Once a teacher, always a teacher?
A work update
Hi,
I have been working on this post for a few months. It still doesn’t feel quite right, but I am trying to follow some more advice that I read in Oliver Burkeman’s recent book ‘Meditation for Mortals’ about the 70% rule. He suggests that when it comes to certain projects that as long as you are 70% satisfied with it then that’s good enough (i.e,. a post for this platform, then you should just publish it).
This is one of my lengthier pieces, and so I have included some audio (unless you would prefer to listen to one of Substack’s unremarkable AI bots… your choice). However, I won’t be offended if you would rather skip this one. It contains a few work related updates. So it’s a guaranteed thrilling ride!
I never grew up with a strong desire to become a teacher.
But like many kids, I grew up playing pretend teacher and would have my toys lined up in my bedroom ready to call their names for the register. Although it’s worth bearing in mind that when I was young, I also wanted to be a spy; a singer; a pianist (despite never learning to play the piano); and in my late teens/early 20s, I wanted to be a Member of Parliament.
Let’s just say that I was keeping my options open.
My mum was a teacher and always knew that she wanted to be one. Now, she is long retired and living her best life with my dad (also retired), but I grew up with a vague awareness of the work that was required in the role; the early starts, the pressure to constantly be on, report writing, and the marking. But I also recognised that teaching could be an incredibly rewarding profession. I still marvel at the warmth of how my mum continues to talk about many of her students, and at the sheer number of 18th birthdays and graduation parties that she was invited to by parents/carers.
And partly inspired by my mum, I entered the world of teaching in 2007 feeling bright-eyed and full of energy. But in the summer of 2023, I stepped away and was feeling far from what I just described.
Taking a career break
It’s been 18 months since I left that role, and without sounding too much like a cliche, I do feel like a different person. I am more content and relaxed, and consequently, I believe that I am generally a much nicer person! I didn’t recognise how much energy I put into just getting by that I often forgot to be a decent person in the world. So I am sorry to all of the people who I was short with or snarled at while I was living in my own doom-spiral haze of occupational burnout.
For newer readers of TBOI, when I left my teaching job, I was fortunate enough to be able to take a career break. I was offered a sabbatical by my previous employers, but I decided that I needed to leave entirely. Resignation and everything. I do want to add here that I was able to make this decision partly because: a) I had/have savings, b) have a supportive partner, and c) I don’t have children/caring responsibilities. I know that not everyone will be able to do this.
In those early months having left my job, I found solace in reading other people’s stories of burnout, including here on Substack. It was reassuring to know that other people were able to speak plainly about the utter physical and psychological collapse that you experience, and the waves that this creates for those around you. And crucially, I was curious to know how people took steps to recover. But it dawned on me from all this reading that if I was constantly searching for ‘burnout’ related articles, I wasn’t really moving on, and instead I was stuck in a different type of doom-spiral reliving some of the worst aspects of my experiences. I realised that I needed to take steps of my own to move forward.
I am saying all of this because I very nearly didn’t share this post. Why? Because I feel oddly embarrassed to say that 18 months on from having said goodbye to teaching, I have decided to return to the classroom.
Surprised?
A golden ticket
Since leaving that job, I have been doing various things work-wise. I approached my previous employer about adding me to their supply/substitute teacher register, and completed the odd day here and there, as well as one longer stint for a colleague who was having a planned operation. But by far the most exciting thing was that I co-authored a chapter for an online psychology textbook. I am planning a future post about this because it was one of my first freelance writing projects, and while I am grateful for the experience, I did learn a great deal about the precarious nature of this work. (I did drain a lot of savings during this time, too).
Still, you’ll notice these gigs are intrinsically linked to the world of education.
And this is where some of my embarrassment comes from; I don’t feel that I have tried hard enough when it came to figuring out what I could do besides teaching. I was presented with a golden ticket to explore different options that could have led to a complete career change, and instead I am returning to teaching, albeit in a different school.
Perhaps I should have invested some of my limited finances in ‘finding myself’ and hired a careers coach, or even sought therapy to try and unpick my thinking about work, or just fucked off and blown my savings on travel, although that probably wouldn’t have been the best idea… Again, I recognise my privilege in just being able to contemplate these.
Testing the water
To cut a long story short, in October last year, I went back into the classroom for a three-month temporary role. And while I was concerned that I wouldn’t be teaching my subject specialism (psychology), the school was recommended by friends who knew people that worked there. Recommendations are useful for newsletters here on Substack, but especially in the world of work.
I was curious to see whether I would feel differently about teaching several months on, and I wanted to test something; were my decisions to continue seeking work still linked to the education sector because I was missing my past teaching life, or because I wasn’t sure what I wanted (could) do?
But I was nervous: could I still hold the attention of students? How would I navigate the school politics, and the fact that I would have to attend meetings? And how would I cope when a lesson didn’t go the way that I hoped? (Historically, I would beat myself up about this one).
After working at the school for about a month, I was informed that there was a role coming up for August 2025. However, before I said that I was interested, I spent some time thinking about the tangible benefits (salary, contracted hours, was psychology on my timetable and so on), but I knew that any teaching role that I pursued had to fulfil my gut test - did I want to be there?
And the answer was: yes.
I liked being there. It helped that there was a warm atmosphere; people smiled, held doors open and just made space for one another. I had largely forgotten about the positive spirit that is present in many school environments.
I don’t have to love my job
When I tell people that I have decided to return to teaching in a permanent capacity, I tend to hear one of two things:
How will you deal with the demands of the job this time around?
Are you excited?
The first is relatively straightforward to answer: Ask me later!
But for some context, two big pluses on my side are that I’ve already met many of the students and staff, and I am aware of the different systems and policies in place. I already understand the lay of the land. And with 100% certainty, I know that there will be demanding periods. But now I better recognise my responses to stress, and that by ignoring the stuff that makes me feel good — exercise, eating well, and making time for loved ones — can be detrimental to my health. So I want to prioritise these.
My response to the second question tends to surprise people, am I excited? No, not really.
Disentangling my thinking around this is a bit complicated, but in essence, work is no longer the be-all and end-all. For years, I had this sense that I had to love my work. I find that this is particularly pervasive in teaching because there can be pressure to see it as a vocation, or a calling. Even when I started to experience signs of burnout, I thought that I somehow wasn’t loving my job enough. So I just worked harder.
It’s a bit fucked up, really.
Leaving teaching in 2023 led me to realise that I don’t have to love my job or even be terribly excited about parts of it. Liking it is just fine. Now, teaching takes up less space in my mind, which means that I have more energy to do the job alongside other things.
Plus, after spending years going back and forth in my mind about whether I should take a break from teaching, I know now that I can. This seems like a remarkably simple thing, but saying that you want/need to quit something is different to actually doing it.
Healing through writing
One of the most consistent things that I have been doing over the past 18 months has been writing. I started this newsletter and returned to a book that I have been half-heartedly working on for years. I am not much further with the book, but I have no idea how many words I have written here. A lot!
Writing for this newsletter has helped me to learn a ton about the craft, but also connect with a range of wonderful people. But significantly, writing has helped me to heal.
When I was growing up, besides my dual desires to be a singer and a spy, I wanted to be a writer. Not a huge surprise. But somewhere along the way, I lost this desire. Now, I intend to hold on tight to writing because I have realised that the benefits are far too precious to comprehend.
Until next time,
Sarah x
And I’ll leave you with a quote from a book that a friend lent me last year:
“It always baffles me when my colleagues complain about teaching. Teaching is like photosynthesis: making food from air and light. It tilts the prospects for life a little. For me, the best class sessions are right up there with lying in the sun, listening to bluegrass, or swimming in a mountain stream.” Powers, R. (2021). Bewilderment. W. W. Norton & Company.
The Best of Intentions is an independent publication about life in Hong Kong, work, travel, culture, health/fitness, photography, and a sprinkle of psychology.
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Thank you!
This one hits close because I'm a teacher. When I was a Waldorf teacher in the US, the experience was life-changing horrible, so much so, that I ended up writing a book about it. And I took a break, which involved an expensive MA in Elementary Education, which I did not finish because the dysfunction (again) frightened me and because I couldn't afford it.
Following that were a LOT of temp jobs and "What do I do with my life?" moments, before I ended up in Thailand taking a TESOL course. And now it's been 15 yrs of teaching English overseas.
Burnout, as you know, is the number one reasons why teachers quit. There's a HUGE crisis in education in the US. I'm very wary of the politics and drama in schools, having freshly left a 3rd grade teaching position that reaffirmed my fears and experience.
But the good thing is you're aware that you can quit again and that you don't have to love it 100%. That's been a big lesson this time around because as I caught myself whinging about this or that, I looked back at the many schools I worked at, and realized, hey, this one's OK. And sometimes that's alright because it allows you to do the things that you want. Good luck, Sarah, xo
As a former teacher I SO relate to the burnout. I remember going home crying everyday for months during my job as a primary teacher at an international school because the staff politics were that bad. Then when I left teaching, I felt so lost because being a great teacher was my identity for over a decade. Glad you're going back with a better sense of how you'll approach this role. Even if you're back in the same vocation/sector it sounds like you gained a lot of insights no matter what. Good luck in your new position!