Education: The Toxic Boyfriend/Girlfriend We Keep Hoping Will Change

You know that friend, you love her but she’s dating that guy again.

The one who’s “working on himself.”
The one who swears things will be different this time.
The one who gives just enough to keep her hanging on, but never enough to actually change.

Ask me how I know.

Because that boyfriend?
He’s the education system, still living in 1954 and wondering why you’re not impressed.

“But We’ve Been Together Since I Was Five!”

He told me how to dress.
Where to sit.
When to eat.
When to speak.
How to think.

And if I followed all the rules, I’d be rewarded with… more school.

I didn’t question it because I thought this was love.
Structure. Routines. Gold stars.
Sure, he ignored my individuality and punished creativity, but hey, at least he was consistent.

“He’s Just Stressed Right Now. It’s Not Usually Like This…”

That’s what I kept telling myself.
Every time he cut arts funding.
Every time he turned learning into test prep.
Every time he shoved 30 kids into one room and expected magic.
Every time teachers were told to do more with less and smile while doing it.

“He’s just under a lot of pressure.”
“He’s trying his best.”
“He doesn’t know any better he was raised this way.”

And honestly? I get it.
His parents were the Industrial Revolution.
No wonder he has commitment issues and a deep fear of innovation.

“But He Used to Be So Good to Me…”

To be fair, there were good days.

Magic in the classroom.
A student lighting up with understanding.
A teacher going above and beyond.
Moments that made you think, “This. This is why I stayed.”

That’s the hook, right?
It’s not all bad.
It’s just bad enough to make you question your sanity.

“I Stay Because I Want to Help Him Change”

This is the heartbreak so many teachers know.

We go in thinking we can be the change.
That our love, our energy, our creativity will be the turning point.

But systems don’t change just because you love them hard enough.

And when you push too hard?
When you stop playing nice and start asking questions?

You’re suddenly “not a team player.”
You’re “too emotional.”
Or worse, you're removed entirely.

Because toxic boyfriends don’t handle accountability well.

“If I Leave, Who’s Going to Take Care of the Kids?”

That guilt is real.

If I walk away, what happens to the students still stuck inside?
The families? The teachers who can’t leave?

And this is where the education system really messes with your head:
It convinces you that you are the problem.
That your burnout is a personal flaw.
That your exhaustion is weakness.
That your desire for something different is selfish.

So Why Do We Stay?

Because we believe in what school could be.
We believe in kids.
We believe in learning.
We believe in community.

And we keep waiting for education to grow up.
To go to therapy.
To unpack its trauma.
To stop blaming its past and start building a future.

But at some point, you have to ask:

How long do you wait for someone to change
before you become complicit in your own harm?

This Isn’t a Breakup Post. It’s a Boundary Post.

I haven’t given up on education.
But I’ve given up on sacrificing myself for it.

I believe in learning not just schooling.
In curiosity not just compliance.
In relationships not just rules.

And I’m going to keep building something different
even if it’s small, messy, or nothing like what came before.

Because love shouldn’t leave you depleted.
And education shouldn’t feel like surviving a bad relationship.

Final Question:

If school were your boyfriend/girlfriend…would you still be with him?
Or would you finally block his number and start building something healthier?