Matter over Mind: Trusting Your Body
A guest blog by an anonymous Early Career Teacher.
Most of my education and my upbringing focused on the mind. School, sixth-form, university taught me how to interpret, how to explore ideas and how to critically analyse the world. Developing the mind was always the focus point. Whatever decision I made, whether academically, personally or professionally, I thought it through. Thinking is an analytical process, one which takes time and effort. It also requires the very same skills that my education has taught me; interpretation, exploring ideas and critical analysis. These are undoubtedly important skills and I’m very grateful for having learnt them. However, having recently made a thought-out decision which later turned out to be a very difficult one, I realised that I neglected another meaning-making and interpretive vessel - one which is just as important - and that is my body. The body makes decisions just like the mind, and yet I’ve never been taught to listen or trust my body in the same way.
Last year, I went to interview at a London school which had an Outstanding Ofsted rating. It had an interesting and diverse curriculum, and my PGCE tutor knew the school a few years back and had recommended it to me. On paper, all seemed good. When I entered the corridors, I remember it being chaotic and busy. Students everywhere; some running, others throwing basketballs. There was a frantic energy in the air. My interview lesson was just as energetic; some students were keen to get involved and answer questions while there were others who had their heads down sleeping on the desk. Looking back, I was very naïve to ignore the signals that rightly suggested that this school was in a difficult phase of its journey. Yet my mind kept rationalising: “every teacher I’ve spoken to speaks positively about the school”, “I trust my PGCE tutor”, and “this is rated Outstanding”.
As I left the interview, my body felt unsettled and uncomfortable. I remember having a tension in my stomach which I couldn’t explain. While I recognised the discomfort, I neglected to listen to it and, ultimately, I trusted my rational mind over my “emotional” body. I started working at the school in July, and it was a very challenging experience. I felt the toxicity of the school start to take over my life, and my mental health became damaged as a result. Ironically, it was often my body that was affected. I rarely had the energy to exercise, and I started to have panic attacks and night-sweats. I often look back to that moment of discomfort and wish I had listened to what my body was trying to tell me.
I left the school in April and decided to do a Flamenco course in Seville. I had no experience with Flamenco and I had no idea what it even looked like. Naturally my friends and family were pretty surprised at my choice, and honestly so was I. Perhaps without consciously realising it, I chose a course focused on the body; how to listen, respond and physically self-express. Every lesson, my teacher would shout “FUERTE” (strength) to remind us that our bodies are our core and it is within our anchorage, our root, that we find power. It was the first time where I was taught how to tap into and navigate the language of the body. I realised how often I curl or twist my body in a way to hide it or make myself smaller, but Flamenco taught me the opposite. It’s about opening up, letting your physical presence be seen and felt. Through this dancing, I actually recognised and listened to my body, and allowed it to be open to the world. We need to trust our physical responses and intuitions just as much, if not more, than our rational and critical mind. Our body is a meaning-making vessel that can tell us much more of our authentic selves, desires, decisions, than our mind can. My biggest lesson I’ve learnt from this challenging teaching experience is to trust my body more and, in doing so, allow my body to carve the pathway where onto next.
Finding My Work-Life Balance as a New Teacher
A guest blog by an anonymous Early Career Teacher (ECT)
I’m coming to the end of my first year of teaching – it’s had its ups and downs, but I’m pleased to say, mostly ups. Being a trainee teacher last year was tough and I struggled to balance the demands of the course, my school and my relationships. Oh, and a pandemic as well. The idea of a work-life balance remained elusive. So, I made a promise to myself to prioritise wellbeing this year. And it has been better. I implemented various strategies that some very wise people have taught me along the way. I’m sharing them in the hope that any trainees out there who have just picked up their shiny QTS certificate can do more than just survive their first year.
Emails – The single, most useful thing I’ve ever done for my sanity is turn off my emails on my phone. It was like my stress levels went through the floor overnight. No more checking them last thing before bed and then subsequently staying up all night because a parent emailed and wants to meet with me ‘urgently’. Whatever it is can wait until I’m sat at my desk in school with a cup of hot tea, ready to face the day. I wish I’d done that from day one.
Communication - Being open and honest with your mentor or induction tutor is a key thing - let them know if you're struggling with how to manage workload/students/parents. Don't make the mistake of trying to take it all on from day one because you’re afraid experienced teachers will look down on you if you don't. Staff are there to support you and help you build a healthy work life balance for yourself as they need new teachers to stay in the profession for as long as possible. There's always help at hand. Some of my department even helped me mark some papers this term when I was swamped with reports and no gain time. There are people who are sympathetic to new teachers (and take those who aren’t with a pinch of salt!). Just keep communicating your workload and tell someone ASAP if you’re worried about meeting a deadline. You'll build respect far more quickly than trying to cover up mistakes. And you WILL make mistakes! But don't beat yourself up about them. You're still learning.
Communicating with others in your department really helps too. It was very tempting to be in my shell at the start, particularly as everyone else is so experienced in my department, but I quickly learned that EVERYONE has an odd chaotic lesson, or a challenging parent, and sharing this at break times helped me learn coping strategies and I found it easier to 'let it go' at the end of the day, rather than take it personally. Also, for some subject knowledge questions, it's far quicker and easier to ask someone at break rather than research or try and figure out the answer alone - even experienced teachers sometimes have to think about A level questions!
ECT work - Set aside one hour a week of your in-school timetable dedicated to ECT work. And stick to it. It's very easy to let this slide when you have lessons to plan, tests to mark and parents to email, but it's a slippery slope if you get behind. Doing it in school gives you a cut-off time before the next lesson and you’ll get it done quicker. It may seem like a waste of time at first but be open to more efficient ways of working and it will save you hours of work in the long term by improving your practice.
Environment - Think about where you're working on a task - I love my department, they’re like a second family, but I know I will be able to mark twice as many papers in a quiet classroom or corner compared to in the office when everyone’s on PPA.
Hours - Give yourself a cut-off time at the end of the day and think realistically about how many hours a week you are working. Everyone will have a different working routine but everyone needs a break too. I find it’s helpful to actually write in my evening/weekend activities, the stuff I do for me, in my teacher planner, so that I actually do it, and I have to fit work in around it, not the other way around! You will be far more valuable to your classes the next day if you have had a good sleep and something to eat (even with a very sparse lesson planned) than if you have stayed up all night planning. Similarly, on a 5-period day, allow yourself at least a proper break time and a fairly free lunch. Physically remove yourself from your laptop and get a cuppa, have a chat with a colleague or go for walk. Emails can wait. You will be glad of this by the time Period 5 comes around.
September nerves - Lastly, the biggest shock to the system is September as a new teacher (or quite possibly any teacher?!). Make some time to just be in your classroom(s) before the students descend. I personalised my room with some maths bunting and organised the stationary cupboard. This seems like a small thing, but having a sense of place helped me visualise teaching and took off some of the pre-performance nerves.
Be prepared with behaviour management strategies and how you’re going to set expectations and embed routines but don't spend all summer planning perfect lessons in minute detail for the whole first half term. I was told this and yet I still spent well over a week planning lessons for classes I’d never met because I thought I’d be getting ahead. I scrapped and re-planned these as soon as I met my classes. I know it feels like you’re about to go white water rafting without a kayak, but a lesson will take three times as long to plan when you don’t know the class. Have a few, flexible activities prepared that have a focus on getting to know your classes, but don’t go overboard. Your summer holiday is far better spent relaxing, recharging and preparing yourself mentally for the task to come.
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Missing My Stop
A guest blog by Abigail Gray.
In my second year of Deputy Headship, on the first day of the Easter Holidays, I found a lump in my daughter’s left thigh. She was 4 years old. In the days that followed, after a succession of hospital visits, scans and a biopsy we would discover that it was malignant.
I was sitting on my bed at home when I took the consultants call. I watched my reflection change in the wardrobe mirror as he spoke. It was one of those grey days in Spring, the sky had been threatening rain all morning. I remember looking around the room and feeling complete confusion, how could everything look the same and be so different?
I’d love to say that what happened next was a blur but it’s not. The memories are chiselled into me. From the moment I put down the phone I experienced a kind of separation, two parallel reactions: one internal and one external. She was in the next room recovering from the operation. I had to get on with the day, dress her, make lunch, we had to get to the hospital and of course I’d have to call her father and then my parents to break the news. I chose to swallow the shock, my tears and save the anguish until later.
Growing up in Bermondsey had taught me that there were few qualities prized more highly than resilience and discretion, especially amongst women. My grandmother was the wife of a docker who raised 6 children in a council flat; she survived war, poverty and breast cancer. She was a stoic, with beautifully set hair and quiet authority. The astonishing women who raised me endured their generous helping of suffering in quiet dignity. How could I be any different?
At work I’d witnessed desperate things. I’d worked with terminally ill children, children abused and abusers, children looked after who most certainly had not been ‘looked after’, children who had slipped through all the massive holes in all the nets to find themselves without options, hope or indeed literacy. Consequently, I found almost no space for my own anger or grief about my daughter’s illness. I couldn’t let myself feel it. I couldn’t ask for help. In fact, I used my work to avoid it.
Not for the first time, as work had long been a refuge from the acute anxiety that had plagued me from infancy. It was easy to translate this into a positive, this ‘work ethic’ had taken me from TA to Deputy Headship in less than 10 years. There were so many great names for it. People talked about my passion & drive, my focus & commitment. The fact was work was my Prozac. It was my salvation. Not the kind of salvation that comes in a haze of warm light and brings peace but the kind that keeps you fighting another day, crawling along, like the last zombie in the movie.
I found the daunting thing about childhood cancer was not just finding a way through the actual illness but finding a way to live in the spaces between. Watching and waiting was such a big part of those early years. Every childhood scrape and illness promoted a deep-seated anxiety in me. In those moments, I often felt completely alone and crushed by the responsibility. I don’t think I realised how much energy it took to reconcile my love of being a mum and the ever present, doom-laden presence of ‘the cancer’.
As my blood pressure started to rise, I took the medication and changed nothing. I buried myself in work all day. In the evening I’d be with my daughter, lay next to her each night and stroke her head until she was asleep. Afterwards, I’d pour myself a pretty huge glass of wine, cry and write.
I actually wanted the people around me to think I was coping. I was convinced that the satisfaction of doing right by them would ultimately sustain me. I believed that I’d make it to the other side. When, in fact, there was no other side.
10 years later I hit the wall with literally nothing left in the tank. Shredded, sleepless and exhausted while being paid the highest salary of my life in a job I thought I loved. The realisation was sudden, like looking up from your book on a train journey and realising you missed your stop. What else is there to do but get off?
It wasn’t therapy that helped me, it was habit change. I was forced to acknowledge my needs and attend to them. More than anything, I just needed to sleep. After that I took the revolutionary step of describing what I wanted my life to look like. Then it was just planning how to get there. Personal and professional goals intertwined for the first time.
I realise now that there are different kinds of courage. Just because you have one kind doesn’t mean you have another. I was afraid to imagine what I really wanted, to listen to myself, to say no, to ask for help. It’s my daily challenge, a habit that I practice. Like Adriene Mishler says at the beginning of her yoga classes, ‘The hardest part is showing up.’
Postscript
I’m very happy to report that my daughter is now 23 and overseas, embarking on the next exciting stage of her life. I am deeply and daily grateful to be her mum. She is phenomenal. We are, of course, forever indebted to the wonderful doctors and nurses at both Guy’s and The Royal Marsden Hospitals.
My heart goes out to all the mums and dads that face into this struggle, I wish you all the love and strength in the world.
Leadership Unmasked
A guest blog by Aurora Reid.
It’s time I wrote about my own mental health…. Actually, I started this blog in December so it’s really time I did. I wrote those first words at the end of a dark rainy term in London and I finish it in sunny June in a very different emotional state. I have made choices, to move on from settings and roles that don’t serve me and prioritise my own wellbeing. Nonetheless, the same question is still permeating. How do I express my own vulnerability as a leader, whilst keeping myself and others safe? How do I talk about my mental health in a way that frees others and doesn’t set unrealistic standards but doesn’t get me labelled as weak, lacking resilience or ineffective in some way?
Having taken a year out to prioritise my physical and mental health, 6am rainy starts out of Waterloo station and days of running (again) from meetings to class to duties to paperwork to conversations with families or training for staff and then home again (in the dark) came as a real shock. My alarm system flares up. Sometimes I can’t sleep, sometimes I can’t get up, sometimes I can’t stop thinking, sometimes I can’t stop crying, sometimes I don’t have any motivation to do anything at all except look and my phone and eat junk. There’s plenty of labels you could put on me and yes, I definitely need support in these low moments but ultimately it’s not my system that’s broken. I am having a perfectly health response to a dysfunctional education system and world.
It feels as though staff and students are more dysregulated than ever. School refusal, teacher attrition and mental health rates are through the roof. The response? More pressure, both from below and above. Everyone seems stretched to breaking point. This affects me, no matter how much meditation I do or books I write on the subject, I am first and foremost human. The research on interpersonal resonance and coregulation confirms what I know instinctively. That is, if I am in an unhealthy environment, I will feel ill.
Before I would’ve masked it, “put a brave face on” to “stay professional” but having written a book positing a mindful approach leadership, that recognises our limits as leaders, I feel a duty to talk about it. With my teams and more publicly. How else are we going to destigmatise mental ill health? How will we be able to recognise our ups and down as normal or feel permission to ask for help when we need it, if it’s not modelled? If people don’t first tread the path for us?
But as a leader it is really freaking scary. We are supposed to be the container, to have broad shoulders, to be able to hold people and so if we signal to the teams that we lead that we are not okay won’t they feel deeply unsafe themselves? Perhaps. It depends on the culture you have in your organisation. There are plenty of environments where it’s not completely safe to be vulnerable (in fact the internet where this blog is going not least). Nonetheless, it will take people speaking out to change those cultures. In fact, to paraphrase Margaret Mead, that’s the only thing that ever will.
Yes, some bosses will see you as weak and yes, some insecure members of the team may feel at sea if you are not completely solid, one hundred percent of the time. However, if you don’t make space for yourself now it will be a hell of a lot worse later down the line. What is more, for most, demystifying yourself as a leader actually makes you more approachable and the path to leadership look more attainable (because people see that you are not superhuman). Perhaps, most of all though, by modelling self-knowledge and self-care you make space for others to do so for themselves. In time hopefully this will lead to the kind of culture change that means that not so many people will need to break in the first place. If we were to start from a place of true inclusion, one in which we prioritise making our schools emotionally healthy places where everyone (including staff, including leaders) can break a little when they need too, then no one will ever have to truly break.
Learning to Unlearn
This blog is reproduced here with permission.
Written by Aini Butt on her blog Aini's Reflections on 9th June 2022.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” my friend laughed.
It had been a painstakingly slow start to another piece of art as I had spent over an hour calculating where each letter of the Quranic quote would start and end. Anything less than perfect wouldn’t be right, I kept telling myself every time I had to start all over again. This was my first attempt at Arabic calligraphy on a large canvas and I couldn’t let myself down. During the several hours working on the art, I kept coming back to the question, “Why do you do this to yourself?” This suggests that it is my choice and within my control to change this thought that anything less than perfect would not be acceptable. If this were to be true then surely it is just a matter of unlearning this belief?One thought led to another; a reflective process was set in motion.
Like a mirror that reflects everything, the inner reflection exposed parts of me that I have been trying to filter out. One of the most important and most difficult things to accept was how control and emotional manipulation had changed the younger me and her perspective on life and what success truly meant. If this were the case than ‘finding myself’ was not going to be about return to who I was before. It would require a deeper exploration of the emotions to understand the values and core beliefs underpinning those thoughts and behaviours that allowed me to stay in a place where I had lost myself. Therefore, it was not about learning new ways of life, but recognising those beliefs and habits that I would have to unlearn to be at peace with myself and finally living my motto to ‘Bloom Unapologetically’.
As I learnt at the beginning of my reflective writing journey two years ago, unconditional loyalty and blind love were one of the core beliefs that did not serve me well for almost fifteen years. Slowly unpicking where and when this belief had been ingrained and became a core value, I realised that this was just the tip of the iceberg of generational curses. We are often brought up with set of core values. Some are taught verbally and silently reinforced through the witnessing and practising of daily habits while some are formed as result of a lived experience.
One habit that I am slowly learning to change and avail to my advantage rather than letting it become a self-sabotaging behaviour is ‘over-thinking’. To this day, I do not like to call anyone (or myself) an overthinker as it has such negative connotations. It was after a chat with a friend who was struggling with ‘over-thinking’ that I started digging deeper. I have often beaten myself up for being an “over-thinker” and I have played conversations and situations over and over again in my head until I could picture the catastrophised version. I was taught to always think of the best and worst outcome as it would allow me to make informed decisions, which served me well for several years. However, this same habit ended up feeding the distorted reality following on from living with coercive control and emotional manipulation for over a decade. Where I had silenced my inner voice for so long, having the ability to listen to my thoughts and feelings without distortion gave me a new sense of freedom.
However, I had to attune my listening skills and adapt by unlearning the habit of thinking of every possible (often disastrous) scenario. Although unlearning of habits ingrained over the years does not happen overnight, it was nothing short of an epiphany when I was able to recognise its origin. It was during one of my ‘over-thinking’ cycles, which I prefer to call self-reflections, that it finally hit me! Visualising the catastrophised outcomes allowed me to create a mental and emotional comfort zone with boundaries to safeguard me from further harm. Recognising the hold my past had over my present was painful, but ‘These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.” Rumi’s pearls of wisdom had never made more sense than today when I could feel the pain and its hidden message: forgive yourself! Forgive yourself for those habits that were merely a survival mechanism- your mind and heart’s attempt at safeguarding you at all cost.
The truth was that the emotions were merely a messenger and it became even harder when the emotions were in direct conflict with each other. If I didn’t want to continue living my life in survival mode, I had no other option than to unlearn this habit.
Almost two years on and it has been a journey far from easy and I now accept that I will be a work in progress for as long as I continue to strive for a better version of myself.
Teaching with my eyes shut
A guest blog by Sarah Ruse – Eyes Shut Teacher @eyesshutteacher.
I’ve been teaching in Scotland for over 12 years now having changed career in my 40s. I’m not an expert but I do have some experience. I have worked in schools with rolls of 15-400+. I’ve taught composites, multi composites, NCCT, probationer & PT cover, job share, full time and part time. Like everyone else I’ve had a wide range of additional needs to include. I’m not teaching with my eyes shut because it’s easy for me, although there are some shortcuts that I‘ve discovered and am happy to share.
I’m also not teaching with my eyes shut because I want to ignore what’s happening and I’ve had enough of teaching. I care deeply about what happens in my classroom and how my learners are impacted by it. I’ve spent a lot of time and effort building my teaching toolbox, researching effective methods and increasing my understanding to support for pupils experiencing barriers to their learning. I endeavour to run a kind and nurturing classroom where all can flourish. However my focus is classroom work, I have no aspiration to lead although I support my SLT as much as I can (see teamwork below).
Teaching with my eyes shut came to me late on a damp Saturday afternoon. We’d finished the chores and put on an action movie. I thought it looked interesting at first but they all merge into one after a while so I started scrolling through my social media whilst keeping one eye on the movie. The main character went off to see his martial arts guru and was advised that he should practice with his eyes shut to find his focus, sensitivity, balance and timing. The penny dropped.
This is exactly how I feel about my teaching. It’s how I’ve been trying to explain my teaching practice for the last few years. As I’ve mentored the student teachers who have come through my class I’ve tried to explain to them the importance of the split seconds when we stop and decide how to act. Does this child need me to go loud or quiet? What do the children watching need to see and feel? How do I make everyone in this room understand what went on? Teaching is unusual in that it is both a science and an art and timing is absolutely everything.
As the adult in the room it is my responsibility to self regulate and demonstrate appropriate responses. In that nanosecond that I take a deep breath, blink and select a response I’m running on my learning, experience and knowledge. It relies on me knowing that that behaviour isn’t personal, I’m just the nearest adult.
Choosing that response depends on many factors, but primarily it’s about self care. I cannot respond appropriately if stressed, tired and overworked. I rarely take work home and prioritise ruthlessly. I need evenings and weekends to reflect and process. I also try to walk every lunchtime as it allows me to see the bigger picture. Some might feel it’s a waste of time but I find it gives me headspace and makes me more productive.
For me to keep my pupils positive I have to remain positive. I absolutely love my job (although I know it would take every hour of the week if I let it). I like going to work on Monday and look forward to my week. I enjoy my weekends and holidays but I’m not wishing away my life counting down to them. I know this job is tiring but there are ways to reduce that and grumbling about it isn’t one of them.
Most of all teaching is a team sport. Asking for advice and support is a strength not a weakness. My colleagues and I listen to each other, gripe, share resources, problems and successes and make each other laugh at some of the ridiculous situations we find ourselves in. Most importantly they tell me when I’ve done as much as I can and when I need to accept I can’t fix everything.
So I’ve set up @eyesshutteacher on Twitter to share some positivity, laughter, time saving tips, offer advice, encourage self care and hopefully make you reflect on your teaching practice to find your focus, sensitivity, balance and timing.
Hopefully I’ll see you around 😊
Fatherhood and the Struggles of Teaching
This blog is reproduced here with permission.
Written by Michael Nott @MrNott117 on his blog stealingbiscuitsiswrong? on 26th April 2022.
Monday morning is always the hardest.
I sit on my 7am train bleary eyed, looking at photographs of my son from the weekend just gone. I think about how I won’t get to see him again for another 12 hours and all the little laughs and smiles that I will miss along the way.
I’ve got an SLT meeting first thing, then Year 11 twice and then Year 10 and then a line management meeting, and then finally another SLT meeting before wearily I’ll board the train back home.
Becoming a dad for the first time has been fantastic, but it has also led me to feeling much more stressed about work than I was previously. In fact, the last time I found myself feeling this anxious about work was in those first two years of my Teach First placement, when children were setting fire to the carpet in my classroom and chairs were being flung across my desk. Fatherhood has made it a real struggle to juggle being on top of my workload and being a visible and supportive senior leader at school.
Everything about fatherhood is new to me, on the day my son was born my life changed forever. Suddenly, I was responsible for this very tiny thing, in the blink of an eye, someone else became the centre of my universe.
A lot has been written on social media recently about why we choose to teach. I hate the idea that the job is a vocation, as typically I’ve seen this ideology used as a way of launching initiatives that are crippling and unsustainable. But right now, my reason for being a teacher is purely down to the fact that I need to support my family financially. I still believe in the transformative power of education. But really, in the here and now, my family is my priority, nothing else.
However, that line of thinking is not without its consequences. I am constantly overcome with a tremendous sense of guilt. Should I have left work at 4pm this week, so I could get back in the light and go for a walk with my son and girlfriend? But how will I catch up on my mock marking if I do? Can I really justify not coming in during the holidays for a revision class? This guilt is then matched with a sense that I’m failing as a father. That I’m missing out on these moments with my son, that I will never get back. I ask myself; will I miss his first words or his first steps because I’m in a department meeting?
Ultimately, this guilt has led me to ask myself, whether it’s possible to be a good father and a good teacher/senior leader? And I’m not alone, Dr Emma Kell’s study into the impact of parenthood on teaching found that 40% of men reported a deterioration in their performance after becoming a father.
Teaching is a very inflexible profession. We all have timetables that we must follow every day, and that’s fair enough, I’m not asking to teach my Year 10 class from my living room, but are there other ways in which we could be more flexible? Because right now it feels as though the rigidity of the teaching profession is setting up parents to fail, either at home, or in the classroom.
Yes, we have a lot of holidays, but I’m sure that I’m not alone, when I say that I’d gladly swap some of that time, for a more flexible attitude to work and home life.
So, what can we do to bridge those gaps and make the profession more parent friendly?
Firstly, it is imperative that we allow parents to spend time with their families. I was entitled to 10 days paid paternity leave as a new father, which is quite frankly insulting. Those first 10 days were a chaotic blur of sleepless nights and days spent in pyjamas, whilst stuck in the perpetual motion of changing nappies. Those first 10 days should just be a given. The idea that after 10 measly days I was expected to come back to work as though nothing had ever happened is laughable. Nothing maintains toxic gender norms like telling the father he must go to work and provide, whilst the mother stays home and looks after the baby and the United Kingdom is some way behind countries like Spain, France, Bulgaria, and Sweden, when it comes to paternity leave. Spain offers fathers 16 weeks paid paternity leave, whilst France offers 28 days.
Secondly, schools need to be more flexible when it comes to how operations, particularly meetings run. Why do I need to be in the school building for meetings that could take place virtually? If people want to, let them go home for these sessions. Let them wear tracksuit bottoms and have a cup of tea, whilst they sit on their sofa. The notion that we must be in the building we work in to be productive is antiquated and quite frankly insulting. This same idea also extends to parents evening. I see very little reason as to why these cannot continue to be virtual.
Finally, allow staff time off in the school day. Obviously, you cannot frequently request time off when you are teaching. But ensuring staff can go to events that are important to them, can only be a good thing for wellbeing and morale. This flexibility should also extend, where appropriate to working hours. Does any meeting really need to happen before 8am or after 5pm?
For too long the teaching profession has not put its staff and their lives first. A chocolate bar in a pigeonhole or a pastry in the staff room is meaningless if you are stopping staff from spending precious time with their families. Teaching is not a particularly appealing career right now, we are once again in the midst of another recruitment crisis with 91% of teachers reporting that the job has had a negative impact on their mental health in the last 12 months, and with so many other professions embracing changes in the wake of working from home, I believe it is time the teaching profession finally started too.
The Greed Behind Starvation
A guest blog by Mae, aged 16.
The female body; a beautiful, life-creating hub of a soul, made to seem disgusting by male-run corporations pushing laxatives, vitamins and fat-free yoghurt promoted by women with the money to burn their fat away, whilst telling impoverished women that skinniness can be achieved by “working hard” an idea that the Beverly Hills, Daddy’s Money, “self-made” millionaires could never grasp.
Weight fluctuates from person to person, day to day, but the idea that female bodies have to be one or the other, skinny or fat, a man’s “type”, or worthless haunts women at every turn. And they know. The corporations know. They buy companies known for low-fat, low calorie products, and advertise them purely through misogyny. The demonisation of calories sends people down paths to get their eventual intake lower. And lower. And lower. And even lower until there is barely a meal perched on their plate. Just an empty, tasteless dish created by “experts” who know nothing but profit. Nothing but gaining more and more money while giving women less and less mass. less self worth. Less love between them and the women they feel “lack the discipline” to be thin.
This greed creates a rift between women and that’s what they want. With no other people to reassure you, you turn to the people you are told to listen to. The men. The people who give your life worth, yet make you feel scared to walk down the street. The people who tell you your body shouldn’t be a struggle, yet holler at you for strutting down streets in a summer dress. The idea that women could ever “give up” worrying about our bodies, when every single time we step outside, we are reminded that our bodies are seen as currency by men. The men that stare us down, rate our looks online and bully women with physical disabilities because they know they can never achieve the “perfect” body. Because it doesn’t exist.
For every woman’s body, there are ten men willing to objectify it. Willing to laugh at stretch marks that they would’ve given their own mothers while growing inside them. And even when they try to engage in body positivity, what do they do? They fetishise us. They don’t see chubby women as women, they still see us as fertilisable objects. They can’t fathom the idea of us having aspirations outside of being so physically weak from starving ourselves in a socially acceptable way, and psychologically weak in a patriarchally acceptable way. Giving up our dreams for a man to love us, only to leave after our bodies change post-pregnancy.
A stupid walk for my stupid mental health
A guest blog written by Emily Ashton @Emilyjashton.
It’s a lovely misty morning, warm enough for a light jacket and I am going for a short walk before work, as I do most mornings. The idea of going for a walk makes me think of someone casually strolling along, a gentle smile on their lips, relaxed hands in pockets, possibly sipping tea from a reusable cup...
This morning I start off listening to the end of a podcast I started yesterday, about organising my kitchen. I think I have ADHD, but it doesn’t stop me obsessing over the idea that somehow I can fix the clutter by just trying another organisation strategy. But that’s another issue.
Anyway, I listen to the lovely Southern American twang of the speaker who is very non- judgemental and kind about the state of the listener’s cluttered Tupperware drawer. I walk alongside the traffic resisting turning up the volume because it’s bad for my hearing. Out of the corner of my eye there is a young girl, maybe 9 (?) she is wearing Angus Young grey school shorts and is scooting down the path. She catches my eye, gives a really genuine smile as I pass and I start thinking about my daughter and how I hope she is that sweet and cool (the shorts) one day.
I turn left up the narrow snicket (I think its also called an alley, ginnel, path depending where in the country you are from) away from the morning traffic on the road to town. This is in no way a dingy or remotely creepy alley, so I definitely wouldn’t call it an alley. More like a path, anyway, semantics. It is straight out of English country garden-type charm. In fact at one point there is a hanging wisteria or something branching out between the walled gardens either side. Bit different to the ones in Bradford where I grew up. Those were definitely snickets and you didn’t have headphones on walking there, just as a point of safety.
Anyway, I reach the end of the path, podcast still discussing the best way to organise Tupperware (FYI it’s using a drawer instead of a cupboard, which I do, so I feel a bit smug). Over the road and down a private road with massive and gorgeous houses either side. Did I mention I live somewhere really frikking beautiful? There is a house at the end of the road, just on the left that is old. It is higgledy piggledy and has all of those tudor beams but at odd angles and it looks as though it has about 20 ghosts. There is a hot tub in the garden. I cross the final lane and into the place I aim for every time I go for a walk. There is woodland to my right and straight ahead is a view across to Bedfordshire. It is in a very small way, like being home. My own piece of copycat Yorkshire down here. It feels like space and air and breathing. I look out over towards the horizon as I do every day and inhale. My podcast ends and instead of starting a new one I decide to pocket my earbuds and try to walk back without any distractions.
There is a lady out walking her dogs, she has three and they look well trained and healthy. She has a whistle around her neck and I have full confidence in her ability to manage them. So does she, she is relaxed and aware of the surroundings. When one of the bolder dogs growls at another passing pup, she immediately but calmly responds with a whistle and a call diverting all three away from the scene with apparent ease. To me, someone who has never had a dog and has a healthy respect for them (read: I’m a bit scared) this is super impressive. She has likely never considered how easy it is for her. The lanyard and whistle suggests that she either works with dogs or trains them and clearly if I asked her or told her how impressive it was she would think I was weird. I have a tendency to gush at people when I am impressed. It’s usually a bit embarrassing.
I’ve reached the end of the open space now and am heading through another snicket towards another row of houses which curves around to meet the private road again so I can head back home. I start thinking about what to write when I get back and think about the girl on the scooter or the lady with the dogs and how I can formulate some kind of life lesson from them. Maybe I could write about overwhelm, maybe I could not write at all and tidy the kitchen or paint my daughter’s bedroom. ,I feel my heart beat in my chest and start to sense that familiar tightening when there is not a next right answer. Perhaps I could read my book or clear my work inbox or plan for the meeting this afternoon. What problems do I need to solve? How can I make the biggest difference? How am I feeling today? Should I do something for me? Is it time for some self-care? What even is self-care? I could write about that... I keep walking, and take a deep breath the small rational part of my brain desperately suggesting that I try some grounding techniques- what are they again?? erm what can I smell? Damp earth to my left and petrol fumes. Okay, I can see tree branches. Keep breathing, count the breaths.
I have reached the private road now and the thoughts have turned more critical. ‘God I can’t focus on anything for more than a second,’ how do I know which thing is the right one to do first?’ ‘Which should I prioritise?’ ‘How can I live in this mess and clutter?’. Maybe I should make a plan for what to clean on different day’, maybe I should organise the Tupperware drawer, maybe I should make a plan to support my daughter to be as confident as smiling scooter girl when she is 9. Should we get a dog? How about a horse?
I can see what is happening as its happening, its like one side of my brain is doing a massive eye roll at the other and being like ‘ here we go again, not going to get much done today are we?’ It starts to then feel like I can’t get a hold of the runaway train part of my brain, why can’t I control it? Heart is beating really fast now- remember you need to breathe, slow down the walking a bit you’re sort of walking weirdly fast. That thing yesterday what did it say, that other strategy? Okay so...
I take a deep breath and say to myself; in my head (I’m not that weird). ‘Even though I am all over the place right now, I accept myself fully.’
(God this is lame).
I repeat it again, maybe even close my eyes for a second. Thankfully the road is deserted.
Even though I am overwhelmed with simple choices right now I accept myself fully.
(I can hear the birds. It’s beautiful).
Even though I am thinking all the thoughts and winding myself up, I accept myself fully.
(I can feel my chest starting to relax, there has been some sort of release at the top just below my collarbones).
Even though it is going to be hard to focus on work today, I accept myself fully.
By the time I reach the pretty snicket again, my racing thoughts have calmed and I think oh, maybe I could write about this. This walk. The hanging lilac flowers come into view, they are just above head height and I hold one in my hand. Its velvety soft and smells so good. I wonder if I can grow one of those, maybe I should research planting a garden when I get home, maybe I could make the kids their own little patch. I should grow vegetables.
I smile to myself and carry on. Another little girl on another scooter across the road on her way to school. I smile again. My mind quiet. There was a point in my stupid walk I wondered if there was any point in doing this stupid walk.
I think I might have figured it out now.