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I’ve kept quiet long enough. But I’m one of those educators who stayed, In a district they call broken. In buildings they’ve long forgotten. And I’m ready to say what so many of us have been carrying for years.

They say we should leave. Go where there’s more pay, better resources, and less struggle. But some of us don’t. Some of us stay, not because it’s easy, but because we know leaving would mean abandoning the very kids we were called to serve.

 “They not like us…” That line hits. Because they’re not. They don’t know what it’s like to teach through trauma. To walk into a room with broken lights, broken systems, and still shine.

I’ve taught with rats running down the halls and paint peeling from the walls. I’ve coached teachers through grief, hunger, eviction notices, and burnout. And I’ve stood in front of students with more diagnoses than support and still managed to teach them love.

“They not like us…” “Ask the homie why they ain't slide, and they still ain’t slid…” Because they don’t slide for us. Not the policymakers. Not the decision-makers. Not the folks who take photos in our schools but won’t stay for the meeting.

But I do. I stay. We stay. Even when the school board doesn’t listen. Even when the media villainizes us. Even when the system sets our kids up to fail and dares us to say something.

This ain’t about survival. It’s about resistance. Every day I stay, I am resisting the narrative that our kids are disposable. That our schools are hopeless. That our communities don’t matter.

“Every time you in the booth, it’s a lot of cappin’…” Let’s talk about that. Because I hear folks preaching equity from platforms they bought with privilege. But when it comes time to fund the fight? Silence.

But we’ve been loud in the classrooms. We’ve been loud in the hallways. Loud in the lesson plans, the IEP meetings, the late-night calls to parents. Loud with our presence. Even when nobody saw us.

So if you want to know why I stay, it’s simple: Because they need me. Because we need us. Because if everybody leaves, who will remain to fight?

I don’t teach for claps or cookies. I teach because I believe in our kids, even when the world doesn’t. And I walk through these doors every day like:  “This ain’t a gimmick…”

To the teachers who stay, I see you. To the coaches, paras, deans, and nurses holding it down, I honor you. And to the students we serve  you are not forgotten.