Back in 2005, I started my journey to become an English teacher. I made initial enquiries and it soon became clear that in the climate at the time, my BA (Hons) degree in Linguistics was not going to contain enough English content to satisfy university requirements. so while I was still working in London as a Political Risk Insurance Broker, I started my Open University BA (Hons) Literature degree.
Five years later, I left my job in London and started working with my parents all while working through the modules needed to complete my degree in my spare time. I graduated in 2010 and by then I was pregnant with Evelina. My quest to become a teacher needed to wait a bit longer. Once she was two, I was ready to start applying for the postgraduate qualification to become a secondary English teacher. I could apply for a PGCE course at only one university, namely the University of Warwick, since as a mature student, married, with a mortgage, and a two-year-old, I couldn’t gallivant off to other locations. Therefore it was both lucky and unlucky that my nearest university routinely sits in the top 10 universities in the country. Good for my CV but hard to get a place.
At this point, I was already seven years into my mission to become a teacher and even though the training year was incredibly hard, and even though my training school did not choose to recruit me for a vacancy in the department, I pushed on and managed to land my first teaching role. I was there for six years and many times, I felt like I was not in the right place, the right role, and the right profession. I frequently felt like a square peg in a round hole. But the stresses of the job make it easy to push any feelings of inadequacy aside that might be attributed to imposter syndrome anyway – another common ailment of teachers – such that you just keep going. After Baby Number Two Austin came along, I reduced my hours to two days a week. I found it hard to feel part of the team and in the loop. Returning from maternity with barely any reinduction, and no Keep In Touch days granted (I never insisted), I felt lost. So I left. I was done with teaching.
But then the search for work began, tandem with all the challenges brought by having a three-year-old and eight-year-old to care for and love; so when a maternity cover opportunity fell into my lap at the school three minutes walk away, it was too good to pass up.
Now, four years later, after a global pandemic and now, with closed school buildings and remote working for students, and a struggle to really feel like I am good enough, I am done again. During all my time as a teacher, despite my dedication, perseverance, and financial commitment, in addition to the countless hours I have invested, I have always felt that something was just off. That something was not quite right. I still do not know if this is just the job. That if I had been able to have adequate training, resources, and time to do my job (something which no teacher receives in the UK, and I suspect in a lot of countries), I would have felt differently. But this is something I cannot know. I cannot know if this is something that others feel as I cannot know other people’s real feelings but I do know it is how I feel.
In fact, for the first time since 2005, I have felt regret at becoming a teacher. I have regretted all of this commitment of time and money, wasting arguably my most important years as a working woman working in a profession that is not right for me.
However, I certainly do not regret all the things I have learned. I do not regret all the affection I have had for students (and a small handful have felt for me), nor do I regret forming wonderful relationships with incredible colleagues.
So after regret comes resolve. Resolve to find myself again. Resolve to build myself back up. Resolve to move on. I still have until the end of the year to see out my contract and am resolved to make the most of every minute.
And having made this decision to say goodbye, there also comes peace.
Notes From My Day 