From when they carry crayons to when they’re old enough to vote, kids – and their teachers — do their best despite the systemic disadvantages against them. They read tattered books in overcrowded classrooms and in overheated schools, and are expected to thrive.

They’re under their teachers’ care for half of the calendar year, when their teachers strain to support and nurture them. Teachers buy both school supplies and necessities for other people’s children. Grade on the weekends. Lesson plan in the evenings. Teachers work too hard for not enough. Through chronic gaslighting, they’re told again and again: It’s not about the money. It’s about the kids.

When, at the start of each new school year, teachers are told to do less with more, they strive and scrape to make it happen. Again and again. Here and there. Teachers extend superhero effort.

We should not, cannot, expect teachers to endure this indefinitely. Especially not while conservatives divert more and more from children and their communities.

In mid-March, the U.S. Department of Education severed its workforce in half. Several days later, the President signed an executive order to dismantle it, ending services that benefit especially vulnerable kids. While teachers do everything they can to do right by their students, conservatives are happy to end programs that protect children’s rights, support children experiencing homelessness, and prevent discrimination against kids with disabilities.

The cuts also mean school systems won’t have enough access to technology or adequate career and technical education programs. Schools “will lose counselors, social workers, behavior specialists -- people who ensure safety and stability for students who need it most.” Millions of kids may go without lunch.

For the over 11 years I taught high school English in Baltimore, I told my students — my lovelies — the same thing on the first day of school: I know they’re whole people, that being a student is just one piece of their complex identity. My entire career, I began the school year promising my lovelies that I’d always do my best to prioritize their humanity over their academics.

During lunch or after school, my lovelies would come talk to me, hurt about an argument with a friend or worried about someone in their family. During class, I quietly checked in with who I knew were having a hard time. Sometimes, I used code words with them so they could discreetly excuse themselves when their emotions were too much for the classroom. Occasionally, I gave lovelies “days off,” a chance to zone out when there was too much going on to concentrate.

I did my best. It wasn’t enough, and never would be. Without our school’s supportive resources, the specialists who were trained and available to care for my lovelies, their well-being would have been even more precarious.

On March 28, U.S. Secretary of Education Linda McMahon informed Maryland officials of an abrupt change in federal funding. Our school districts, without warning, lost $418 million. In a single week, tutoring ended for 1,100 Baltimore students, and 3,000 children lost access to after-school programs.

As resources, and even their rights, are stripped away, students will still be expected to thrive. The strain on their teachers will become unconscionable.

It doesn’t have to be this way, but in America it is. During a global health crisis, education officials didn’t give teachers and students the courtesy of taking care of ourselves, instead insisting on the same levels of performance as before COVID. If we were ever going to recalibrate our priorities in education, a life-altering pandemic was the time to do it. But we didn’t then, and there’s no reason to believe we will now.

Which means more and more teachers, for their own well-being, will need to leave the classroom, no matter how badly they want to stay. I know what it’s like to be that teacher: Despite its stressors and challenges, my career brought me profound joy. My relationships with my students redefined who I am as a person.

But during the 2022-2023 school year, I left teaching. My health issues at the time were exacerbated by the unreasonable expectations of classroom teachers; I wasn’t going to be able to maintain, let alone recover, if I had stayed.

It was a hard decision. It was the right one. And over two years later, I still wish I wasn’t forced to make it.

Teachers have always carried too much responsibility. Watching this administration devastate public education makes me fear for our country, our children, and our future. But right now, it makes me especially worried about our teachers.

I know teachers who have recently lost their positions, or who won’t be able to work over the summer, due to decreased funding. Even people whose jobs seem safe are being told to brace themselves: Things are going to be tough next year. Bigger class sizes. More paperwork.

It’s not fair. It’s not sustainable. And teachers are already feeling the harmful impacts.

Teacher Appreciation Week is this week, May 5 through the 9th. Please, celebrate teachers this year. Buy a coffee for your kids’ teachers. Send a message to any of your own that you’re in touch with. Rave on social media about teachers — how much you respect, value, and are made better by them. Especially now, they deserve as much recognition and support as they can get.