Teachers Can Endure Hard Work. They Can’t Endure Meaningless Work.

Throughout history, teachers have endured extraordinary hardship for the sake of their students. Janina Suchodolska, a Polish educator during the Nazi occupation, ran underground schools and hid Jewish children. She was captured, tortured, and released only after parents bribed officials on her behalf.

While I don’t want to compare modern teaching to the horrors of that era, I do want to illustrate something simpler and more universal – that teachers have always been willing to endure difficulty when they believed their work had meaning.

Many teachers today still have that kind of courage, even as they watch their peers leave the profession at unprecedented rates.

Some interpret this exodus as a sign of personal weakness or a lack of resilience. But the truth is more profound: teachers don’t burn out from effort. They burn out from not being able to do the work that gives their efforts meaning.

One of the great joys of teaching is watching a child grow — seeing a student finally grasp something they once struggled to understand. The work has always been demanding, but it has also been redeemed by those moments of mastery.

Years ago, my wife and I taught in Cambodia on a Fulbright Grant. The work was hot, exhausting, and relentless — and I loved it. Ten years later, we had the opportunity to return and meet some of those same students, now young adults. Many hugged me and said, “Mr. Reed, you were my first English teacher. You helped me so much. Thank you.” It was profoundly moving – a rare opportunity to see the results of my earlier efforts.

I wish every teacher could have that experience. Usually, we have to work on the faith that our efforts will one day be rewarded, even if we aren’t around to witness it. That belief is what keeps us going.

Hard work has never been the enemy of teaching. Teachers expect the job to be hard. They willingly give their time, energy, and often their own money because they believe the work is meaningful.

What teachers cannot endure is futility.

Futility is showing up every day knowing the work you’re required to do isn’t making the difference it should. Futility is watching struggling students fall farther behind, knowing there is nothing you can do about it. Futility is preparing students for tests that measure what is easy to test rather than what is essential to learn.

Futility is the slow, grinding realization that you are no longer allowed to do the very work that once gave your job meaning.

Burnout isn’t a stamina problem. It’s a meaning problem — and meaning disappears the moment teachers are forced to teach faster than many students can learn.

Teachers can endure exhaustion, stress, and pressure, along with the emotional weight of their responsibilities. What they cannot endure is being turned into functionaries in systems that value compliance over learning, paperwork over progress, and test preparation over mastery.

Suchodolska endured torture because she knew her work mattered. She knew she was protecting children. She knew she was teaching for  freedom, survival, and dignity.

Today’s teachers are leaving because they are asked to do work that no longer builds mastery — work that denies them the joy that once sustained them.

Burnout is not the result of hard work. Burnout is the result of futile work.

In most classrooms, teachers still have freedom to choose how they present material. But in the subjects that determine whether a student will graduate — especially English and math — that autonomy narrows dramatically.

In Florida, students who cannot pass the 10th‑grade English or math exam cannot graduate. When graduation depends on a single metric, teachers have little choice but to increase the pace. Coverage to meet the requirements of the test becomes the priority, even when some students need more time to learn the basics.

This is where autonomy breaks down.

The system forces teachers into a position where they cannot make the instructional decisions their students need. They are not prevented from teaching; they are prevented from teaching well. They are prevented from teaching responsively. They are prevented from teaching for mastery.

I have had to make that choice more times than I can count: do I slow down and help the students who are struggling, or do I keep moving so the rest of the class stays “on track”? Every instinct in me says to pause, reteach, and make sure everyone understands. But the pressure to keep moving — to cover what must be covered before the test — is intense.

Only teachers can see when a class is ready to move ahead or when they need more time. We are the only ones who can feel the confusion in the room, sense the breakthrough coming, or recognize when a student is on the verge of understanding. Policymakers cannot see that. Tests cannot see that.

When teachers are pressured to ignore what they know their students need, they lose the ability to create mastery. And when mastery disappears, meaning disappears — and teachers leave.

Teaching has always been hard. What’s new is that teachers are no longer allowed to do the work that once made the hard work meaningful.

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