I hate quitting, so it took me a long time to admit it was time for me to quit teaching.
I love being in the classroom - for the most part. There are always those days, but I love getting to talk about stuff I love all day; I love helping children and making safe spaces for them; I love coming up with new ways of approaching content. I throw my everything into making history and English interesting and engaging, and pushing students to challenge themselves and see the best in themselves.
It’s just everything else. In every school I’ve worked in, I’ve felt like I have been implicitly told that I am not and will never be good enough. My leaders would never say this to me. On the contrary, they’ve generally been quite positive about my work. But then there are the questions asked, about literacy levels, grades, feedback, differentiation, additional support. I could not switch off, even at weekends or in the holidays. If I did manage to put work to the side, it was only because I was so exhausted.
I have been lucky enough to never work in a toxic school. I’ve always had supportive leaders and faculty heads. My students have been generally no better or worse than any other school. But the nature of teaching means there’s not a lot of flexibility - if you have a class, you must be there. I can’t just renegotiate my work day because I have a to-do list piling up. I have tried to set boundaries - no work at home, at weekends or in the holidays. But they pretty quickly fall apart - a staff member is off sick so you have to sort cover or step in, a class isn’t getting a concept so you have to find ways to re-teach it, it’s lead-up to exam time and everything is due at once.
On top of this, promoted posts are increasingly hard to come by in Scotland, especially in rural areas. The faculty system means fewer promoted posts and the ones that do exist become difficult to manage as you try to juggle multiple subjects, only one of which you are likely qualified in. I am an ambitious and career-driven person, but living in the Highlands meant there were no promotions in either of my two closest schools. So I chose to take a job 60 miles away, commuting every day, in order to get leadership experience. I enjoyed the experience and think I did a half-decent job of it - but the extra income from being promoted only just covered my transport costs. The toll of three hours driving every day on winding country roads, on top of what felt like an endless workday, was huge.
Not that it’s much better in the Central Belt, where teachers finishing their probation can’t find permanent classroom roles and that same faculty system has reduced the range of department lead roles.
Covid was the lightbulb moment for me. Working from home was incredibly peaceful. It was difficult as online teaching is a different beast, but I didn’t have to “perform” live in front of classes. Our timetable was renegotiated so students and staff weren’t burned out. I had no commute. I had time and energy to work out and keep my house clean. I managed my workload better and got more of my job done within the workday than before. I had a work-life balance. This all fell apart when in-person teaching resumed. Not only did all the usual pressures return, but then came the dreaded Covid catch-up: constant demands for proof that students were catching up, even though we had very few extra resources - and certainly no extra time. That not-good-enough feeling was magnified tenfold.
But then a student would just get something I was trying to teach them - every teacher knows these lightbulb moments. Or I would have a joyful day of lessons where everything went to plan. But those moments started feeling fewer and further between, or just didn’t give me that sense of accomplishment anymore.
I figured maybe it was just this job - in a lovely school, with small class sizes and sweet kids, but with a killer commute and faculty head responsibilities. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for being a manager. But when I contemplated trying to get a classroom teaching job closer to home (not that there are any), I was overwhelmed with panic that it wouldn’t get any better. So, a year ago I started applying for any job with a salary comparable to a classroom teacher that I could do from home or nearby. The relief of knowing the term up to October 2022 would be my last term was immense: no commute, no unpaid overtime, no weight of children’s futures on my conscience.
I realise that a lot of the above is tied to who I am as a person. There are teachers who can set those boundaries, who don’t hold themselves up to unattainable standards; I’ve just never figured out how to do it. However, the huge number of teachers who contacted me with their own struggles tells me that such problems are in no way unique to me.
I may come back to teaching someday, but a lot of the above will have to change. My students kept making jokes about how I’d be glad to be rid of them, but not seeing them will be the worst part - they really are the best part of the job.
Caitlin McIntosh was a faculty head at a secondary school in Scotland until October 2022 and now works as a civil servant
