Any teacher knows that relationships, which form the tapestry of life in schools, can be forged in unexpected places. In the most hideously dark and stressful of weeks, a surprise bunch of daffodils from a grateful colleague can provide a chink of light. A joke in the staffroom, anonymous chocolate in a pigeonhole, a student unexpectedly reaching out to support another, that day I let students cut my hair for charity…

Yesterday, I sent for three Year 11 students. “It’s OK! You’re not in trouble,” the note said. Nevertheless, they looked nervous on arriving at my office. “I’ve called you here to say thank you,” I told them. Not as your teacher, but as one human to another - as a daughter. Thank you for inspiring my Mum. Thank you for showing her why, for all the challenges, the exhaustion and the sleepless nights before inspections, I love my job.

These three were among the 30 students who came to support me at the launch of my new book on surviving in teaching. These three had joined the researchers and educators lining the hallway to share their own talents: extracts from their novels and samples of their poems.

A teacher remembers

Mum and Dad were there, too. Mum had been waylaid by a series of bugs, so travelling one-and-a-half hours through London traffic was a big deal. This was her first visit to my school.

When I first started teaching in London, she visited the Camden school where I was based. “I saw the barbed wire and I cried at the thought of you working there,” she admitted several months later. “You are taking it easy, aren’t you?” Mum has asked me at least once a week for the last 20 years. Ahem…

I’m not sure what Mum was expecting, but I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t have anticipated the impact she’d end up having on those three students - an impact that I am convinced they will carry with them for life. Not only did she read their work, but she also annotated it, called me to discuss it and sent them each individualised feedback. She commented on the freshness and grace of their writing, she compared them to Nabakov and Conrad. She told them she’d be watching their progress and that, whatever they do, they mustn’t stop writing.

February is set to be a dark and demanding month for Year 11. Mum’s feedback provided a much-needed dose of confidence and should fuel their creativity for years to come. As to me, I know that for all that I will continue to worry my parents just as much as I did when a teenager, they truly understand why I consider myself lucky to do the job I do.

Emma Kell is a secondary teacher in North-East London and author of How to Survive in Teaching

Want to keep up with the latest education news and opinion? Follow Tes on Twitter and Instagram, and like Tes on Facebook