A couple of years ago, I had a virus that affected my upper respiratory tract. I felt dreadful, but didn’t stay off work because I had a social engagement towards the end of the week. 

By the weekend, it had got so bad that both my eardrums perforated and my hearing was badly affected for months. For the first few weeks, I could barely hear at all, which was terrifying. I ended up having to take four weeks off, and I swore that I would never push myself like that again. 

During lockdown, like many teachers, I continued to work hard (because schools didn’t close), but it was a different kind of work. I was on a rota, so I had more time to think. I realised that I still felt completely exhausted and achy, despite fewer physical demands on me. 

I phoned the doctor, had a blood test, and finally got an answer. I have hypothyroidism. Now a little pill has magically made everything better - gone are the brain fog and myriad of other nasty symptoms. I have energy again. 

The teaching hamster wheel

Although I was clearly overjoyed that I felt better after such a long time, I realised that it had happened again: I had put my work first. Not intentionally, but by just carrying on I’d allowed my work to be all-encompassing at a cost to my health. I had overlooked or made excuses for the way I’d been feeling. 

Teaching can sometimes be like being on a hamster wheel - we get so caught up in keeping going, it’s difficult to stop and check in with ourselves.

Ten years ago, my dad died after a sudden and short illness. I was devastated, and spent the next two years catching every virus going. I hardly had any time off - even when I had glandular fever (and was so delirious at one point I couldn’t remember how to get out of the school library and had to phone down to the office for help). 

The reason for soldiering on? I felt guilty having had time off to help care for my dad. I’m not alone in this. Many, many teachers turn up to school when they are obviously ill, because they feel guilty about staying off, or it just seems easier somehow to go into school.

Taking responsibility for our own health

It could be argued that, ultimately, it’s the responsibility of headteachers to send home staff who are unwell, as they have a duty of care to their staff. 

However, clearly, every member of staff in school must take responsibility for their own health. If they are in work, it’s reasonable for headteachers to assume they are fit for work.

Last year, one of my well-meaning colleagues came in, like a hero: shivering, coughing and spluttering. A week or so later, I was fuming when I couldn’t go to the staff Christmas night out because I was full of cold. 

And now, of course, the stakes are much higher.

Calling all the heroes - stop! Your heroic act of turning up ill and struggling through the day might have dire consequences for you and your colleagues.

Are we martyrs? 

A good friend, and retired teacher, once gave me the best piece of professional advice I’ve ever had. She simply said that in work I am replaceable but to my family and friends, I’m irreplaceable. 

It’s absolutely true - a new teacher is always ready and waiting to step in to fill your shoes, but there is no one who can step in as mum/husband/daughter/brother, etc. We are unique and completely irreplaceable to our family and friends. 

I love my job and genuinely consider teaching to be the best job in the world, but it is just that - a job.

The worst advice given to teachers? A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others. I think I’d prefer to be like an aeroplane passenger: put your oxygen mask on first, so that you are then able to help others. What’s the point of burning out? Then you’re no good to anyone.

We need to look after ourselves…and our colleagues. If you notice someone isn’t well, tell them to go home. Yes, it’s a pain, especially if it’s nothing more than a sniffle. But what if it isn’t?

Of course, this has huge implications for headteachers managing staff absences, and may even result in schools having to be temporarily closed, in worst-case scenarios. But so what? 

The education of our children is absolutely vital - no one would argue against that. But each individual life of the people making that education happen is also vital. Are we really to be martyrs?

There are so many challenges we’re already facing: infected people presenting with no symptoms, the number of pupils in a room, poor ventilation, battles over face masks. Let’s not add to that by trying to soldier on. We can be heroes just by staying at home.

Laura Baxter is a curriculum leader at a primary school in Birkenhead