These Philadelphia teachers considered leaving the profession. Here’s why they decided to stay or go.

Pennsylvania teachers are leaving their jobs at the highest level on record. Zach Posnan knows why.

On paper, this Philadelphia educator is the perfect candidate to spend his career in classrooms, a teacher so skilled that he just won a Lindback prize for distinguished teaching.

But he’s packing up his classroom at Conwell Middle School in Kensington, leaving not just the school but education altogether. Posnan loves his students, but teaching felt unsustainable, he said.

“It’s not the work,” said Posnan, who’s been teaching for seven years. “It’s everything else.”

» READ MORE: Teachers are leaving Pa. schools at the highest rate on record, a new analysis shows

Attrition rates, which stood at 7.7% from the 2021-22 to 2022-23 school year, up from 6.2% the previous year, are still relatively low. But with a nationwide teacher shortage and Pennsylvania also issuing its lowest-ever number of new teaching certificates, the quit rate is consequential — and compounded, said Ed Fuller, a Penn State education professor and author of a recent analysis on the subject.

“We’re post-pandemic, and kids missed out on a lot of learning, and we’re trying to accelerate their learning,” said Fuller. “It’s the kids who probably fell behind the most who are losing teachers. More kids are not going to get the education they deserve.”

Attrition is particularly high in Philadelphia. The Inquirer spoke with five city teachers who contemplated quitting education. Here’s why they decided to stay — or leave.

There wasn’t one last straw for Posnan, who teaches math and science to middle schoolers.

“It was all these little straws,” he said: school and district upheaval, despite the efforts of a supportive principal. “I spent hundreds of my own dollars. I brought in snacks, I paid for my own pencils and paper. It’s all of those little things that just started to build up.”

Conwell, Posnan’s school, is projecting steep enrollment drops and will lose staff — Posnan was worried he might get cut. The school’s location, on East Clearfield Street near the center of the city’s opioid epidemic, in an area beset by gun violence, translates not just to safety concerns but the need to help students through that trauma while coping with your own.

One of Posnan’s students put his name on a “kill list,” which a team of district staff deemed a credible threat, and there still was a dispute over whether the student had the right to return to Conwell. (The student ultimately did not.)

“Part of it was the district’s inability to follow through and have real consequences for things that happen in schools,” Posnan said. “I don’t make enough money to be abused.”

Posnan quit right around the time he won a Lindback, singled out from among thousands of teachers for how good he is at his job. The honor felt bittersweet as he made plans to turn to his side baking business as a full-time career.

He’ll miss his students terribly, he said, and giving up steady work, salary, benefits and pension is terrifying. But it was time.

“I don’t know whether I’m done for good, or done for right now,” said Posnan, who hopes to open a brick-and-mortar bakery and offer students internships. “I still have my license; I can always go back. It’s a shame. I thought I’d be there for a long time.”

Tamir Harper knew he was meant to be in the classroom. He just thought he would stay longer.

First years are tough, but Harper’s — teaching English and social studies to eighth graders at Lea Elementary in West Philadelphia — went well. He felt supported by his colleagues, his new-teacher coach, his principal. Still, he’s not returning as a teacher.

Brand-new Philadelphia teachers make $50,066 annually. It wasn’t enough, Harper said.

“You start to look at the cost of living in Philadelphia and the reality of, ‘OK, you’ve got to get this master’s, you’ve got to get X, Y, and Z.’ I have friends that just got their bachelor’s and they’re making $100,000, and I’m working a lot harder than they are. Everything goes on the shoulders and backs of teachers, when we’re severely underpaid.”

Harper had options — he’s worked in politics, founded a nonprofit as a teenager, had other job prospects. But ultimately, he chose to stay in schools.

Next year, he’ll still be at Lea, not as a classroom teacher, but as the climate manager — responsible for managing student behavior and school relationships, and helping to set the overall tone of the building — and he’ll get a $20,000 salary increase. He also hopes to teach an elective course on social justice.

“I still love teaching,” Harper said.

No doubt, though: It’s a tough job, and worries add up, especially in Philadelphia, “where we wake up every day like, ‘OK is our school next to be closed? Are we going to have to attend our students’ funerals?’ It is emotionally and mentally and physically exhausting.”

Harper thinks a lot about the sustainability of the profession.

“People used to be 30-year veterans,” Harper said. “I don’t know if we’ll get to that level anymore.”

The day before students reported to class for the 2022-23 school year, an educator who had been hired to teach biology at Constitution High got a new assignment: a section of Advanced Placement Environmental Science, a class in which the second-year teacher had zero preparation.

Students hadn’t signed up for the class; they were rostered by a guidance counselor and lacked the foundational science skills to succeed in the tough course. The teacher — who asked that her name not be used — felt targeted by her school’s administration, and heaped with so many extra responsibilities that it was tough to do her job well.

“I think really the level of support that needs to be given to teachers is almost impossible,” said the teacher. “We need things taken off of our plate. If you want to enforce a cell phone ban, you have to hire more climate staff. It can’t fall to me. If you want me to be a social worker for my students, I can’t do that, you need social workers and counselors.”

Though there were parts of the job she liked, ultimately, those weren’t enough. She left her job partway through the year, and now works in higher education. Leaving the classroom means she’ll have to assume the debt related to earning her master’s degree, which was paid for by a program that promised free tuition if educators worked in public schools for four years. But it’s worth it, the teacher said.

“When I was teaching, I wasn’t able to go to the bathroom when I needed to; my blood pressure would raise so high that I felt like I had to go to the hospital, and I’m only 24,” the teacher said. “My health has gotten so much better since I left. I can’t give the level of giving that is expected of teachers — it’s just absolutely crazy.”

Teaching through a pandemic was brutal. Last school year — when Philadelphia students returned to in-person education after a year spent learning virtually — was especially difficult, with kids’ social and emotional needs higher than ever.

“But teachers are all humans, and we had a lot of struggles, too,” one Philadelphia comprehensive high school teacher said. He asked that his name be withheld for fear of reprisal from the administration. “I burned out really badly last year, and really, really early. It seemed like no one had any joy last year.”

The veteran comprehensive high school teacher, who was coping with a tough year personally as well as professionally, nearly left teaching. A job in tech seemed as if it might work out better. But, ultimately, he chose to stay, in large part because of the benefits and pension that teaching promises.

“I’ve become a bit more — not detached — but businesslike, not passionate,” the teacher said. “It’s a hard job, and I have to make sure I’m taking care of myself and my family, too, and in more ways than just bringing in a paycheck.”

Jenifer Felix won’t sugarcoat it: The last few years of teaching have been rough. But Felix, who teaches English language learners at Kensington Health Sciences Academy, isn’t going anywhere.

“I think I still have something to offer, and as long as the district — and my students, and their parents, and my school community — feels like I am contributing, then I’m going to stay,” said Felix, who lives close to KHSA, sees her students in the supermarket, and sent her daughter to the school where she teaches.

Teachers are like doctors in a way, Felix said. They have to educate whoever comes in front of them, no matter where they come from and what their prior experiences are.

“That is a really difficult thing to do in the best of circumstances,” she said. Felix knows why teachers leave — because sometimes the job is too much, and leaving is better than not being able to contribute meaningfully.

Society’s view of teachers doesn’t help, Felix said.

“The beginning of this year was really hard for me — we weren’t seeing a lot of positive feedback from students, parents, and society in general,” she said. It made her doubt whether she was effective.

“It’s really crucial for teachers to get positive feedback, even in small ways,” she said. Part of her reason for staying long-term is the school where she works. KHSA is renowned for a stable, supportive teaching team and administration, and a cohesive school community.

What might help stem the attrition tide?

“When it’s time to renew our contracts, people need to be thinking seriously about what teachers are asking for, really considering it,” Felix said. “People need to not make teachers the villain. That’s why we’re not attracting new teachers. Is the pay worth the trouble?”