A Lonely Journey: Life on Administrative Leave


The author is an employee of Prince George’s County Public Schools (PGCPS) who wishes to remain anonymous.

There is your badge sitting on the desk. Your smiling face and the PGCPS logo are looking straight up at the ceiling. That piece of plastic that stayed so close to you every day at work was being taken away from you. Maybe for a few days. Maybe forever. The words still ring in your ears: “I’m placing you on administrative leave.”

You’ve had a stellar record through all of your career. You’re respected by your colleagues. You’ve never had a whiff of trouble. And now, you can’t do the thing that’s been at the core of your being for almost your entire adult life.

Your mind turns to the alleged victim. You are a teacher because you have a sincere desire to make the world a better place. You want the best for your students, your colleagues, and your community. Yet somehow, somebody believes you have been harmful to them or that you have done something to put others at risk. Whoever is putting forth the allegations is not your enemy, but you are suddenly placed in an antagonistic position with someone you have tried to support.

As the principal walks you to the parking lot and you drive away, you contemplate how you will explain this to your family. You know they will be hurt and confused, but you still have to be the one to deliver the news. Before it even happens, you can hear what will come: the bewildered silence and the anger in their voices.

You turn your attention to what it will take to defend yourself. So many things happen in a teacher’s day. This is a profession that is exhausting based on the sheer number of decisions you have to make as you plan and manage a classroom full of young personalities and try to impart the curriculum. You don’t have time to take detailed notes of everything that happens, yet right now you wish that you had a record of every interaction you’ve had. You do the best with what you’ve got.

It soon becomes clear what is one of the most insidious aspects of being on administrative leave. The feeling of isolation is horrible. You have been instructed not to be in contact with any colleagues, students, or parents. You know they are wondering about you. Where is my teacher? Will they ever come back? What happened to our colleague? I hope everything is OK. You receive phone calls, text messages, and emails, but you know you can’t respond and tell the truth of what you’re going through.

When the school year ends, you will learn from news reports that there were 848 PGCPS staff members placed on administrative leave this year. In that sense, you are not alone. Sure, you had heard through the grapevine what had happened to a friend of a friend. It was unfortunate, but it was distant. Now it is all too close. You wish you could reach out to the others. You need a support group, but you don’t know who they are or where they are.

This helps your mind realize that there is a systemic problem. However, in your heart you feel an emotional trauma. You have been deemed not worthy of being with your colleagues and your students. The allegation supersedes your value in the classroom.  

Each morning you wake up to the alarm. Each morning your first thought is the same: You’re not allowed to go to school today. The rest of the family goes about their usual routine, and you face a day knowing you’re not allowed to be where you’re supposed to be. Mornings are filled with emptiness and despair.  

Neighbors have noticed that you’re not at school. When they ask, you give the brief explanation. Often, they try to stay positive and tell you to look at it as a paid vacation. Even though they have good intentions, the idea falls flat. You can’t be on vacation when your future is uncertain and you’re checking your email every thirty minutes to see if you’ve been called for a hearing or just to catch what little you can about the goings on at your school.

You try to stay busy. You try to stay focused on other projects. You try to use the time to do things you never could because you had to be at work, but not an hour goes by without your mind racing back to your school and the case and what you would have done differently if you could turn back time. You go out of your way to help and support others as a way of using the giving spirit that used to work so well at school, yet you find emotional pitfalls everywhere.

For example, when you go to community social events, you feel a sense of shame. What would the other parents think if they knew that you were not allowed to work with your students? Would they be nervous to have you around their children?

Then you think of the children in your class. You think of the children from homes broken by divorce, incarceration, drug and alcohol addiction, and other factors. You think of the child who has been bounced in and out of foster care. For these children in whose world precious little is certain, you were always there. You could be depended on to be a daily constant in their lives. But now, it’s different. You’re not there anymore. You, too, are another example to these children of how the world is full of broken promises. Your innocence in the matter you were accused of has no bearing. You simply aren’t there. You may not be guilty of creating the situation, but you feel the tremendous weight of guilt of letting them down.

Speaking of guilt, you dream of the day when you can leave this purgatory. The isolation has made you feel guilty already, even if the facts prove you innocent. You do not know how long your banishment will last, although it’s showing up on television and in newspapers that other teachers are having to wait months to just get a hearing. You’ve been told to just stay at home and wait for the next steps, but wait for how long?  

You share your story with people you know well, friends and family outside PGCPS. They are shocked that you’re going through this. One word keeps coming up to describe the district you work for: toxic. Get out of there as soon as you can, they say. You’re a loyal person, and in spite of the troubles, you’ve spent enough time in PGCPS to instantly feel defensive. While it feels like they’re just piling it on, the evidence says that they are probably right. How many others are hearing the same advice and looking for a better place? It already feels as if the district won’t miss you, so you might as well go when you get a chance. You thought you were valuable to them, but maybe not. Will anybody miss you?

You start to believe the twisted logic that maybe you had done something awful and didn’t realize it. Maybe you did deserve the feelings of guilt and shame. Maybe you were delusional in thinking you were a good teacher. Maybe you’re not at school because you don’t belong at school. After all, some of those 848 cases resulted in firings. Is that your fate? Thankfully, you have friends and family members who can talk you off of that train of thought, but the recurring down-and-out feeling never goes away completely.

And just when you are about to drown in self-pity, you find the will to fight. You’re willing to admit mistakes and take responsibility for anything you did wrong, but you know everything you did was with the best of intentions. You deserve due process. You deserve the right to be heard, and your perspective is valuable. Anybody in your position deserves these rights. You have a responsibility not only to yourself, but also to all of your colleagues who may someday be in a similar position. For moral and ethical sake, you must represent yourself and your profession with the same energy and passion vigor you would bring to your classroom.

But there’s nothing you can do except wait and wonder. You are at the mercy of a clogged system where you feel more like Employee Identification Number ##### than the professional educator and human being that you are. Someday there will be a conclusion. Someday you will get to share your story, but as you check your email for the seventeenth time, you know that day will not be today.

5 thoughts on “A Lonely Journey: Life on Administrative Leave

  1. L M says:

    It is disheartening to know how many staff members found themselves in this situation this past school year. The ripple effect was very large, impacting not only students whose teachers were out, but also those in classes where substitutes were unavailable to cover even normal sick days. Given that there were still new cases into June, I’m not yet confident that next school year will be significantly different.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Rosalind Johnson says:

    Beautifully written. In America, the judicial system gives you the “right” to face your accuser(s). Silence is what allows PGCPS TO CONTINUE ITS AUTHORITARIAN RULE and leave employees wallowing in a sea of innuendos, and doubt. THE ACLU should take on all of these “administrative leave cases”. ALL, should file a class action suit which will show that PGCPS has acted unlawfully.


  3. AC says:

    Thank you for being brave enough to share your perspective of the process from a teacher’s side. I feel your pain and frustration and wish there was more I could do to move the process along and to find a more balanced approach to dealing with these issues.

    From a parent side, I feel that so many of these cases are not legitimate – a witch hunt, an over reaction. Good teachers are put out of the classroom for the slightest provocation, or misunderstanding. Devious students are realizing they have a power that shouldn’t be theirs – all they have to do is insinuate a teacher did something inappropriate and then they don’t have to deal with that teacher for a while. The remaining students are suffering. They are having their lessons disrupted with a stream of substitutes that are not teaching. How does a student recover from weeks or months of missed lessons in a core curriculum class?

    We receive no information about what happened or why. Students start speculating and rumors flow rampantly. We are told it is a privacy issue because it is about personnel. We feel powerless to offer defence or comment for the teachers. We feel powerless because the environment is even pushing away volunteers because administrators don’t want adults near children.

    When teachers are finally cleared, they come back to the classroom with doubts and feelings of being kept under a microscope. They don’t have the liveliness they once had. Their spirits are weighed down. As parents, all we can offer are weak comments that we are glad to have to have the teacher back in the classroom. Once again in this process, neither the teacher can talk about it, nor can the parents have any information about the situation.

    Good luck to you. Please keep sharing your experience in such a profound way.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. anonymous says:

    Bless you for writing this and speaking for all of us in this situation. Has not brought me peace, but I feel less alone. I await my hearing.


  5. anon says:

    I’m a “central office administrator” and know that this story is just the tip of the iceberg. Fortunately, these situations appear to have dwindled the past 9 months, but the net that PGCPS has been casting is still inappropriately (unconscionably?) large.

    An antibiotic kills all bacteria in your system, harmful or not, and has no effect on any virus. When the dust from all this settles, we’ll have lost a lot of good teachers, we’ll have trouble recruiting quality new teachers, and the antibiotic-resistant “bacteria” (not to mention all viruses) will remain, even more hidden.

    I don’t know what the solution is, but our current approach is unsustainable.


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