Where I’ve been, and where I’m going

In my last blog, I alluded to upcoming “momentous change” that I couldn’t yet divulge. Well, here I am on the other side of that change, ready to spill at least some of the tea (though plenty will remain in my cup for now.)

In February, I resigned from my role as a class teacher. It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make: I love those children (notice my use of the present-tense there) and I loved what we had in that classroom every day. From September 2022 to March 2024, we built a little community and it was a special place to be. I find it hard to show pride at the best of times, but I am proud of what I accomplished with those children in the time that we had. Was it perfect? Of course not, though I gave it my best shot every day.

It was that constant “giving it my best shot” that made it unsustainable for me. There are a lot of reasons why I had to leave, and many of them aren’t fit for public airing. Another time, maybe. But one that I’m not afraid to share, because it’s one shared by many teachers pouring out of the education system at the moment, is that I was burned out.

I knew that I wasn’t mentally on top form, but I couldn’t remember anymore, what that looked like. I lurched from Monday to Friday at full speed, because there didn’t seem to be any other way to be in my school. Like so many teachers, I felt like there was so much to do, all the time. And it seemed that less and less of it was actually teaching my class. Monday to Friday were a whirlwind. Saturday was for recovering. On a Sunday I carved out a couple of hours for my weekly skating lesson and then a weekly food shop, before stationing myself at my laptop for most of the day. Housework fell by the wayside, barely of tertiary importance – something my autistic brain hated. Surely as an adult I should have been able to handle it all, stay on top of it all, have it all?

When you’re in the thick of it, you feel as though every other teacher has got their ducks in a line, it’s only you struggling to keep your head above the water. I know now that I wasn’t alone, but it’s only with the space that comes from stepping away that I’ve come to realise it.

The day I posted that tweet above, I told my class that I wouldn’t see out the year with them. If I’d ever been in any doubt over whether those children loved me back, all of it disappeared in that moment. [I use the word “love” in the most professional sense possible, I hope you understand. It was always an entirely professional love: hi-fives for correct answers, a hug to soothe a grazed knee, a sticker on a jumper, a squeezed hand to ease a wobbly bottom lip.] They were blindsided by my news that I’d be leaving them in two weeks, and I was equally blindsided by how strongly they reacted.

We had the most wonderful last two weeks. And when I think back to my time in that school, while there are moments I wish I could forget, there will always be memories held in the fondest regard, too. I checked my diaries from the time, to write this post, and I teared up, reading my words from that final week.

… we will always have Wednesday afternoon. It was idyllic, exactly the kind of quality time I wanted for them and for myself […] A pile of puzzles and colouring, the option to read in a sunny classroom where I switched off the overhead lights, and three and a half episodes of Moominvalley. It was perfect.

It took a long time for me to recover, once I was out of school. I still don’t think I’m fully there. For one thing, I have to leave my laptop muted if my email tab is open, because I can’t bear the Outlook notification sound. It’s a trivial thing to share, but I’m sure someone out there will relate!

So that’s where I’ve been. As for where I am, and where I’m going?

I never, ever thought that I would leave teaching (“teaching” in the traditional sense of the word, as in being at the front of a classroom of approximately 30 children.) It’s been my dream since I was a tiny little girl lining up my teddies and playing school! In my black and white way of thinking, I trained for this, I spent five years doing it, so it was all I could ever be. Except, I know now, that it’s very unlikely that I will be back in a mainstream classroom, full time, any time soon. Experience is a powerful thing, and not always for the best. But although I was eventually desperate to leave, I still loved the act of teaching in its purest form.

I haven’t left it behind entirely. I now work in Alternative Provision, working 1:1 with children for whom the mainstream setting isn’t the right place and there isn’t the right SEN place yet. Many, though not all, of these children fall on the autistic spectrum somewhere, and I can relate to mainstream school not being an easy place to be (both as an adult and as a child, although I masked my way through it as both!) The job is all about building trusting relationships, and that was what I built my career on in the classroom. I’m still teaching, just at a different pace, in a different way, and not constrained by curriculum documents and data drops. I feel liberated.

I’m recovering from burnout, living a little (well, a lot!) more slowly, and I’m gradually learning who I am without being a teacher and having that be my defining feature. I’m exploring other avenues, I’m nurturing my hobbies, I’m keeping up with friends and actually making a few new ones (I know, shocker!) And for the first time in a while, I can say with a sprinkling of confidence, that I am happy.