The Teacher, the Sword, and the NDA

Once upon a very real time in a very broken system not-so-far away, there was a brave, sarcastic, slightly over-caffeinated teacher we’ll call… Agent D (because NDA, duh).

Agent D was just trying to do what teachers do: teach kids, survive meetings, and keep a straight face while someone from admin explained how paper towels were a “sufficient substitute” for pandemic protection.

But then came COVID. And policies. And spreadsheets. And… vibes.

Agent D, being the dangerously reasonable person she is, spoke up. Nothing wild—just a simple, “Hey, maybe we should take care of our teachers so they don’t spontaneously combust?” You know, logical stuff.

Well, turns out logic is considered contraband in some school districts.

Almost instantly, she was hit with every label in the HR thesaurus:

“Hostile.”

“Toxic.”

“Not a team player.”

(Also known as: “Has Opinions and We’re Scared of That.”)

Before she knew it, Agent D was being stared down in fluorescent-lit rooms by administrators who blinked too slowly and smiled too legally.

And then, like a dramatic twist in a Netflix drama titled “District Confidential,” she was presented with a resignation deal.

“You have 11 hours to sign this NDA.”

ELEVEN. HOURS.

Not twelve. Not a nice round number. Eleven.

As if HR was now being run by a game show host.

“Welcome to Resignation or Else! You have 660 minutes to protect your benefits, your career, and your ability to subtweet!”

So Agent D, realizing she was trapped in a high-stakes school district escape room, did what any bold hero would do: she signed. But she didn’t forget. Oh no. She tucked that sword she fell on into her emotional utility belt—right next to sarcasm, strength, and a list of things she wishes she could post about on LinkedIn.

Because the thing is: Agent D didn’t leave because she was toxic.

She left because she refused to be silent.

And when truth makes people uncomfortable, they’d rather duct-tape the truth-teller than fix the thing that’s broken.

Now? She’s out there in the world. Thriving. Healing. Possibly building an underground society of truth-speaking educators.

And every time someone says, “You’re not alone,” she knows it’s true—because there are others. Warriors. Survivors. Professionals who were told they were “difficult” simply for caring out loud.

So if you ever meet someone who says, “I’d tell you my story, but… NDA,” just smile and nod. That’s code for:

“I didn’t burn the bridge. I just refused to jump off it quietly.”

Carry on, Agent D.

We see you.

We’re clapping silently.

And your story?

It didn’t end with that NDA.

It just got a better plot.