So, it’s official: Skype is shutting down.
I stared at the announcement for a few seconds longer than necessary, then exhaled — that kind of slow, quiet sigh you make when something ends that you didn’t realise you still cared about.
For most people, it’s probably no big deal. They’ve moved on to Zoom or Teams or whatever platform makes sense now. But for me — for those of us who started teaching English online before it was trendy, before the world locked down and “virtual” became normal — Skype wasn’t just software. It was a classroom. It was a lifeline. It was my job, my tiny digital schoolhouse, open to the world.
I taught my first Skype lesson in 2012. A teenager in Turkey, nervous and excited, who called me “teacher” with such reverence I didn’t know where to look. My first webcam lesson. My first shared screen. My first time realising: this works. This really works.
What followed were thousands of hours of teaching — sometimes in pyjamas, often with tea, occasionally with a cat walking across the keyboard. I taught kids in Moscow and doctors in Seoul, Korea. I had early mornings with Brazil and late nights with Japan. Skype turned my living room into a little United Nations of hope and grammar and laughter.
Skype was glitchy. The audio would cut out mid-sentence. Students would freeze with their mouths open and eyes closed. We’d spend ten minutes just trying to hear each other. But somehow, that made it more human. Less polished. More real.
I remember one adult learner from Syria who practised his job interview with me every week. I remember the quiet teenager from Spain who barely spoke for three months, then suddenly recited a poem. I remember a student in Ukraine during a blackout, sitting in near darkness, reading from a worksheet lit only by candlelight. All of it over Skype while she worried about her pet tortoise.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was personal.
In the early days, there were no fancy scheduling apps or built-in whiteboards. I used Word docs, email attachments, the “share screen” button like it was magic. We worked with what we had. And what we had… was enough.
Skype made language learning intimate. One-on-one, face-to-face, across oceans and time zones. Sometimes I’d be the first English speaker someone ever had a full conversation with. Sometimes we didn’t even finish the lesson — we’d just talk, about life, about dreams, about homesickness or hopes or how to pronounce “though.”
And now, it’s ending.
I opened it one last time this morning. The icon still sitting there on my desktop like a relic. Same soft blue. My old status still set to “Available.” My contact list — dozens of names, now silent. I scrolled through old chats. Homework links. Encouraging words. The occasional “Thank you, teacher. I passed.”
It’s strange, mourning a piece of software. But I think what I’m really mourning is the era it represents. The beginning. When this whole online teaching thing was new and exciting and fragile. When Skype was the bridge between strangers who wanted to learn and teachers who wanted to help.
I still teach, of course. On other platforms, with better tools and smoother tech. But nothing else has felt quite like Skype did. It was imperfect, yes. But it let me teach from anywhere, and let my students learn from anywhere, and that — that still feels like magic.
So here’s to Skype.
You brought the world into my home.
You introduced me to hundreds of people I never would have met.
You helped me grow into the teacher I am now.
Thank you.
You did good.