Pressure Takes a Toll on Mississippi Black Teachers' Mental Health

In 1954, the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision gave hope for equal and integrated schools across America. 

But in Mississippi, real change was delayed. State education officials used policies like “freedom of choice” to keep schools segregated, making it seem like families had a choice when they didn’t, historical records show. At the same time, private “segregation academies” were created to avoid integration, pulling money and support away from mostly Black public schools. 

More than 70 years later, the promise of educational equity faces a new threat, now that President Donald Trump has ordered the elimination of the U.S. Department of Education. Dismantling the department entirely would require an act of Congress.

For Black educators in Mississippi, where the state has a long history of underfunding and racial disparity, the fear is palpable. And that fear is taking a toll on teachers’ mental and physical well-being, according to Black educators interviewed for this article.

This legacy of racial neglect and economic disparity shows up in the classroom as a lack of resources, ingrained racial bias, and immense mental and emotional pressure, Black educators said. Many describe their role as a job and a daily act of resistance within a system never built for them. 

Erica Jones, executive director of the Mississippi Association of Educators, recalls her early days teaching second grade. Despite her students having the highest test scores and her strong bond with them, she said, she still faced racial bias—not just from school administrators, but also from parents in her community. 

"I had the best classroom data and great relationships with my students,” said Jones, who is Black. "Yet a Black parent still asked for their child to be moved to a white teacher’s classroom. It made me question—was it just my skin color?" 

Jones said her role went far beyond academics. She often paid rent for struggling families or brought food to students in need. “Black teachers understand their job doesn’t stop when the bell rings,” she said. “We carry the weight of uplifting Black children in a system built to push them down.” 

Research supports this. A study published in the Economics of Education Review found that Black teachers hold significantly higher expectations for Black students than their white counterparts. The findings underscore a larger truth: having Black educators in the classroom is critical to student success, especially in closing long-standing achievement gaps.

That same sense of mission led a 35-year-old teacher in the Mississippi Delta into education. But she found a workplace defined by control, hostility, and burnout. She asked to remain anonymous, fearing speaking publicly could harm her future job opportunities. 

After her school’s principal was replaced mid-year, the environment shifted dramatically, she said. The new administrator, she said, micromanaged every aspect of school life—down to bathroom breaks—and left no space for creativity or connection.

“She controlled everything—schedules, lesson plans, even how long kids could go to the restroom,” she said. “There was no room to teach. Just surveillance and stress.” 

The pressure eventually took a toll on her health, she said. “My blood pressure got so high I was at risk of a stroke. I was having panic attacks. I couldn’t sleep. I had to take a leave. And I was one of the strong ones.”

She eventually quit her job, joining several colleagues from the school who cited burnout and a toxic environment. Mississippi's average turnover rate for educators is 23.3% per year—more than double the national average of 10%–11%. 

Montrell Allen, a first-grade teacher in Natchez, said he prioritizes self-care to preserve his ability to teach. “I’ve always said—Mr. Allen might be overwhelmed, but Montrell will be OK,” he said. “As long as I take care of myself—my sleep, my mind, my spirit—I can show up for my students.” He added that if he allowed the system to crush him, his students would suffer, too. 

If President Trump gets what he wants, and the Department of Education is eliminated, this could add pressure when local control of schools returns. Black educators say they will be left to navigate worsening inequities, further straining their mental well-being.

“If the Department of Education were to be eliminated, it would significantly change the landscape of public education, especially in states like Mississippi,” said Grace Breazeale, director of research and K-12 policy at Mississippi First, a nonprofit public policy organization.

Breazeale warns that without federal enforcement, protections for students with disabilities, Title I funding for low-income students, and civil rights compliance could evaporate. “Federal oversight plays an important role in ensuring states meet baseline standards, particularly when it comes to distributing Title I funding fairly and enforcing civil rights laws,” Breazeale said. “In a state with a long history of inequity, we need both resources and guardrails, which the USDOE helps provide.”

During the 2021–2022 school year, an overwhelming 99.6% of children in Mississippi qualified for free school lunches. In many rural areas, especially across the Deep South, federal nutrition programs are a critical safety net—ensuring Title I schools can serve students who otherwise might go without consistent meals. 

Mississippi, the nation’s poorest state, is also one of its hungriest. Nearly one in four children lack reliable access to food. Despite this, the state failed to apply for the 2025 federal summer EBT grocery assistance program for the second year. This decision will leave thousands of eligible children without essential food aid during the school break. 

For families already stretched thin, summer becomes even more difficult as they juggle additional child care and food costs without the support of school-provided meals. The program would have offered $40 per eligible child each month, bringing an estimated $38 million into Mississippi’s economy and helping feed the state’s most vulnerable kids. 

Allen, the first-grade teacher from Natchez, echoed that fear. “I wouldn't have made it through school without the Department of Education,” he said. “People think this won’t affect them, but it will—especially kids with IEPs [Individualized Education Programs for students with special needs], free lunch programs, and Title I funding. It’s crushing. We're already struggling to stay afloat, and now they're threatening to pull the lifeboat away.”

That lifeboat includes the Office for Civil Rights [OCR], which ensures that institutions receiving federal funds are held accountable for addressing discrimination based on race, religion, disability, or other factors. Of the 1,300 Department of Education staffers laid off recently, the OCR took the hardest hit—losing 243 of its 557 employees, according to a nonpartisan analysis by Ed Reform Now. 

This comes when OCR’s work is more essential than ever. A review of active civil rights cases filed in Mississippi reveals a grim pattern: Nearly every case involves disability-related complaints, including allegations of harassment, neglect, and failure to provide legally required accommodations. In a state where the graduation rate for students with disabilities is just 65.2%, these aren’t isolated incidents—they’re symptoms of a systemic failure. 

Breazeale believes change is possible but will require political courage and systemic reform. “Mississippi’s deep history of racism still permeates its policies. Raising teacher salaries would be a valuable step forward.”

As for the 35-year-old teacher who left her teaching job due to mental and physical stress, she remembers leaning on her faith to get through the day.

“Before my students walk in, I pray over the desks, the doors, and their lives,” she said. “I pray they had a meal the night before. I pray they slept OK. I pray that whatever pain they walk in with, I can carry some of it for them because that’s what we do. We carry more than just lesson plans.” 

Despite everything, she said, she still plans to return to teaching.

“This was traumatic, yes. But I believe God has a purpose in all of it. Whether it taught me what kind of leader not to be or prepared me for something bigger—I know I was created for this.” 

Editor's note: This story was updated on June 16, 2025 to clarify the comments of Grace Breazeale.