Leaving by Degrees

I have been leaving by degrees over the past six years. 

For (almost) twenty-five years, I’ve taught English at a suburban high school in Connecticut. My professional identity was formed here. In the early years, I described my job as the “Shangri La” of teaching, and I meant it wholeheartedly. The students were eager and hardworking, the parents supportive, the faculty and administration were inspiring. I threw myself into my job, often taking home many hours of lesson planning and grading, and I didn’t even mind because I loved it so much.

I volunteered for committees, created a new course, advised clubs & classes, took students on tour to England and Hollywood over school vacations. I embraced every aspect of the school culture and thrived in doing so.

Then Covid hit. 

Teaching through the pandemic was the most challenging experience in my career–of every teacher’s career, I presume. The Friends episode where they’re trying to get the bed up the stairs and Ross keeps yelling “Pivot” because no matter what they tried didn’t work–well, that’s the image that comes to mind when I think of teaching through Covid. 

We left on a half-day after a faculty meeting where we were told we’d have to teach online. “But it will only be a couple of weeks,” they said. Even the following year, we returned to a hybrid schedule that often felt unsustainable. The mental health of students and teachers alike suffered, yet we lifted our chins and did what educators have always done: we showed up for kids.

When we finally returned to normal, nothing felt normal.

Something had irrevocably shifted.

An unrelenting downward spiral followed: more schedule changes, more professional development, more mental health concerns, more meetings, more behavioral issues, more absenteeism, more accommodations, and more parental demands. At the same time, there were fewer consequences, less accountability, less transparency, and less communication.

People stopped listening to teachers—parents, students, administrators, even the broader community. The respect once afforded to educators, their experience, and their expertise seemed diminished. Our voices had become all but silent.

That's when I started leaving, one degree at a time.

Realizing that my own mental health and work-life balance needed to take precedence over my job was liberating. I shed the extras. Some called it quiet quitting. I called it survival. No more planning at home. No more grading anywhere other than my school desk. I stepped down from advising roles. I said “no” to committee requests. I stopped spending my nights or weekends or school vacations on school-related activities. I came home for lunch instead of eating in the faculty room. I actually used my sick time for mental health days. 

My new mantra became: “I refuse to keep filling a cup that doesn’t fill mine.” So I turned toward what did fill me: my family, my friends, my writing career, and the hobbies that had long been waiting for my attention. They became essential to maintaining my sense of balance.

While at school, I remained committed to the part of teaching I loved most: the students. Whenever I stepped into Room 55, I became fully present. I challenged them, encouraged them, coached them, critiqued them, praised them, listened to them, and celebrated them. Some of my best memories of the past twenty-five years happened in that classroom, and many of those relationships have endured long after graduation.

Retirement is a heavy word. Does it mean I’m old? Irrelevant? Am I about to embark on my last chapter?

I have said for a long time that I’d like to make it, here in this role, for twenty-five years. The decision to leave came on slower than I’d anticipated–harder for me to commit to. I found myself straddled between a version of me that was challenging to let go of and a prospect of a new version that I found alluring. I kept reminding myself of the last time I made a shift like this. There had been fear, then too, but the promise and possibilities of the potential for something exciting outweighed the level of discomfort. 

I recognize when I have reached my potential in a given role and when it’s time to make a change. The most difficult aspect is that I’ve always had something to go to–a plan, firmly in place. This time, there is no safety net. This time, there are possibilities but nothing concrete. I’m putting my faith in the universe, confident it has a plan for me and I’m excited to see what it is.

The more I shared my thoughts about my consideration of retirement with others–family, friends, colleagues–the more real the idea became. But when I started acting by way of applying to new positions, purging my classroom, whittling down materials, that’s when the decision settled. I went from 45% to 95% sure in a matter of months. Even though there’s a certain finality to the term “retirement,” I decided to take the leap.

Nearing the last day of the school year, I took a stroll around my room, taking it all in. The comforts of my “other” home which I had acquired over years. The talismans of my journey. Notes from students and alumni. Pieces of creative projects I saved. Gifts given to me by students and faculty that touched my heart. Newspaper clippings featuring what my students were doing. Magnets I collected, of inspiration and reflection and of guideposts along my journey, displayed on file cabinets, my desk and the walls. I strove to make my room visually appealing and stimulating–a reflection of me, but also of those who came through it.

Students have thanked me time and again for creating such a creative and welcoming space because it gave them a sense of comfort and community– a sentiment I will cherish. This year, one student created a children’s book complete with illustrations entitled “A Year in Ms. Carbone’s Class.” When she handed it to me, she said, “I hope one day you’ll read it to your granddaughter, so she’ll know what a great teacher you were.” Talk about paying it forward.

As I close this chapter, I do so without a single regret. What I’ll remember most are the people–the lives that have been shaped here, those who have shaped me. 

By the Numbers:

• I’ve been a teacher for 36 years

• Before working at Cheshire High School, I taught for eleven years at Hamden (and New Haven and Cheshire) Adult Ed. in addition to two years as an adjunct at SCSU & Gateway Community College

• At CHS, I taught for 7 months as a long-term sub and 24 years as a full time teacher

• Certified English 7-12, Adult Education, UCONN ECE adjunct, AP Lang & Comp instructor

• I’ve taught: British Literature, American Literature, World Literature II, Writer’s Workshop, Speech, Reading Lit/Reading Film, Women’s Fiction, 20th Century American Literature & Reading/Writing/Research 

• I’ve been facilitating a year-long project with Brit Lit students (London Alive/Renaissance Faire/ Future Fest) for 16 years

• I’ve done NaNoWriMo for both myself and with students since 2012

• I advised the classes of 2010 & 2017, National Honor Society for 16 years, Spilled Ink for 7 & Writer’s Block for 2

• I’ve served on too many committees to count (or maybe remember)

• I’ve led 4 trips to England and 2 to Hollywood, California, 2 trips to the Renaissance Faire in NY, 3 trips to NYC to see shows, and 4 trips to Newport 

• I’ve brought many speakers to CHS: 3 poets, 2 television producers, 3 authors, 1 Chaucerian scholar (4 times) who raps The Canterbury Tales

• I co-created 1 course (Film) and worked on the curriculum of many, many others

• I’ve kept a next-steps (a.k.a. college board) for students for 16 years

• I’ve taught over 3K students during my career & worked with many more via clubs, projects and trips

• I’ve worked with 29 English teachers, 7 administrators, 7 assistant administrators and 4 superintendents

I have so many blessings from this career for which I am profoundly grateful.

One More Thing: 

I mentioned leaving by degrees. Well, I’ll be returning to CHS to teach two British Literature classes next year which is really the icing on the cake. I get the opportunity to transition from a job I love by working with students on a part time basis, thus tipping the scale from teaching to more writing time. I’ve learned a few things: flexibility is my friend, always leave the door open, and trust the universe. Life is good.