California Dreamin’
KRISTIE IWAMOTO
Tenured English instructor at Napa Valley College in San Pablo
I am a proud second-generation educator and NEA member. When my father got a job as a public school teacher in the California Bay Area, in 1979, his starting salary was $14,000 a year. The next thing he did was buy a three-bedroom house. That house—also in the Bay Area—cost $69,000.
Putting this into an inflation calculator, $69,000 in 1978 would be about $350,000 today. However, the average price of a house in the Bay Area today is nearly three times that amount.
In Napa County, where I’m a community college instructor, the average home price exceeded $1 million last year. It ranks in the top third of the most expensive places to live in California, but the faculty salaries at Napa Valley College are ranked in the bottom third of the state.
Even rent for a one-bedroom apartment, on average about $2,100 per month, can be a struggle for our younger and newer faculty.
As a result, many of my colleagues live in the slightly more reasonably priced cities of Vallejo, Fairfield, Vacaville—or in some cases even farther, putting their commutes at over an hour each way. Personally, my drive is about 40 minutes each way.
These distances affect our sense of community, both with our students and with each other. Faculty salaries should reflect the cost of living in that area.
Sadly, in California, and in many places across the nation, this is becoming more and more of an impossibility.
Quote byDylan Toth
Barely Getting by in Illinois
DYLAN TOTH
Middle school family and consumer sciences teacher in Bloomington
I’m a 24-year-old, third-year teacher with two bachelor’s degrees and a master’s, making $49,000 a year in Bloomington—a middle-class city where I struggle to afford to live.
When I accepted my job in 2021, housing in this historic college town was relatively affordable. I envisioned that after a few years earning “adult money,” I could buy a modest home, purchase my first new car, and even enjoy a social life. But since then, average housing prices in the area have jumped 44 percent, and rent has risen 40 percent. Those dreams feel further away than ever.
My $1,500 biweekly paycheck disappears fast. Between rent, groceries, a car lease, student loans, and graduate school tuition (to help me move over on the salary schedule), there’s little left.
I’m cost-conscious—I budget, meal prep, and take on extra work. But even when I had a roommate, I found myself relying on balance transfer offers and small amounts of credit card debt, hoping future raises would catch me up. Now I’m in my fourth year of teaching, and a broken lawn mower or auto insurance hike could still put me on the brink of crisis.
I’m not looking to live lavishly. I just want a dignified life, some stability, and the chance to plan for my future. But with the rising costs of housing, food, and transportation, I wonder: Why isn’t a salary just shy of $50,000 enough for a master’s-credentialed professional in middle America?
I love teaching and feel lucky to work in my district. But the financial stress is constant—and I’m not alone. Early career educators are leaving the profession faster than any other group, not because they don’t care, but because they can’t afford to stay. We’re losing talented young educators to jobs that pay more and ask less.
We deserve better. Our communities and our students deserve better. If we want strong public schools, we need to make it possible for educators to live in the communities they serve.
I don’t expect educators to be able to afford exclusive areas like Orange County, California, or the Chicago Loop, but we deserve wages that reflect the real cost of living and the real value of our work.
No Progress in North Carolina
JOAN HOFFMAN
Career and technical education teacher in Asheville
I’m lucky to live in such a beautiful place—but building a stable life here on an educator’s salary hasn’t been easy. When I was hired, I turned down higher-paying offers in Virginia. Even after more than two decades in the classroom, I still make less than I would have made starting out there.
If I left today, I could earn nearly $20,000 more elsewhere—along with better classroom support. But I chose Asheville to be near family, and I’ve stayed for love, for community, and for my students.
Over the past 20 years, I’ve watched support for public education get slowly stripped away. I began this career believing that my experience and dedication would one day be reflected in my pay. But the raises never came. Steps froze, longevity pay vanished, and the benefits that once made this calling sustainable disappeared.
To make ends meet, I’ve worked nights at the Biltmore Estate—a nearby historic home and tourist attraction—and only managed to buy a home because my mother co-signed the mortgage. Many of my fellow educators aren’t so lucky. We’re single parents, caregivers, and sole providers—and still, we show up for our students.
When Hurricane Helene hit in September 2024, my family was already stretched thin. Floodwaters from Hutch Mountain surged into our home. For days, we lived in fear—unsure if our loved ones were safe. The storm devastated our community and made Asheville’s housing and food insecurity crisis worse. It also exposed the long-standing disinvestment in our public schools, now facing even more cuts without state or federal relief.
My partner and i often ask when we’ll have to leave—aging parents need care, and our salaries don’t stretch far. This is why i organize: because staying shouldn’t mean struggling, and because our students, our schools, and this community are worth fighting for.
