Creative righting: autoethnographic creative writing as a tool to prevent teacher burnout and attrition

ABSTRACT

Teacher burnout is a key feature of the current international crisis of teacher shortages. Teachers are feeling isolated, marginalised and disempowered. Research on burnout in teachers has focused on attrition and how to avoid it. However, factors contributing to teacher burnout are multi-dimensional and complex. Consequently, any potential solution must be able to address such complexities in a personalised way. The literature tells us that personal reflection and discussing experiences, particularly negative or those that involve conflict, can result in improvements in teacher identity, positive teaching experience, positive mental health, and thus less burnout. In my own case of burnout, I used autoethnographic writing to re-imagine challenging episodes from my career. The creative and reflective processes reinvigorated my passion for teaching so that writing and sharing stories became an unexpected pathway away from burnout and into empowerment. The use of autoethnographic creative writing to tell and reflect upon the challenges of teaching offers a personalised and valuable way to address the complex variables of burnout affecting individuals. Importantly, one does not have to be an expert in creative writing to be effective. More research is needed to determine whether this approach has wider appeal and benefit for educators experiencing burnout.

KEYWORDS:

• Attrition
• autoethnography
• burnout
• creative writing
• creative righting
• teachers

Introduction

Teaching is in crisis. The work of Glazer (2018b, 2018b) examines teacher attrition and identifies experienced and highly qualified teachers who choose to leave the profession as ‘invested leavers’ (2017, p. 51). Glazer explains that these are the teachers who planned to stay in teaching long-term, but who reached a point in their career where they felt as if they were prevented from doing the job they loved, and were trained for, because of non-supportive administration teams. Inevitably, the growing exit of experienced teachers from the profession results in a skills and working experience deficit in the remaining workforce. According to UNESCO (2016), there is a global need to recruit almost 69 million teachers by 2030 to provide every child with primary and secondary education. Despite the extensive research conducted in this area, it is evident there is no easy fix or ‘one size fits all’ remedy for the current crisis. In fact, the literature shows burnout and attrition are linked but that burnout in particular is highly complex (Richards et al., 2018; Skaalvik & Skaalvik, 2020; Zhu et al., 2018) and the result of many variables which range from contextual to psychosocial (M.-L. Chang, 2020; Glazer, 2018a; Madigan & Kim, 2021; Saloviita & Pakarinen, 2021) including childhood trauma (Benner et al., 2023).

Teacher burnout is a key feature of the current international systemic issue of teacher shortages. Saloviita and Pakarinen (2021) identify burnout as a psychological risk and say it ‘develops gradually when work becomes unpleasant, unfulfilling, and unrewarding’ (p. 1). Saloviita and Pakarinen identified three main variables which contribute to teacher burnout: teacher-level, student-level, and organisation-level. Their research explores the subdomains of each variable and how they all contribute to burnout in teachers. Madigan and Kim (2021) also identify corresponding variables which contribute to burnout, and predicting attrition, as personal (relating to the teacher), social (relating to the students), and environmental (relating to the school). Their findings suggest that ‘burnout may confer a greater risk for teacher attrition than satisfaction confers protection’ (p. 11) and that preventing burnout in the first place is central to reducing teacher attrition. Van Droogenbroeck et al. (2021) conclude that a multilevel approach is required to ‘simultaneously investigate the relative contributions of individual and school-context predictors of teacher burnout’ (p. 301).

What is striking about the research is that it confirms burnout factors are multi-faceted and there is no single solution. In short, for teachers to not experience burnout, the teaching system has to have the resources and the skill capacity to address many variables. For example, there are teacher-level and student-level factors that teachers themselves can begin to address. However, organisation-level factors can be outside of a classroom teacher’s control and so constitute a weak link in resolving the burnout issue.

A tailored approach is required which acknowledges teachers as individuals and offers personalised responses to burnout. The approach also needs to empower educators so they regain their sense of autonomy (Parker, 2015) and agency, at the same time as identifying the particular issues from their experiences that led to their own burnout. It is crucial that teachers are able to identify what their own version of improved job satisfaction could look like.

Personalised practices with proven success

Autoethnography

Autoethnography acknowledges the researcher’s personal experience as primary data and uses it to show how reflecting on the nuances of that experience can highlight specific features of a particular social group. At the same time, autoethnography reveals how those experiences can be used to silence others who share a social or professional group with the autoethnographer (Adams et al., 2013, p. 23). What this means for teachers using autoethnography is they can use their personal experiences to critique ‘cultural norms, experiences, and practices’ from teaching (Adams et al., 2013, p. 26), particularly those that contribute to compromised wellbeing and burnout. Consequently, it is a methodology that appeals to a teacher’s desire to share their learning with others and offers authenticity to the specific and contextual experiences of that particular group (Brock et al., 2017).

Creative writing

Bochner and Ellis (2003) acknowledge that the arts, as a mode of inquiry, delivers ‘ … ideas, insights, values, and meanings’ and can be used to ‘ … examine ourselves … resist oppressions, grieve and heal … and come to terms with multiple and contradictory identities’ (p. 510). While teaching can be a rich and fulfilling career, research highlights the challenges within this profession such as feelings of powerlessness because of burnout, unrealistic workloads and compromised wellbeing (M.-L. Chang, 2020; Glazer, 2018b). Encouraging teachers to share their stories can help. The therapeutic benefit of sharing and using stories as a way to understand ourselves better is well documented (Bien & Selland, 2018; Bolton, 2014; Hancock, 2015; Hunt, 2013; Janesick, 2019; Martin et al., 2018; Mead, 2022; Murphy, 2017). Stories help us to ‘grapple with complex issues’ (Shann et al., 2013, p. 23) and so narrative is not an escape or distraction but a way of understanding challenges at a deeper level.

A recent study (Mead, 2022) asked a group of experienced teachers to share humorous stories from their first years of teaching to boost the confidence of nervous pre-service teachers embarking on their first school placement. Although the wellbeing of the pre-service teachers was an important focus of the study, there were also wellbeing benefits for the teachers who retold their stories. Sharing the stories made them reflect on their career as a whole and highlighted how much they had grown professionally, and how resilient they had become despite many challenges. Interestingly, the stories they chose to share were based on student level and teacher level challenges—possibly because they lacked agency in organisational level matters. Despite this, the teachers’ reflection led to increased feelings of positivity about their identity and invigorated their purpose as teachers.

Fictional representations of teachers’ stories are also valid, especially as a way to avoid self-censorship. Clough (2002) says:

… fictionalization of educational experience offers researchers the opportunity to import fragments of data from various real events in order to speak to the heart of social consciousness – thus providing the protection of anonymity to the research participants without stripping away the rawness of real happenings. (p. 8)

Such an approach is a powerful tool for teachers to uncensor their own teaching stories which may have been sidestepped for self-protection or for fear of reprisals.

Humour as a reset tool

An increasing body of literature shows that personal reflection and discussing experiences, particularly negative or that involve conflict, with colleagues, result in improvements in teacher identity, positive teaching experience, positive mental health, and thus potentially less burnout. Rankin (2023) encourages teachers to find opportunities to laugh, considering it a potential ‘mental reset button’ (p. 31). Howell (2014) also acknowledges humour as a valuable tool and says, ‘Have a laugh. Laughter is important, it builds community … and lightens moments’ (p. 332). The ability to laugh about past events is explained by Benign Violation Theory (Warren & McGraw, 2016) which proposes that humour occurs only when the ‘violation’ (incident) is ‘simultaneously appraised as being benign’ (p. 410). Reflecting on stories from the past establishes the required psychological distance that frames incidents as ‘benign’ and allows the event to be revisited without the original concerns of the time.

This paper details how I combined autoethnography, creative writing and humour to re-evaluate my teaching career when I had made the decision to leave. Furthermore, the paper proposes ‘creative righting’ as a way of processing real-life conflict to reimagine more satisfactory outcomes and restore wellbeing to avoid burnout.

Methods

Using autoethnography to identify key events and/or epiphanies

Adams et al. (2013) write about ‘epiphanies’ that motivate us to question our lives and propel us to seek a more satisfying life (pp. 26–27). My epiphany was that the goodwill of teachers is heavily exploited and that those who give up all their personal time for their students are held up as aspirational (Allies, 2021; Tidd, 2016). But if teachers devote their whole selves to their work, what happens to teacher wellbeing? In my case of burnout, the mental and physical conflicts of my job appeared insurmountable leading me to believe I was the obstacle and part of the overall problem.

Using creative writing to fictionalise key events

Williams (2017) credits the creative writer with an awareness that allows them to ‘find ways to invert power dynamics and reposition themselves in relations of power in such a way that opens up the path to solutions and can be imagined as resistance’ (p. 4). Byrne (2017) acknowledges that a creative approach to analysing lived experiences ‘stimulated and stirred emotions in ways that plain language alone would not’ (p. 9). Combining autoethnography to express my experiences through creative writing allowed me to create fictional representations that used ‘composite characters, fictionalized narratives, and/or third-person or other distancing or abstracting writing techniques to obscure the identities and respect the privacy of participants’ (Adams et al., 2013, p. 62). Consequently, for teachers bound by rules of confidentiality, the creative writing approach can be the only way to explore teaching experiences authentically and without compromise.

Clough (2002) maintains that the storying of real events allows those experiences to be made public in a way that more traditional research methods would not allow. However, he does warn that a narrative ‘which portrays such rawness may well attract criticism because it is too dark’ (p. 64). In my case, it would have been very easy to translate the ‘rawness’ of stressful school experiences into bleak and depressing stories, but I knew from the outset I did not want to create stories that were miserable to write and then equally distressing to read; the real-life events had been painful enough to live through. There are already texts available that document the soul-destroying experiences of educators (Molloy, 2019; Stroud, 2018). Consequently, I was keen to inject humour to dilute the conflict and to assist with the mindset shift, or ‘mental reset button’ (Rankin, 2023, p. 31) from disempowerment to empowerment.

Having decided on the required element of humour in the stories, I was concerned I might relapse into maudlin storytelling unless there were clear criteria for me to use as I rewrote difficult and challenging episodes from my career. The criteria had to be robust and provide clear guidelines on how to frame and then edit the stories to ensure they were humorous and that they left me feeling empowered. Further reading led me to Bakhtin’s (1984) with its excesses, absurdities and required humour.

Bakhtin’s carnival as a narrative framework

Bakhtin’s (1984) is a disruptor of social hierarchies via comedy and chaos. Using carnival as a narrative framework meant I had ‘a way of breaking down barriers, of overcoming power inequities and hierarchies, of reforming and renewing relationships both personal and institutionalized’ (Shields, 2007, p. 97). Carnival is also characterised by ‘temporary liberation from the prevailing truth and from the established order’ (Bakhtin, 1984, p. 10), allowing for empowerment of the oppressed.

An essential element of carnival is laughter. Bakhtin says:

Laughter liberates not only from external censorship but first of all from the great interior censor; it liberates from the fear that developed in man during thousands of years: fear of the sacred, of prohibitions, of the past, of power. (Bakhtin, 1984, p. 94)

Power struggles and censorship were part of a normal school day and now, with carnival as a framework to guide the shaping of my stories, I had the opportunity to reverse the hierarchy and to reinstate my silenced voice.

The key features from Bakhtin’s carnival that framed my criteria were: Celebrating the grotesque, exposing the taboo, and uncrowning. These features aligned with the identified burnout factors of student-, teacher-, and organisation-level variables.

Celebrating the grotesque – processing student challenges

Carnival celebrates the grotesque: the frequently taboo functions of the human body. Scatological humour is an important carnivalesque feature (Bakhtin, 1984, p. 21) and so celebrating the grotesque allowed me to include stories of errant student bodily functions that make their appearance in many adolescent classrooms and which, at the time, are not necessarily humorous. Re-imagining such episodes meant I could include these elements without censorship and introduce the humour I craved for my writing.

Exposing the taboo – processing teacher challenges

Carnival gave me the freedom to resurrect stories that could never normally be repeated outside the school staffroom. These were the tales of staff members who came to school each day whilst battling depression, alcoholism, and relationship breakdowns. Yet they still showed up to teach because it was easier to do that than take a sick day and have to prepare a full day of lessons for relief teachers. Exposing these topics felt as if I would be cracking the fragile encasement of a constructed image of what school and teachers are supposed to be.

Uncrowning – processing organisational challenges

Using carnival as my narrative framework showed me that aspects of school life mapped perfectly onto carnival life. The school context itself represents official culture with clearly defined hierarchies of principal, deputy principals, teachers and students. At each level, there is the opportunity for status conflict and the desire to reverse power roles. I was able to create stories where teachers reclaimed power from middle managers, and middle managers ‘uncrowned’ senior leaders, as these episodes would then reflect my own experience. Furthermore, my role as a school leader and teacher allowed me to examine the cultural expectations of teachers across society and to identify the gaps and silences within teaching as an insider.

Drafting the stories against the criteria

By ‘carnivalizing’ real examples of conflict, they lost their personal sting. Through the process of drafting and redrafting to ensure the stories were truly carnivalized, the prevalent theme identified across them became reinstating the voice of the teacher at the organisation, teacher and student levels. Changing the real-life endings of these frequently painful and confusing episodes was not only important for me, but also for potential readers both inside and outside teaching who would see how I was able to revisit the conflict safely through creative writing.

Via the creative process, real-life incidents were concluded satisfactorily, and resolved, as I allowed my characters to have changed endings and settle matters in a way that empowered them. I found this most satisfying and delighted in the lampooning of authority figures within the safety of fiction. The purpose of my writing was not to produce a single ‘truth’ about teaching (Baker, 2014). Instead, the writing process allowed the voices in my stories to discuss the difficult role of teachers under the encouraging and non-condemnatory gaze of carnival, and to acknowledge the multiple truths of teacher experience, compromised wellbeing and burnout.

Journalling

Throughout the autoethnographic writing process, I journalled my reflections about the content of my stories and my reactions to reimagining challenging episodes from my career. H. Chang (2008) recommends journalling as ‘valuable to self-narrative because the content often reveals less self-censored behavior and thought’ (p. 36). Rankin (2023) advocates that journal writing can guard against burnout as it releases negative emotions through the writing. Lindsay (2017) puts forward diarising as a way to construct alternative self-narratives and to ‘unlock solutions to problems’ (p. 4). There were times when the story I wanted to tell was too bleak for me to find the humour for its fictional retelling. I journalled about these writing barriers, interrogating each element of the incident until I found a way to reimagine it with a more satisfying conclusion. The vignette below illustrates one such occasion.

Vignette

At a staff meeting, the Principal declared that if it were in their power, they would demand teachers stay for meetings after school every day. The comment angered me as it completely ignored the workload everyone had already, it ignored outside of work commitments, and it suggested that whatever teachers were doing was not good enough.

The more I reflected, I realised staff meetings were frequent sources of frustration. Consequently, I used the premise of a staff meeting where teachers are lectured by an external ‘expert’ who isn’t even a teacher. Previously, it had been straightforward for me to turn these real-life episodes into humorous re-imaginings using the creative righting model. In this instance, I was still experiencing substantial resentment, which is what initially blocked the writing. I had to lean into the narrative framework to give me the tools to reimagine the episode. My chosen narrative framework had non-negotiable criteria which allowed creative righting to reverse the hierarchy and have the teachers advocate for themselves and challenge the deficit model of blaming teachers for all behaviour issues.

In my story, Sonia is the frustrated teacher who, along with her colleagues, is forced to listen to the expert Gavin who implies poor behaviour is provoked by the teacher. The situation becomes increasingly hostile as Sonia advocates for herself and her colleagues. Amongst the unrest, a swarm of mosquitoes launch an attack on both Gavin and the Principal. However, Sonia notices one of her colleagues, who is dressed as Batman for the day, has a few tricks up his sleeve.

Sonia zoned out and began looking around the library, studying the varying degrees of boredom, detachment and downright fury painted on her colleagues’ faces. They’d heard this all before. It was always the same - kids only behaved badly when they were provoked by the teachers.

Sonia slumped further down into her chair. As expected, Gavin fixed a smarmy smile to his face and began to talk about ‘the facts, guys’. According to Gavin, the school’s data showed something was going terribly wrong.

‘We’ve gotta remember,’ said Gavin, ‘we’re not dealing with kids who necessarily know right from wrong.’ He paused for ineffective effect.

Sonia raised her hand and Gavin nodded at her.

‘Today,’ she said evenly, ‘one of my year ten boys told me to go f**k myself with the ruler because it was the only wood I was going to see this decade.’

There were splutters of suppressed laughter and gasps of horror in equal measure.

Gavin nodded slowly. He had put his ‘concerned’ face on. Finally, he raised his head and looked directly at Sonia.

And what did you say to him, prior to this?

‘“Good morning, Sam, how are you today?”’ said Sonia.

‘Can I ask,’ he smiled insincerely, ‘exactly how you said it?’ He paused. ‘Is it possible you were being sarcastic?’

Sonia’s fury bubbled under the surface but she kept her voice calm and measured.

‘How can a morning greeting be sarcastic?’ she asked. ‘We are encouraged to greet our students. I said “good morning” and I said it in a friendly manner.’

Gavin smiled again. ‘You’re getting pretty hostile right now,’ he said slowly. ‘Is it possible you were being a bit hostile when you spoke to the student?’

‘I’m being hostile now, Gavin,’ said Sonia, ‘because you are trying to blame me for something that was completely and utterly the student’s fault.’

Applause broke out in spots around the room.

Gavin held up his hands. ‘I’m not judging…’

‘…Yes, you are!’ interrupted Sonia. ‘You are making a judgement about my ability to manage my students.’

Gavin slapped his arm at a mosquito. Then his neck.

Sonia felt utterly deflated and once more contemplated applying for a transfer. Surely, other schools couldn’t be like this? She turned to say something to her neighbour but as she did, she saw a slight movement coming from Batman and looked directly at him. He was sitting upright, his cape still draped over the back of his chair, his hands resting on his knees. She watched for a few moments more and saw that every now and then, he lifted his left hand at a right angle from his wrist. Afterwards, he would return his hand to rest on his knee before raising it once more. Batman turned towards her. She couldn’t see his face but his eyes were certainly smiling. He indicated with his head for her to look at the front of the room once more, just as he raised his hand again. Sonia turned to see that another ‘mosquito’ had attacked Maree, the Principal. The attacks had become so persistent that Maree and Gavin were now slapping themselves like German dancers. Sonia quickly grabbed her phone, typed in ‘slapping dance’ and soon the strains of traditional German music played loudly from the back. The staff meeting disintegrated before her eyes. Teachers were laughing and clapping, pretending to slap each other.

‘Staff, please!’ said Maree, between slaps, ‘remember you are meant to be professionals!’

Gavin was moving towards the door.

‘Maree, this is the problem with your school!’ he said, pointing to the staff. ‘They’re not ready to change!’

Teachers were standing up and shouting now, pointing fingers back at Gavin. Some were leaving. Sonia could see Maree looking over in the direction of the music and so stared ahead before silencing her phone. Batman stopped his attack—now that teachers were standing up, there was no direct line of fire.

With Gavin gone, Maree tried to keep control of the staff members remaining.

‘If you leave this meeting,’ she said, ‘I will be forced to dock your pay!’

The room emptied quickly, despite the threats. Sonia noticed Batman standing up, ready to leave, and went over to him.

‘What were you using?’ she whispered.

Batman looked at her. She couldn’t see his face under the latex mask but his eyes looked through her.

‘What are you talking about?’ he asked.

‘The wrist thing,’ said Sonia, ‘what were you firing?’

‘You must be mistaken,’ he said. ‘This is only a costume I use for the kids. Only the real Batman would have special weapons in his suit.’

He left the library without looking back.

Sonia watched him leave and then looked at where Maree still stood, her hair dishevelled and her face pink and flustered. It gave Sonia an immense feeling of satisfaction. She left the room, tipping a chair over behind her.

(adapted from author thesis, 2017)

Without the applied narrative framework of the creative righting model, I could not have re-imagined this incident and it would have been left as an upsetting anecdote from my teaching career. Writing this piece allowed me to let go of the resentment. By making the people in authority the objects of ridicule, as required by the narrative framework, and by giving the teachers the power to advocate for themselves, I was able to laugh about the situation for the first time. This was a repeated pattern across my creative righting which helped diminish my frustration and low morale.

Results – creative righting

Simply writing the stories as factual recounts, akin to memoir, would only have exacerbated my dissatisfaction with teaching. By employing autoethnography, creative writing, and a robust narrative framework, I became a creative righter as illustrated in Figure 1 below:

Figure 1. Model for Creative Righting.

Note. This model shows how the overlapping components of autoethnography, creative writing, and a narrative framework, prompt different ways of thinking.

By carnivalizing conflict, and introducing the mandatory ingredient of humour, the episodes on paper were now neutralised and no longer stirred up feelings of anguish or resentment. I discovered I was able to shift my mindset and become more proactive about what I wanted from my teaching practice and my role in the education system. The process made me realise that my job was overwhelmingly more positive than I had remembered and that the connections made with colleagues and students over the years were experiences that shaped me and my practice in positive ways. Creative righting reminded me of how meaningful and purposeful my role had been and reinvigorated my passion for teaching.

Creative righting also provided the emotional distance I needed to examine challenging episodes from the breadth of my career with the benefit of hindsight and to ‘gain self-insight’ (Lengelle & Meijers, 2014, p. 54). Clandinin (1999) recognises that every teacher brings valuable personal and cultural experiences to their professional practice. Consequently, the sharing of their stories is validated, informs future practice and becomes ‘ … for any teacher, a particular way of reconstructing the past and the intentions of the future to deal with the exigencies of a present situation’ (p. 108).

Cron (2012) explains how writers can ‘transport readers to places they’ve never been, catapult them into situations they’ve only dreamed of, and reveal subtle universal truths that just might alter their entire perception of reality’ (p. 2). Consequently, creative writing and journalling, as autoethnographic tools, are of benefit to both the writer and the reader, regardless of their profession. Knowing my stories had a meaningful purpose also boosted my confidence and wellbeing. Parr et al. (2015) recognise this and see ‘storytelling and narrative writing as rich forms of professional learning and inquiry into knowledge and practice’ (p. 136) which meant that my stories could provide teaching moments for teachers and, potentially, non-teaching readers.

Adams et al. (2013) explain that ‘doing’ autoethnography involves looking ‘inward – into our identities, thoughts, feelings and experiences—and outward – into our relationships, communities and cultures’ (p. 46). One of the revelations from journalling the creative writing process was that, overall, my career had provided more joy than misery. The act of creative writing rebuilt my confidence to the point where I no longer felt trapped by teaching and was able to see a future career path in a work environment still linked to education.

Interrogating my teaching experiences through creative writing and reflective journalling helped me to make sense of them. A narrative framework of carnival made taboo content acceptable and allowed me the freedom to explore difficult situations that had previously been silenced. An autoethnographic methodology meant my stories could enlighten non-teaching readers about the difficult circumstances in which teachers and school leaders are expected to try and do their job day after day. Unlike real-life, the teachers in my stories were allowed to deal with conflict without censure as the characters were not governed by codes of conduct and therefore not at risk of reprimand or of losing their jobs. Through creating my stories, my experiences were validated and I felt valued as an educator. Creative righting became an unexpected pathway away from burnout and into empowerment.

Conclusion

Creative righting restores agency and has the flexibility to address multiple burnout factors at an individual level. As such, it is a potential tool to prevent burnout and reduce attrition.

Adopting autoethnography as a methodology for identifying key incidents immediately establishes the teacher’s agency in the process and also ensures that specific and personalised data are selected. Consequently, whichever variables of burnout have contributed to that particular teacher’s negative experiences, they can be addressed through the creative righting process as teachers will select their own epiphanies which will be different from the epiphanies of other teachers.

A robust narrative framework, such as carnival, and in combination with autoethnography, requires the teacher to dissect each episode and subvert the power hierarchies. With carnival, the addition of carnivalesque features allows the teacher full licence to make the stories as absurd and as comical as they dare. If carnival does not appeal as a narrative framework, it would also be possible for a teacher to use an alternative pertaining to a favoured genre such as fantasy, suspense or poetry. Regardless, the process of reimagining the original event will require reshaping to fit with the chosen genre features and encourage sufficient psychological distance from the original event to the point where teachers can find an element of humour (Warren & McGraw, 2016).

Teaching is not the only profession that produces damaging stress and conflict, and so the process of creative righting could be equally as relevant to others working in high stress, people-focused careers such as public health, medicine and law enforcement.

This process does not require expertise in creative writing to be effective. It also does not need to be ‘delivered’ as professional development to a whole group as that would only undo the individualised benefits of creative righting. With some initial mentorship for building a working knowledge of autoethnography, creative writing practice, and guidance on selecting a narrative framework, creative righting becomes a powerful, personalised tool to be accessed as and when required. Nevertheless, more research is needed to determine the widespread appeal and benefits of this approach for educators experiencing burnout.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).