, studied for, sacrificed for… the one she dreamed about as a little girl for eight years… is about to break her heart.
Not because she stopped loving it.
Not because she wasn’t good at it.
But because someone in power decided to crush the very thing that gave her life meaning.
It wasn’t the students. It was never the students.
It was the system. The administration. The people who chose silence and self-preservation over integrity.
Teaching was never just a job to her. It was a calling. Her identity. Her safe space. The place where she could pour her heart into something bigger than herself and know it mattered. She built a life out of passion and principle… and now it’s being taken apart piece by piece by a man who thrives off control.
He doesn’t protect his teachers. He doesn’t trust them. He manipulates them. He pits staff against each other, creates tension, and watches it play out from behind his office door like a game.
He sends his administrators to do his dirty work… never directly, of course. That’s not how people like him operate. They use fear. They use subtle pressure.
The truth is, there are people who’ve tried to speak up. Teachers who saw the same injustices, felt the same pain… but after being retaliated against, they backed down. Now they won’t even let their names be mentioned. They’re quiet, they’re cooperative, they’re back on his good side. That’s not strength. That’s survival. And while I understand the fear—God, I understand it—it’s not bravery. It’s not change.
It’s submission.
And that’s what breaks me the most. Because it mirrors something so much bigger.
What’s happening in our little school is just a reflection of what’s happening in this country. We have a leader who breaks rules, who bulldozes over basic rights, who uses fear and division as tools of power… and people still support him. People still stay silent. People still say yes when everything inside them is screaming no.
That’s what this principal has created here. A mini dictatorship. A culture where no one pushes back. Where administrators are yes people. Where no one holds him accountable, even when he harasses or retaliates or undermines teachers in front of their students. They’d rather pressure one person until she breaks than risk standing up for what’s right.
And I’ve had enough.
When I walk away, don’t say I’m leaving the kids. I’m not.
I’m leaving the fear.
I’m leaving the gaslighting.
I’m leaving the silence that screams louder than any voice ever could.
Because I still believe in truth. I still believe in standing up, even when my knees shake. I still believe that when something is unjust, you don’t close your eyes and pretend not to see it… you speak. You act. You fight.
And if I have to do it alone…
I still will.
Some flowers bloom in defiance… not because the soil was kind, but because they refused to die in it.