💔 Why I Left Teaching—and What That Says About the System
- Gaelle Launay-Hughes
- Oct 20
- 4 min read
1. The Breaking Point
I didn’t leave teaching because I wasn’t good at it. I was an outstanding teacher. In my role as head of department, I was proud to lead my team with integrity and drive, and the results reflected that. I cared deeply—maybe too deeply. Teaching wasn’t just a job. It was who I was.
But somewhere along the way, that became the problem.
Suddenly, I was made to feel that I didn’t fit. That the way I taught, the way I connected, the way I showed up—didn’t align with “the policies.” It wasn’t about workload. I could handle the hours, the marking, the planning. I always had. What broke me was the feeling that my identity, my values, my humanity were no longer welcome.
And when that happens, it’s not just your job that shatters. You shatter.
That’s what burnout really is. Not tiredness. Not overwork. It’s the slow erosion of self in a system that no longer sees you.
2. What Teaching Took—and What It Gave
Teaching gave me purpose, creativity, and connection. But it also demanded emotional labour, unpaid hours, and constant adaptation with little support. I loved the classroom—But I couldn’t survive the system as it exists today—one that has become increasingly rigid, performative, and disconnected from the human heart of teaching. It wasn’t the workload that broke me. It was the slow erosion of trust, autonomy, and care. The system changed, and in doing so, it stopped making space for people like me—people who lead with empathy, creativity, and conviction.
Leaving felt like failure, like I was a failure. It took me a long time to even say "I left teaching" out loud—let alone write it. For years, I carried the shame quietly, unsure how to explain what had happened without feeling like I was admitting defeat. Even now, sharing this is painful. But with time, I’ve come to see that leaving wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of something new. A different way of teaching. A different way of living. One that honours who I am, not just what I can produce.
3. Rebuilding on My Own Terms
I didn’t stop being a teacher. I just changed how I teach.
I’ve built a life around language, creativity, and connection. I created my own YouTube channel to share practical insights and spark curiosity. I wrote a series of French learning books that blend clarity with cultural depth—and even penned a French fantasy fiction novel. Through MFL Central, I design inclusive French and Spanish resources that reflect real classroom needs. I collaborate with teachers, listen deeply to their feedback, and build tools that support—not overwhelm—them. Every worksheet, prompt, and visual is crafted with intention: to empower learners, celebrate identity, and make teaching feel more human.
This journey has helped me reclaim my creativity, my boundaries, and my voice. And I’m using them to build something that invites others to do the same.
I’m also planning to explore online tutoring, because I miss the interaction with pupils—the spark, the connection, the joy of learning together. Supply teaching, however, is no longer something I can cope with. I’ve had enough of walking into classrooms where I’m expected to negotiate everything from scratch, often with pupils who see me as insignificant. That constant battle erodes your confidence and sense of worth. I want to teach in spaces where mutual respect and meaningful engagement are possible.
4. The Bigger Picture
Over 60% of schools report difficulty recruiting language teachers. A-level uptake is falling. And behind those stats are people—exhausted, brilliant, and often unsupported.
The reasons are layered:
High workload remains the top reason teachers leave—90% cite it as a key factor.
Pupil behaviour has become one of the fastest-growing contributors to burnout since the pandemic.
Initial teacher training (ITT) recruitment is persistently below target for MFL, with fewer applicants and lower retention.
Pay and progression haven’t kept pace with inflation or expectations. Even with a £30k starting salary, real-term gains are minimal.
Lack of flexibility—especially for parents and carers—pushes talented educators out.
Cultural mismatch: Teachers who bring creativity, empathy, and identity into the classroom often find themselves at odds with rigid policy frameworks. That mismatch breaks people. And the impact is sharpest in schools serving disadvantaged communities, where vacancies are filled by non-specialists or left open altogether.
So what do we do?
We stop treating teachers like interchangeable parts. We start listening.
Flexible contracts, job shares, and remote options for planning and CPD.
Mentorship and mental health support that goes beyond token gestures.
Recognition of lived experience—not just data points. Teachers like me didn’t burn out because we couldn’t handle the job. We burned out because the job stopped valuing who we were.
We need to rebuild a profession where care isn’t punished, and where identity isn’t a liability.
💬 Let’s Keep Talking
If any part of this resonates with you—if you’ve felt the weight, the doubt, the heartbreak—I want you to know: you’re not alone.
Whether you’re still in the classroom, thinking about leaving, or somewhere in between, your story matters. I’d love to hear your experiences, your reflections, your hopes. You can reach out to me—whether it’s to share your journey, swap ideas, or just have a chat. Especially if you’re at breaking point. I’ve been there. And I know how much it means to feel seen.
Let’s keep this conversation going—with care, honesty, and solidarity.
Gaëlle
Sources: NEFR : Teacher Labour Market in England Annual Report 2025
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