I just resigned a tenured position. I did everything right. I worked hard to earn a Ph.D. I landed a tenure-track job at a small, liberal-arts college. I excelled in teaching, research, and service. The year I earned tenure I also received the highest faculty award given at the college. And then I quit ... with no other job in sight.
I want to point out that while this is the right decision for me, at this place, and at this moment in time, I'm not implying that it would be the right decision for anyone else. Careful consideration led me to believe that the overall quality of my life was pitifully low, and tenure didn't seem to improve things much. I was getting older, my health was declining because of stress, and I couldn't find the time to replenish my sagging spirit. Enough was enough, so I quit.
It wasn't a sudden decision. My partner and I had agreed it was time for a quality-of-life change, and we pursued several avenues. We both selectively applied for positions, and he was offered one that was near to our families, and in a place that we love. We decided to move and live off his position for a while. Although we will lose one income, we think that quality of life is more important than consuming a variety of products and services.
Just a few years ago, giving up my job would have seemed unthinkable. All of my energy had been focused on getting into academe. Not only was I successful, but I truly loved my work. It's just the amount of work together with the institutional and local climate that left me overworked and unhappy.
Gender, personality, and college culture are all factors that swayed my decision. Female professors, especially at my patriarchal college, are implicitly expected to do more of the scut work. Committee assignments, work with student organizations, advising, and assessment all seem to fall heavier on the average female professor.
I've seen male faculty members at my college receive tenure with very weak service records, but I know of no woman at my institution who has ever considered not doing the required service. I also think that gender expectations make it more rewarding for some women to do these thankless jobs, and harder for some to say no. Male professors, on the whole, appear more comfortable declining these tasks. They seem to have no trouble asking secretaries to do a lot of their administrative work. I usually did all of my own administrative tasks, as did most female faculty members at my college.
I admit that I have very high expectations for myself. I hate to slack off, especially when it can have a negative impact on my students. My teaching load was so heavy that I had trouble devoting enough time to my scholarship. I felt like a hack who did the minimum required to get publications because I didn't have the extra energy to do exceptional work.
I also suffer from the common malady of wanting to be liked and respected by those around me, but the culture at my institution made reaching that goal difficult. There is an expectation among students, professors, administrators, and trustees that faculty members will give the better part of their lives to the college. We should do so because we are small and enrollment driven, and because we promote the idea that faculty members always give that "personal touch."
Although I tried, I simply could not be on campus all day, every evening, and every weekend. My students would tell me they wanted me to come to their events and missed me when I wasn't there. On our annual evaluations we were requested to provide information on things like how many times we had entertained students in our homes and how many college events we had attended.
People would say negative things about those who "don't support the college." No matter how much I did, I always got the impression that I should be doing more. I remember once questioning why I didn't get the highest rating for college and community service on my yearly evaluation. I had done numerous activities that I thought clearly merited an excellent rating. The administrator told me that I could get the highest rating only if I worked so hard that I totally collapsed at the end of the year. Anything less than that was not considered excellent service.
I began to wonder if being a healthy adult and being an excellent professor were mutually exclusive at my college.
A larger issue also affected my decision. It has been documented that Americans spend more time at work than people in other industrialized societies. I felt this trend in my workplace.
E-mail, laptops, and cell phones make it possible to work evenings, weekends, and during vacations and trips. I noticed that my students got upset when I didn't return their e-mail messages within a few hours, even on weekends. I had a hard time going several hours, a day, or a weekend without checking in. Somehow work had become my life. And it wasn't healthy for me.
I've read articles in The Chronicle about mothers leaving academe to have more time with their children. While those articles make excellent points about the conflicting roles of mother and professor, they neglect the larger issue of the enormous space that work fills in all our lives. In a wealthy country such as the United States, we should all be able to afford time for friends, family, exercise, healthy diets, and spiritual growth. That right should not be reserved just for mothers.
I am childless. I didn't give up tenure because of my duty to be a good mom, but because I want to live a fuller, healthier life. I've noticed how having a healthy life can be seen as selfish. I've heard colleagues discuss how it's all right to expect a lot from childless faculty members, but that professors with children need to have some evenings and weekends for the family.
As a childless faculty member I wonder why the ability for me to have evenings and weekends is not as important. I'm sympathetic to the difficulties of the faculty parent, but it's not necessarily easier being childless. The pressures are just different.
I was not hasty or alone in making the decision to leave my college. Over a couple of years, I talked with my partner and with friends and colleagues. The more I talked to people, the more positive stories I heard about leaving academe. I was selective in seeking advice. It seemed better to talk to people who were not in positions similar to mine. Disaffected academics tend to be too close to their own misery to offer an objective perspective. Instead I spoke mainly with people who were solid in their careers, in and out of academe. Leaving academe is just a little like an underground railroad. If you know the correct signals then there are many people who will assist you along the way.
Had I worked at a more supportive institution, I might not have left. I have also wondered if I would have been happier had my college been in a culturally rich area where it might have been easier to develop a healthier outside life. I don't know if I will seek another academic job. After I take some time off, I'll consider the opportunities in my new community. I am unsure what the future holds. I do know that I haven't had any regrets, so far.
