AITA for quietly sabotaging my son’s former teacher after she traumatized him?

When my son started the school year, we missed meet-the-teacher night—but nothing prepared us for the nightmare educator who left him terrified, sick, and begging not to go back.

At the start of last year, my shy, well-behaved son was assigned to a new teacher we hadn’t met. Within three days, he came home hysterical, telling me she screamed at him and other kids, intentionally embarrassing them. A friend with a child in the classroom next door even said they could hear her yelling through the walls. My son became physically ill—throwing up in the car line once—and begging not to go. After only three days, I demanded he be moved, and he was placed with a wonderful new teacher. But the damage lingered.

I’m the mom whose son was traumatized in three days by a teacher who screamed at kids. I moved him out immediately—but I’ve spent the last three years making sure she never gets a single thing from me again.

Even after he moved classes, my son struggled. He’d point her out whenever we passed her, whispering like I could ever forget. I volunteer at the school, and that’s where my quiet revenge began: anything this teacher needs from the volunteer parents mysteriously becomes the last priority. No matter what’s on the list, her tasks get pushed to the very bottom, and I “run out of time” every single visit. If she needs something badly, she can handle it before or after school. Not my problem.

"She can do it her damn self after school, during lunch, or in the morning. Idgaf."

For three years, I’ve kept this up—my own petty, silent payback for the fear she caused my kid and other kids she yelled at. I’d never hurt her, obviously, but keeping her at the bottom of every list? That I can do. When my son is older, I fully plan to tell him about the long-term, low-key revenge campaign I ran for him. Don’t mess with my kid. You’ll never see me coming.

"It’s better than me shoving her down the stairs and ending up in an orange jumpsuit."

Yes, I addressed everything with the school. They claimed her teaching style “works for the difficult students.” I didn’t realize “stern teacher” meant screaming and humiliating children, but apparently that’s acceptable for some. Either way, she’ll get what’s coming eventually—and I’m not changing my rant format for anyone.

🏠 The Aftermath

My son is now in a better class with a teacher who supports him, but the emotional fallout from those three days took months to untangle. He still quietly points her out whenever he sees her in the hallway.

Meanwhile, my silent revenge continues: her volunteer requests linger untouched, always pushed to the end of the list where they never quite get done. She ends up doing her own tasks, none the wiser.

The school maintains that her approach works for “challenging students,” but the tension between us remains, and she has no idea she’s been dealing with three years of petty payback.

"In three days she traumatized him; in three years I quietly made sure she never got an ounce of extra help from me."

I’m relieved my son is thriving now, but frustrated that a teacher could scream at kids so aggressively that it still echoes long after the class change.

💭 Emotional Reflection

This situation isn’t about being petty for the sake of it—it’s about a child who was genuinely shaken by a teacher’s behavior and a parent who wasn’t willing to forget. The mismatch between the school’s justification and the actual emotional impact created a deep sense of frustration.

Could I have simply moved on? Maybe. But watching my son throw up before school and beg not to go changed how I felt about “stern teaching styles.” My small acts of resistance became my way of reclaiming some control without escalating the conflict.

Some will see this as harmless payback, others as unnecessary pettiness. But when you see your kid hurt, your instincts go places you never expected.

Here’s how the community might see it:

“Three days of screaming is enough to traumatize any kid. Your petty revenge is honestly mild compared to what she put him through.”

“If the school thinks yelling through walls is a ‘teaching style,’ that’s a bigger problem than your volunteer choices.”

“Petty? Yes. Justified? Also yes. But don’t let this consume you forever—your son already won by getting out of that class.”

Reactions focus on the tension between justified frustration, questionable teaching methods, and a parent’s instinct to protect their child.

🌱 Final Thoughts

Seeing a child afraid of school breaks something in a parent. My small acts of resistance weren’t about vengeance—they were about reclaiming dignity after watching my son lose his sense of safety.

Maybe I went too far, maybe not far enough. But I protected my kid, and sometimes that means doing things other people won’t understand.

What do you think?
Would you have taken the high road, or let the petty revenge run its course? Share your thoughts below 👇