brand new day

Rejection. Whatever the cause, it sits by your bedside waiting for eyes to open, full of a new day's sparkle. And then...blam...oh yeah, here I am ready to remind you that you is a failure, baby.

There I am putting my best foot forward and nope. nope. nope. Doors closing and apologies spilled over into my week like a melancholy waterfall.

So, of course, I went straight into 'sorry for me' mode. Gah, how rubbish can one person be. Here goes... I'd been killing it on the writing submission front by hitting two or three stories a week and of course there was the interview.  But how very quickly my hopeful heart sank when my stories and poems didn't make the grade and the job simply passed me by. Everything I offered was getting to the final hurdle only to be sprawled across the finish line watching the backs of winners.

My inspiration died and dried up all my writing. And it finally seemed like my teaching life was done for good this time.

Then off the back of one of those 'feedback' calls where you get to hear all of your faults, even though you'd realised them the minute you were driving home from the interview, things started to look a little more blue sky-ish.

Fast-forward and not only am I writing again, the sun's out and I am an employed teacher again. Go me, right?

Sometimes those doors need to close in order for you to find an alternative entrance. Challenges lie ahead but my head's up for the first time in a while, so bring it, bring it, bring it. 

It's going to be strange going back to the working grind after so long at home. I've had the privilege of structuring my own days, exploring my own dreams and spending more time with the girls and whilst that's not going to disappear completely, I am going to be a bit weirded out having those Sunday night blues again. Or then again, maybe I won't.

One thing I won't miss is the stink attitude from some people who cut me the side-eye when asking 'are you working yet?' as though I'm a fully paid up member of  The Farage Fan Club.  Unlike the lovely, lovely people who have asked about the progress of my writing - thank you to those people, I am still putting pen to paper and the dream lives on.

I am doing the running man in my garden right now. On my own. In front of my cats. They don't care.

fix up, look sharp

Application letter was successful. Tick.

Date of interview in bold letters on the calendar. Tick

Researched latest government buzz words and memorised all the gazillion things I've done in 20 years of teaching. Tick.

Crammed on all the wierd and wonderful possible questions from a student panel. Tick.

Primped and preened my presentation to a shine that could be seen from space. Tick.

Enough petrol in the car, sorted childcare, driven the route in rush hour to avoid any chance of panic. Tick.

Outfit and hair sorted. No. No. No.

Panic ensued.

I mean, come on. Having been out of the work place for over a year, that's what was bothering me before the big interview day. What I was going to look like?  I am, dear reader, hanging my head in shame. But I suppose it all stemmed from the fact that I've been slouching for four seasons in my garden cabin; just me and my cats. Whilst sticking to my 'don't leave the house without foundation or mascara', there have been a few days when it seemed I was reliving my uni days. If it doesn't need ironing, I'm wearing it.

And then comes the day where I've got to look professional again, look like I'm Shonda Rimes bad-ass. I was fully convinced that my fuller figure couldn't be contained within my work clothes from a year ago and I didn't have time to trek across London to my hair saviour. What was a #Post40 mama to do?

The solution? Found the dress that I felt the most 'me' in and plaited my hair into a style that would stay put, come wind, rain, hurricane - you know, the one where your head becomes a bobby-pin cushion.  Then spent my time getting my prep on rather than shopping my feet off.

As for the day? After an in-tray task to beat all in-tray tasks, a lesson that seemed to end in two minutes, a student panel where I admitted I wanted to be Gemma Cairn, an interview with two Heads where I smiled a lot (and answered questions obviously), a presentation in front of the other candidates and another interview with three Heads; I was exhausted. 

My drive home was full of me talking to myself about what I should have said or done differently - why is it the great stuff comes to you AFTER the interview??

It was a day that threw me in the deep end and I surprised myself by swimming with my head above water.

Well done me.

it don't come easy

I'm going to preface all of this by mentioning that in my life before teaching, I worked in HR so I understand the need for thorough, well-written application forms. And after 20 years in education I also acknowledge the necessity for comprehensive personal details allowing for back checks and references.

However...

Completing a teaching application form is akin to walking though treacle... in cement filled boots.

There's all the usual personal stuff, CV manna (or mire), and the dastardly request for hobbies and interests. But in addition to that there is the 'letter of application' - I'm not sure if every profession has these - the (no more than two sides) chance to shine like the diamond you are.  This is the part that every applicant needs to work on; this is where you get to strut your stuff in short sentences, emblazon your personality across the A4 page and show off your USP-X factor.

But the other bit - the legal document bit, which yes is incredibly important, does it really need to be completely handwritten? Every time? In this day and age? With such electronic systems as DBS in our lives?

I know people who have spent the months between January and May applying for over 15 teaching jobs; that's 15 times handwriting your Economics GCSE grade and mentioning how you like to scuba dive with dancing turtles every third Friday.

Is there not a way that there could be a teacher database with our personal info, education history, employment history, referees and all that jazz held centrally which we access via a password in order to amend as and when. Then prospective employees could access your application details when you apply for a job, a bit like the way recruitment agencies work. It should only be accessed when you - the applicant - submits some sort of code giving permission for your information to be seen.

This is the way employees can access my information via the DBS update service.

Yes, there are wrinkles and crinkles that need ironing out - that's the job of super-brainy IT whizzkids.

This would leave precious time available for applicants to get their letter of application groove on because no-one should be completely judged on exams they did in the last century, in a stuffy hall, at a desk scrawled with their name in a love heart next to Barry, the Head Boy's.

checkin' out some poetry

Youthful memories of poetry take me back to my FantasticoDad painfully trying to get me to memorise Macavity the Mystery Cat by TS Eliot and reciting Ozymandias by Shelley. Gove may be a fan of the learning by rote but back then I couldn't see the point. Until I came across Michael Rosen, Jackie Kay and Roger McGough. Poets that didn't drill dull words onto the page making my eyes swim or search for meaning on subjects that I didn't understand. Rosen and McGough wrote hilarious, naughty, outrageous poems about parents and schools and Kay was the first poet that enabled me to deal with my feelings as a black kid in an all white town.

Fast forward a gazillion years and this year has seen me passing the wonder (yes I succumbed)  of Macavity to my girls - which they loved it, took it school and everything - and sharing the beauty of Ozymandias with a bottom set in year 11 who not only explored the poetic techniques of this 19th century poem but argued with each other about the message within the poem. Year 11s - they'll argue about anything but what a buzz in the classroom!

With nearly twenty years of teaching English to teens and within that a stack of poetry, the one poet that always creates excitement, laughter and pupil participation to the classroom is John Agard. His poems leap off the page and bring a multitude of subjects and issues to enjoy and discuss. But the best way to experience his work is aloud, whilst I can offer a passable Caribbean accent, there is nothing better than listening to the poet himself. Either online or even better still on stage Guyanese, Agard's tone dances and explodes with rhythm and rhyme and minute pauses where we have to fill the gaps. My first experience of seeing Agard with GCSE students at the yearly Poetry Live was akin to witnessing what I expect it was like at the Smash Hits Poll Winners party back in the 80s. This poet is an absolute legend for these kids. They sat enthralled, repeated lines back at him on cue and buzz-talked about him all the way home.

Over the years the syllabus has allowed me to teach 'half-caste' and 'checkin' out me history' where we discuss the role of British history and what culture and identity meant to the students. But the one that resonates with me is 'Flag': a poem which, everytime I teach it, makes me lose track of time and throw lesson plans out of the window as students discuss the pros of cons of patriotism. A poem that's certainly not just for Black History Month as its relevance arises on Remembrance Day or any major sporting event for that matter. A poem that I often use alongside Owen and Sassoon.

People may theorize about the gap between the respect and understanding of young people and the older generation but every time I have brought his poetry to a classroom, this sexagenarian (the kids love that one!) bridges gaps and awakens minds. And then fun of all funs...they start writing the darn stuff.

Check him out yourself today. Happy National Poetry Day!

This post first appeared on post40bloggers: Education

just like (starting over)

Previously I wrote about the reason why I thought teachers were leavingthe profession. Whilst I was angry that hard-working, brilliant teachers were put in this position I felt a little guilty for damning the career that I have lived and breathed for almost two decades.

I have noticed a backlash from younger, newer teachers querying why teachers moan about the best job in the world.  Whilst I won't negate the trials of more - how can I say this - long in the tooth teachers (I can say that, coz I am one), I acknowledge that in order to protect our profession, we need to look after our newbies.

When a teacher steps foot onto school soil for the first time since they were in uniform themselves, surely support and communication is paramount? What rookies don’t need are grumblies in the corner vomiting unpleasantries about the school, the staff, the students, or the font on the new stationery. And the worse thing we can do is ignore new teachers - is it that they remind us a little too much of the good old days before reality set in? Or is that we just don't have the time to exchange pleasantries any more, what with the marking, planning, reports, detentions? I was lucky: my teaching placement - staff were terrific and although it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, I loved it.  However one teacher ignored me. Every day. Barely managed a smile or hello for a whole term - yet is renowned for their expertise in supporting teachers!

New teachers are, on the whole, superb. I have witnessed a passion and enthusiasm for teaching that has made me recognise why I stayed in this job for so long.  Their energy and desire to improve can be contagious - if we let it. Many new teachers are coming in to schools from different routes now and, yes, it can be a little upsetting and confusing for those of us on the inside. Inexperienced, unqualified and cheaper teachers are being brought in over the heads of accomplished staff, who are then expected to train them - on the job. But if you remove the politics of the situation you have a new person and a new colleague who is looking up to the experts for guidance.  Most schools have structured inductions for new staff to progress, but it's in the staffroom and the classroom where their days can be made or broken.

They shouldn't be ignored or made to feel they can't suggest ideas in meetings, or that they can't enjoy their new roles openly for fear of being ridiculed.  Not all new teachers are inexperienced in the workplace.  The veterans in the classroom should listen and glean as much energy and new ideas from our apprentices. It might do us some good to look at our careers with fresh eyes. Hard as it may be.

This is not to say we paint a rosy picture for new staff. It's tough out there and only the strongest will survive. There are times when a busy middle manager doesn't have time to hear about the wonderful display created out of macaroni and feathers in the corridor..  But this is where experience steps in to take a hand. Sometimes old hands need to tell the new kids on the block when to sit back down.  Gently. 

And to put my cynical firmly back on my head - when those bright young things swoop over us to claim golden thrones of power, maybe they'll fondly remember the wise owls who gave them tidbits of advice back in the day. Before they sack us.

This post was originally published on post40bloggers.com: education

go your own way

Leavers' assemblies. A momentous occasion of shirt signing, montages of five years in five minutes, last minute words of wisdom from exhausted teachers and tears from the even the most sullen, streetwise students.

This is the time we have all been working towards. Teachers are spent; having coerced and crammed knowledge into this cohort it is time for them to take hold of their own reins and move forward in their own future.  For even those who do come back to sixth form - as some form of education is now compulsory until age 19 - it's not the same; whether it's the lack of uniform or the reduction in subjects they study, the rapport becomes more mature and discussions foster a rising equality in acquired knowledge.

For many years this has always been a sombre time for me; saying goodbye to young adults that I remembered were sprightly stepping into the school hall to be grouped into form classes five or seven years previous. The year 11s , despite having crowed about how they can't wait to leave, now seem pensive as they enter a pivotal stage of their life: we are opening the doors to a future and releasing them from the cocoon of school days. Some return to specialise their learning but many move on to colleges or apprenticeships.  The year 13s are a different kettle of fish. This is the moment they really leave the river and swim out to sea. With the sixth formers there is an air of unbridled excitement, which I certainly don't remember having. You can see the eagerness with which they turn their back on school and long for the unknown. I loved the safety of school and sixth form college and at this point in my own life didn't know where I was heading at all. Having swam with the tide for so long without looking ahead, I felt I had suddenly come to the edge of the world. It was definitely a shock.

Is the preparation that students get now that makes them more confident and eager to move on? The guidance gained from websites and apps can often render the advice from well-meaning parents and teachers quite obsolete, as we realise we are becoming more out-dated, more quickly. When there are day trips to universities and intern blogs available, why would our experience from fifteen years ago be relevant or useful?

Most of the time I have no desire to re-wind back to the late 80's - I'm a content post40 mama on the whole - yet I do wish the options and path choices offered now were offered to me back then. Aging has enlightened me to a plethora of careers that I never even knew existed, jobs that with my post40 head perched on my 18 year old shoulders I may have chosen to study for. Unfortunately history was not so much of a passion with me then as it is now. How I would have loved to enter the world of genealogy or anthropology or the history of accents and dialects (I have recently discovered the role of a sociolinguist and it sounds fascinating). But what was offered at my moment on the crossroads? Well for one, I wasn't allowed to attend the careers fair so instead my mum went and brought back a mountain of leaflets on how clever I had to be to do teaching or journalism (my 14 year old career choices because I loved all of my teachers and I loved writing). I saw the word "university", had no idea about what university was or entailed, got scared, did mediocre in my exams, took ages to finally get to university once I realised what it was. How an open day to allow a first generation university hopeful may have changed the course of my history? Or even a list of where my strengths and passions could lead.

Hey ho. This is the wonderful thing about the future. It should improve on the past, right? After nearly two decades of wishing school leavers well, people will always vocalise about the hardships of the youngsters today; but they are so well equipped and armed with the many paths they could travel. Rather than focus on the murk and mire of adult life, we should be shoving the wonders of life in front of them. Discover vocations we have never heard of together. Bring the world to them before they go looking for it. 

Now someone just needs to create careers advice for the over 40s looking for a new direction.

 

This post first appeared on Post40bloggers : Education

you're the inspiration

Each week in the TES a celebrity is interviewed about their favourite teacher from their schooldays; and each week I think about mine and wish that I could achieve minor celebrity status for a millisecond to write him. And Lo and Behold my wish was granted on Post40Bloggers Writing Prompt no.33.

Dear Mr H.

What an inspiration you were to me back in the mid-80s. Thrust into a small town with some small minds, a happy little black girl stood on the threshold of secondary schooldom with a thirst for knowledge. A child who would lose herself in books for hours on end I was blind to some of the harsh realities of being different. Protected by the brilliant friendships I forged in my first year, I was able to fend off ignorant bigots with relative ease. Despite the daily  bullying and name calling, I loved school and was never really one to moan about my teachers - on the whole they did their job with a smile. 

But there was you, Mr H. Your English lessons in my third year - today's year 9 - were a haven of literary enlightenment and discussion. I understood what it meant to have a passion for a subject. We sat enthralled as you regaled us with tales of motorbike accidents which explained your limp, and explored the minutia of novel themes and characters. We experienced moments of fear that rendered us static in our seats with a voice so explosive, students across the building knew who was getting told off and for which misdemeanours. We couldn't comprehend how you were really married to the really strict RE teacher because she was so scary and you were so cool.

I think I really learnt sarcasm from you. Which is great as it has regularly made an appearance in my own classrooms over the years (it's okay, only to the ones who can cope with it, and also readily dole it out in massive proportions themselves). I also learnt how to enjoy my lessons in your classes - there was always a hub of activity which we were always engaged in; so much so that we never complained we were bored. I know there were collective sighs of disappointment when the bell rang. Sound too good to be true? Well, maybe. A few decades later and sitting on the other side of the teacher's desk may have rose-coloured the past. But I remember looking forward to my English lessons and deciding, at the end of that year, that I wanted to be an English teacher. 

Your lessons left me marvellous school memories, alongside the wonderful Mr T. - my Head of Year - who took time out to ease the sad days of a tearful, embarrassed child after days of racist name calling had taken its toll...again. His patience and understanding have definitely played a part in my own attitude towards students that need a little extra time. I was truly saddened when I learned of his passing, not long after we left the school gates for sixth form college.

It's hard to pinpoint a specific novel that changed my life - although I think that honour had to go to my fourth year teacher who made me read masses of To Kill A Mockingbird out loud every lesson. But I can definitely remember the days that I laughed so much in English lessons, that I felt pride in my own writing, and was encouraged to explore creatively.

There's a website now that the young uns use called Rate My Teacher (no prizes for guessing what goes on there!), and if the internet had been invented for public use back in 1985 I would have quoted Einstein: "It is the supreme art of a teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge...and you certainly did Mr H, so I thank you."

This post is in response to a #post40bloggers #writingprompt33:write a letter to a former teacher

everybody's gotta learn sometime

The topic to kick off my thoughts on education focuses on why there is an exodus of Biblical proportions of teachers from the profession, that most people enter expecting a career for life. Well, look I can only speak for myself - with maybe a little bit of validation from the many teachers I have met over 17 years in the classroom - but that's certainly why I wanted to be a teacher. Inspired by a jolly primary school teacher who greeted us everyday with a smile, an enthralling English teacher, and a Head of Year who regularly took time in his day to ensure the new little black girl in a sea of white faces was enjoying school and being supported when faced with casual racism. Absolutely brilliant - all of them - and so were many more that I met in my 13 years of state education. I'm pretty sure that every teacher can name one of their own teachers who inspired them to go onto this career; or at least such a passion for their subject that they want to pass that on to the students that they meet.

So why are more teachers reaching for resignation letters than signing up?

A Radio 4 programme on Tuesday night about the levels of sickness brought on by stress in teaching was enlightening and frightening at the same time. But I'll be honest - not really a surprise.

read full post here

chain gang

So there I am driving my tired ass off to work early one dark morning. Early because I have had a full teaching day three days in a row - this means I am teaching for five hours and marking during my lunch period. Tired because the end of term was approaching and it was assessment week the previous week, meaning I had just marked five sets of 30 books to do in three days - you do the math. Unfortunately I was marking English essays. Long. 

Anyhoo, back to the story...driving and wishing so much for the final Friday I tuned into the local radio station and hear that the head Ofsted guy - Michael Wilshaw - is bashing teachers again. He states that children who are succeeding in primary schools are not developing in secondary schools, and that secondary school teachers are not able to teach because of disruption, and finally that bright students or students from poor backgrounds are not doing as well as they do in primary schools. 

Then a bloke who runs some genius charity is interviewed for his tuppence worth, and parps on about how primary school children leave their schools as bright young things only to enter secondary schools to have their dreams 'crushed' by the end of year 7.

This all had come a few days after reading Chris Woodhead's comments in the Times, about how English teachers (don't) "feel they have a responsibility to introduce their students to the great classics of English literature. Apparently my esteemed colleagues are part of the 'rot' in teaching. This was in response to an ex teacher complaining about her grand-daughter (in a grammar school) only reading extracts of novels, and concentrating on language studies; apparently she always taught complete texts when she was teaching.

Imagine being me for a moment. How the hell am I supposed to walk into work full of passion, enthusiasm and energy for a day's work when apparently I am crushing dreams and when I am contributing to the 'rot' that is my subject?

Look, this isn't me crying into my staffroom coffee. I am all for tough talk, and pushing boundaries, and aiming high- this is exactly why many of us go into teaching... in order to get the best out of our students. This is certainly the view amongst the teachers I have been privileged to work with for many years. But year after year, it's always us doing something wrong: either the exams are too easy or the teachers aren't doing their job.

The language in teaching has changed so much over the past decade; mostly for the better. We are trained within an inch of our lives to learn and implement new strategies for teaching, enabling children to achieve, the way we mark and give feedback, dealing with behaviour in the classroom, the structure of lessons, how we seat students in the classroom, using technology in lessons, analysing reams of numbers which tell us which students are progressing according to all sorts of categories. And that's before we have even planned a lesson! You'd think after 17 years in a profession I could do it all with my eyes shut, sit with my feet up in class and regurgitate endless lessons whilst playing Candy Crush under the desk. Well let me tell you not on your life. That is not what happens. There is a constant sharing of best practise, new initiatives, pedagogical ideas; basically getting rid of the bad stuff and making the good stuff better. 

So I'd like to know what these teacher bashers hope to achieve with their comments? Teaching is already a profession under strain with a shortage of trainees, and the rate of newbie drop out increasing every year, so it's time these 'experts' came up with suggestions instead of scathing soundbites.  Views which  kick the professionals who are constantly challenging themselves to improve their methods in the classroom, views that seemed designed to pitch primary school against secondary school - when we need to be working together more to ensure transition between the stages is supportive of each child, views which create cracks in the relationship between home and school. Seriously, you are telling the nation that their children are being let down by their teachers. And then you expect them to swish into school full of the joys?

I have always wondered when the government will call on parents to assist with the improvement of education. Teachers are not solely responsible for the success, progress and achievement of our children. By the time they get to secondary school, there have been eleven years of conditioning regarding learning, social skills, behaviour, attitudes to authority. Eleven years! So when a school pushes the importance of reading and literacy to the point of ensuring that reading books are part of the compulsory equipment; what more can we do when children go home to houses without a single book or parent interest in how or what they are reading? When a school has a thorough behaviour and exclusion policy tightly upheld by staff; what more can we do when children are allowed to stay up late, hang out on the streets, answer back and swear profusely in the family home? When teachers are now expected to consider the vast range of abilities, languages, interests, gender, nationalities, religions, emotions, learning styles, home situations when planning lessons, what more can we do when children refuse to do homework, sit and listen, engage in activities, or speak respectfully to the adults in the classroom?

I'll tell you what we do - we keep doing what we do. We don't ever give up. Even when parents have given up on their offspring. We don't give up. Even when some students have given up on the chance that they can make up for time wasted. We don't give up. Even when it feels like the government and official bodies that should be supporting us have given up on us.

And as for Mr Woodhead. Before you go kicking off about teachers not taking the time to teach whole texts - take a look at the requirements of exam boards and government educational legislation. We have to teach whole texts, so we do. But we also have to teach a whole shebang of other stuff too. Which we do. Maybe you could suggest that parents encourage or discuss whole texts with their children. As I do.

Just as we are trained to support, guide, challenge, and develop our students in the classroom, surely the educational leaders should be doing the same with our teachers. Imagine if we criticised students in the same way that teachers have been vilified by ministers and Ofstedites in recent years?

yesterday once more

Every year I learn more about the World Wars 1 and 2. Not just on Remembrance Day but through the novels and poems I teach; such as Wilfred Owen's Dulce et Decorum Est and Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo.  . But this year seems to be more poignant than others.

Initially I thought it was because this being the 100 years commemoration, the city is awash with more images of poppies than ever - from the striking Tower of London to the 3G's school gates and field covered in handmade poppies. Then I considered that it may have been because the news stories I have come across this week: when ITV news anchor, Charlene White, decided to explain why she didn't wear one on-air, or the tombstone of an 'un-named Negro' apparently killed in a sunken Naval ship disaster being investigated to determine his true identity and why he was not recognised with his fellow compatriots.

But whilst sharing some facts, literature and images with my classes today about the First World War and why the poppy is symbolic of remembrance, I was encouraged by the interest and discussion the teenagers maintained despite many of the children being non-British or first (possibly second) generation British born. This is a vital point because maybe as time moves on, the knowledge, artefacts and conversations about the World Wars are not as prevalent as they once were. But through novels, poetry, exhibitions, tv dramas, and poppies the atrocities of war can be remembered. That our children can learn that it is imperative we spend moments thinking of people who have suffered in wartime, be it soldier or civilian. That we acknowledge that soldiers from a range of countries fought to support the war effort.

So I think this today was a different Remembrance Day for me because as I stood in front of a class of London children, of different colours, nationalities, ages and religions, there was a shared shock at the images of life in the trenches. a disbelief that soldiers their age were fighting in no man's land and I would hope a relief that as one student put it "that won't happen, like now, innit Miss?"

broken wings

Picture this: it’s 1984.  A secondary comp snuggled in a sleepy town on the Essex border. A lower school English class is held in the palm of the teacher’s hand as he brings characters to life.  He’s short, a little rotund and walks with a discernible limp due to the most entertaining die-hard-esque story ever (a motorbike accident which took his brain 24 hours to acknowledge he was injured, went home and everything; next morning he was bruised, bleeding, broken bones – he was our very own John McLain).  An hour with Mr Hoyle saw us morph into hyenas drunk on his magnificent tales to frightened rabbits scurrying for shelter after verbal whippings were dealt out with piercing precision.  But we loved him. I would stride out of his lessons brim-full of love and understanding for the written word.

This was my defining moment.  I wanted to be a teacher. An English teacher.  And readers, I accomplished my dream.

Cue new picture.  It’s 1997.  The Year of Our Blair.  A West London secondary comp and there I am: the Labour party’s tagline personified.  Hours full of wide-eyed Year 7s and 8s to hormonal Year 9s and 10s to angsty sixth formers. I was loving it, loving it, loving it.

This truly is a career where no two days are the same and a job where I learned that a child will bring their home life into the classroom; that some parents really do believe they drop their children at the school gates and there endeth their responsibility.  I was once asked by a parent if I could beat his child because he never listened at home.  Another begged me to take her child out of top set because she was "rubbish at English" – even though her daughter was achieving A grades in her work.  There wasn't much I could do about parents like that, but I did continue to focus on the supporting everyone's child equally – as many of my colleagues do every day.  In addition to the constant planning, mounds of marking, endless changes to exam board and Ofsted criteria, analysing data, writing reports, observing staff, creating training sessions, and daily behavioural challenges (from students, parents and teachers!) I strived to remember that these were children; battling through school with all the pressures and expectations from home too.  Students with abusive parents, with low self-esteem, with alcoholic parents, caring for their parents, with dying parents, without any parents at all; children who were being bullied, who were having sex, who hated school, who hated each other, who hated life. Do you know how crap that is? To look like you hate life at such a young age. To be honest, it has never been the students that have made me consider whether I want to remain a teacher. They are the best part. Yeah I know you've just read everything two lines up but they are funny, energetic, argumentative, creative, feisty, silly, intelligent, positive, caring, and determined too.

So what was it then? What was it that made me sit and cry in my car for weeks on end when it dawned on me that I didn't really want to teach any more? It was the culmination of this:

carrying sighing stacks of marking between my desk, my car, my house, my desk but I can't seem to get the load ever fully completed because of...

the emails clogging up my inbox that need answering "by the end of the day" but don't get replied to because I was teaching all day and still have...

planning to do for the following hour, day, week, month, term's lessons and I cannot (as people might think) trudge out the same old lessons every year because...

the exam boards / Ofsted / Government * (delete as appropriate) have tweaked / amended / completely rehashed * criteria that still has wet ink from the the last set of changes which requires...

time spent sifting through paperwork and data and lists in order to create more paperwork, data and lists instead of creating and inspiring which is why I became a teacher, but instead I found myself...

not eating during lunch breaks to make up work time as I couldn't stay past 5.15 otherwise I would be late...

picking up my own children by 6pm every day, which is really rubbish for them as they are in breakfast club at 7.45am every morning because they don't get any quality time with me in the week, unless it's watching me...

falling asleep during reading time in the evenings instead of listening to them because I have been up until after midnight every night...

marking, cooking, planning, cleaning, reading paperwork, checking homework, analysing data, ironing, writing timetables, doing the washing, preparing for meetings, organising family events, creating training sessions, shopping for food, searching for new initiatives to improve the progress of my department, making sure the 3G have the right equipment for school, and desperately seeking some confidence to look for a new job because you know what, from my experience it's just more of the same out there - so what's the point?

I know anyone in any job can cite the pressure put upon them but I realised that the stress and exhaustion caused by my job result in me having absolutely nothing left for my family. I felt I was putting the happiness of those dearest to me in jeopardy.  Maybe it was my age...but burnout at 40? Unlikely. Maybe it was my inability to balance work and life; I never knew when to switch off. But I believe this was due to my passion and drive - you can't do this job without it.

So in 2013 there was another picture. A teacher, wife, mother, curriculum leader who was constantly exhausted because I was existing on approximately 5 hours sleep a night. Frustrated with incessant changes to areas which had just been implemented, embedded, proved successful only to be replaced with something else. Exasperated at the lack of trust in my proven ability. Infuriated at the lack of opportunities to develop my managerial skills which is questioned at interviews as potential employers suspect stagnation - and who would blame them?

I decided to take some time out in 2014. To rethink, to redirect, to recharge. Currently jobless I look back on the 2013 me and can only now acknowledge how entrapped I was in an ever decreasing circle. And I see so many experienced, dedicated and passionate teachers feeling exactly the same as I do. Teachers who are exhausted by the workload and the system, but fight every day for the progression of students in their care. Teachers who understand the responsibility of being entrusted with a child's education because many of them are parents themselves - do unto others and all that. Teachers who want to be acknowledged and trusted instead of maligned and micro-managed.  Teachers who are sick of the view that teachers are just pen pushers who churn out the same dusty lessons every year waiting for the six week break or their retirement. Oh btw if anyone does think this job is a breeze because of the holidays - step right up and join us and you will see how long it takes to understand why those breaks are necessary, for staff and students. 

Education in this country is on the verge of change - again - and who knows what the next five years will bring. I truly hope I return to full time teaching back on the management ladder, where I belong, as I know my teaching and leadership skills would benefit any school (#sorryaboutme). However I am also aware of the pitfalls of this job and am adamant that I won't allow myself to become so despondent about my working day ever again - unfortunately this might mean that my dream career is not an option for me any more. It's odd how a career that I entered in order to enthuse and inspire others has, in 17 years, had the opposite effect on me.