The teacher shortage may be about more than burnout.

The Learning Policy Institute’s July 2026 Scan found that more than 300,000 teaching positions were either unfilled or filled by teachers who were not fully certified for their assignments.

We often explain this with one word: Burnout.

And yes, teachers are burned out. But I’m not convinced burnout is the root cause. I think it may be the result of something deeper: disconnection.

A student can sit in an inclusive classroom all day and still know they don’t belong.

In my last article, The Secret Measure of Inclusion, I suggested that we may be measuring inclusion in the wrong ways.

For decades, school principals, classroom teachers, and special education directors have worked to improve outcomes for students with disabilities.

We’ve changed placements. Written goals. Added supports. Tracked interventions. Measured minutes in general education classrooms. And much of that matters.

But recently, I realized there is another measure of inclusion that we rarely discuss. Once I noticed it, I started seeing it everywhere.

“Students these days just don’t care about learning.”

You have probably heard some version of it in a faculty meeting, a staff lounge, or a frustrated conversation after class.

“They’re passive.”

“They only do the minimum.”

“They won’t even try.”

Nobody opens a GPS app and says, “Just take me somewhere better.”

We enter a destination.

Only then can the system calculate a route, estimate the distance, and guide us when we miss a turn.

Yet for years, I have led efforts to improve special education without naming a clear destination. That is hard for me to admit because I have always cared deeply about outcomes.

I Thought 80 Might Be the Right Time to Retire. I Was Wrong.

For a long time, we assume we're seeing everything clearly. Then something happens that makes us realize how much we've been missing.

I know that feeling well.

Margaret was doing everything right.

If you lead special education, you may know that feeling.

You spend your days advocating, problem-solving, coaching, and putting out fires. You carry the hopes of families, the needs of students, and the concerns of teachers. Then you walk into a leadership meeting and realize you’re still fighting to be heard.

I know because I keep hearing the same story.

Not from one leader - from too many.

Some people save lives with a single lesson.

Most of us can still picture the teacher who changed something in us. The one who saw us before we saw ourselves. The one who stayed after class, wrote the extra note, pushed us harder, or quietly refused to let us disappear.