Dear We Are Teachers,
I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and lately, admin has been nudging me toward leadership roles—department chair, maybe even assistant principal down the line. I’m flattered but also skeptical. I’ve seen what leadership looks like at my school: nonstop meetings, no time with kids, and even less appreciation than teachers get. I care deeply about making things better, but I don’t want to leave the classroom just to drown in bureaucracy. Is it possible to lead and love your job too? Or am I just signing up for a different kind of burnout?
—Ambitious but Apprehensive
Dear A.B.A.,
First of all, it makes total sense you’re hesitant. The view from the outside often looks like a constant cycle of emails, discipline referrals, and meetings about meetings. But here’s the thing: Good leadership matters—a lot. And the fact that you’re even weighing this decision carefully instead of chasing the title tells me you’d probably be thoughtful in the role.
Here’s what to consider:
- Do you still love working directly with kids? If losing that day-to-day joy would crush your spirit, then admin might not be for you right now. Department chair roles often still let you stay in the classroom, so that might be a better first step.
- Can you stomach tough conversations? Leaders have to deliver hard news, hold staff accountable, and make decisions that won’t make everyone happy. If that sounds like your personal nightmare, pause before leaping.
- How successful have current admin been in shaping your school’s culture? This question certainly isn’t the be-all and end-all. But I think it’s best when you can go into leadership having learned from people you already want to emulate, not creating a culture from scratch.
Bottom line: Leadership doesn’t have to mean burnout. But it does mean a shift in what brings you joy. If that shift feels exciting instead of suffocating, maybe try dipping a toe in with a smaller leadership role first. If not, don’t feel bad about saying “Thanks, but I belong in the classroom.” Both paths are valid.
Dear We Are Teachers,
Every time I send students to the restroom, there’s a good chance they’ll come back smelling like a vape shop. We’ve had multiple talks, assemblies, even parent emails, but nothing seems to deter them. Admin says they’re “cracking down,” but I rarely see consequences. I feel helpless when the kids themselves admit they don’t take the rules seriously. How do I protect my classroom environment when the bathroom has basically turned into a smoke break station?
—Choking on the Cloud
Dear C.O.T.C.,
Here’s the bad news: You’re right—historically, “Don’t do this bad thing that feels good” talks don’t work with teens. The good news is you do still have options.
- Control what you can. Keep strong bathroom procedures—one kid out at a time, sign-out sheets, time limits. Maybe even consider recommending a school-wide digital tool like SmartPass (you can read about a school that used it to tackle their loitering problem here). It won’t stop vaping school-wide, but it can reduce opportunities during your class.
- Loop in allies. School resource officers, counselors, or even custodial staff often see things admin doesn’t. Sometimes they can apply pressure where you can’t.
- Keep documenting. Even if admin feels hands-off, every report builds a record that makes the problem harder to ignore with parents who might need this information shared with them.
And a reminder: It’s not your job to eradicate vaping from the entire school. That’s an institutional problem. Your responsibility is to advocate, protect your teaching environment, and keep kids as safe as you reasonably can.
I’m surprised your school hasn’t cracked down harder considering what a liability it is. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re failing because the bathrooms still smell like blueberry cheesecake or whatever the vape flavor of the week is.
Dear We Are Teachers,
Our district pushes new tech initiatives constantly: digital portfolios, adaptive software, online behavior tracking, parent communication apps, AI literacy and proficiency—you name it. On paper, it sounds great, but in reality, I’m juggling six platforms daily on top of my actual teaching. I spend more time troubleshooting logins than engaging with kids. I’m not anti-technology, but this feels like tech overload. How do I push back without sounding like a dinosaur?
—Tech-Tired Teacher
Dear T.T.T.,
You are not a dinosaur. In fact, you sound like the exact opposite—you’re using tech constantly, and you’re burned out by it. That doesn’t make you resistant, it makes you realistic.
Here’s what you can do:
- Pick your priorities. Identify which platforms truly support learning in your classroom and which are just “nice-to-haves.” Focus your energy where it matters most.
- Document the time sink. Track how much instructional time is lost to logins, glitches, and troubleshooting. Numbers can be powerful when pushing back to admin.
- Ask the right questions. Instead of “Why do we have so much tech?”, try “What’s our actual goal with this tech?” Instead of “Who came up with these requirements?”, try “Can we check the research on how digital note-taking inhibits cognitive processing?”
You want to know what I’d do? Use just enough technology so that my students understand it (and my admin thinks I’m using it), but then pencil-and-paper my heart out most of the time in class. When the rules are dumb and don’t work for your students? Malicious compliance, baby.
Remember: You’re not against technology. You’re against wasted time and practices that aren’t supported by research. That’s not old-fashioned—it’s exactly what good teaching should prioritize.
Do you have a burning question? Email us at askweareteachers@weareteachers.com.
Dear We Are Teachers,
During a group discussion, one of my students made a blatantly racist remark. I immediately addressed it, redirected the conversation, and followed up with admin. Their response? “We’ll keep an eye on it.” That’s it. No call home, no follow-up with the student. I feel like I’m the only adult treating this as a serious issue—and it’s not the first time. I don’t want to stay silent, but I also don’t want to burn bridges. What do I do when the system shrugs and keeps moving?
—Walking the Tightrope
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