I was a teacher. That’s it, that’s the end of post. I’m joking, of course. But to some, that simple sentence explains everything. I quit my dream job as a primary teacher because I burnt out in my fifth year.

I was completely exhausted, terrified of making mistakes, and taking next to no care of my own health. And worst of all, feeling all of that and still thinking I wasn’t doing enough for the children. A teacher’s life, as it turns out, is not for me.

Ready, steady, burnout

The thing about burnout is it creeps up on you like a raincloud at an already tense picnic. You’re sort of aware of it, but you don’t actually think it’s heading straight for you. It’ll just pass by, like rainclouds always do, and you’re well prepared for the next one anyway.

Except, when this raincloud is eventually on top of you it brings a fucker of a storm with it. You’ve got no chance of hiding from it. You just have to sit there and take any sort of shelter until it’s all over.

My raincloud appeared very suddenly into a new school year. I’d barely had the chance to hand out the first home reading books before I found myself sobbing in my line manager’s classroom several times a day.

Nothing I did felt good enough, everything moved a mile a minute and I couldn’t keep up. I wasn’t sleeping well, could barely eat, and my anxiety was at a dangerous level. Things were happening in my personal life too that accelerated all these feelings. My poor husband had to watch me walk through the door in the evening and just work and cry until I left the next morning.

We teachers are really fucking good at lots of things. And we’re particularly good at being each other’s literal shoulders to cry on. I would not have survived as long as I did without my year group teachers and TAs providing advice, reassurance, tissues and copious hugs. There’s nothing like bonding through shared trauma!

We teachers also know when to have our breakdowns. It’s not for the working day because you have so much important stuff to do. Breakdowns are solely reserved for commutes, evenings/weekends, and the 151st question in the staff meeting.

Just a little bit of seratonin, as a treat

I’ve only told my doctor and my family about this, but towards the peak of burnout I was having thoughts. Yeah, those ones. I wanted to drive into a wall or a tree, but not die; just enough to be a bit injured so I’d get some time off work. Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? I thought it was a bit silly and of course I would never actually do it. I figured everyone must feel like this in their stressful jobs at times?

It took my doctor explaining that thinking those things wasn’t a normal state of mind for me to realise exactly what state I was in. No, people don’t get in their cars every day and will themselves to break a few limbs. That’s weird.

I’m absolutely ok now thanks to the right amount of sick leave and counselling. Even though I’m absolutely sure I never would have put myself in harm’s way, I clearly wasn’t mentally ‘right’. You never know how close it could’ve been.

Humour is the only way I can reconcile my experience. If I couldn’t laugh about it, I’d have to cry and tbh everyone’s bloody sick of me doing that already.

But it was your dream job…

Yes, it really was. And I was told I’m really good at it! There were parts of teaching that I adored: Getting the first heart-filled drawings from your new class in the second week of the year – cute. Marking work during a particularly tricky maths lesson and watching them discover how smart they are – amazing. Listening to your SEN group’s language evolve and their conversation get clearer – perfection. Their little faces when you give them compliments and tell them they’re loved? Unforgettable.

I loved teaching, educating, playing, reading, sharing, conversing. Helping the children in my classes thrive gave me purpose, and it became my entire personality.

But I don’t need to lament too much about how that’s only about 5% of the job. The other 95% being the reason why 800 teachers quit the industry each week. And 100 of those having been in the career less than three years. I’m actually quite proud I beat that statistic – just.

The endless admin, demand of the curriculum, constant worry about children’s lives, initiative after initiative being needlessly squeezed into every single second of the day, not to mention verbal abuse from parents and the constant worry of complaints.

If only it were different. But I can’t see the landscape changing any time soon. Not even in the next 10 years, sadly.

Even now when I muse over what happened, I still end up blaming my own timekeeping and organisation for things hitting rock bottom. Maybe I should have been smart enough to cut the corners with the admin a little bit. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so detail-oriented when it came to reworking the previous year’s planning. If I’d openly complained about needing more help, I could have saved myself some bother.

Well, sorryyyyyy for wanting to make the experience for everyone else perfect!

But that’s what it ended up being. I neglected myself just enough to conjure mild depression. Ta-da! Ok, I’ll stop.

Bouncing back (literally, I’m 11lbs heavier)

Something had to give, so my doctor signed me off after a very tearful appointment and I finally got some rest. I pretty much slept for the first week of sick leave. And then my appetite slowly came back. It literally was ‘one day at a time’ for a long period. I forced myself to keep a routine but made no plans, called my parents every day, sat outside in the fresh air for as long as I could. I turned phone notifications off and went to counselling every Friday morning.

My sick note kept getting extended each time I spoke with the doctor and I eventually felt ready to make a decision. Even though it was one of the hardest. I’d put my heart and soul into teaching from the first minute of my first training placement, as all teachers do!

I wasn’t ready to leave, but I knew my responsibility was to look after myself. The thought of standing back in my classroom turned my stomach in knots. I knew if I went back, it wouldn’t be long before I was tracking that raincloud again.

I sobbed typing out my resignation letter, and for a few hours after. But I think that outburst was also making peace with it. My new job appeared just at the right time too. Another reason why I think this outcome was actually a kind of sad serendipity. Its taken me nearly 8 months to recover fully from the burnout.

I’m glad I took the leap out of the profession as much as I’m glad I leapt into it nearly 7 years ago. And I’m proud of all I’ve achieved since I started as a bright-eyed trainee. Teaching will never leave me, it’ll always be in my bones.