Teaching is a ‘leaky job’; a ‘hungry job’; a job that requires ‘ruthless compartmentalisation’ if it’s not to bleed into all elements of life. These are some of the descriptions that appear in my book, How to Survive in Teaching. I love telling people I’m a teacher. I glow with pride at every opportunity I get to share my vocation with others. But I’m aware that, as a breed, we are rather far from perfect. And what I call ‘martyr syndrome’ is a very common problem, often sitting alongside the scourges of guilt and perfectionism and in school cultures where it’s not kept in check, leading to presenteeism and dangerous levels of over-work.

I’ve come to be wary of the word ‘advice’ – a word which is often associated with my writing. Beware those who preach wellbeing, as I have written many a time, because it’s more than likely because they know what it is to lose a sense of balance and perspective. I don’t get it right all of the time. I am guilty of spending Saturdays worrying about how to crack the perfect tense in French with Year 11 (again!) or spending sleepless nights on the latest CP issue or bending the ear of friends late into Saturday night about the latest bit of work politics which is eating at me.

So I’m giving myself a bit of a pat on the back after this week, because, if I say so myself, I’ve done rather well. Saturdays have been declared a work-free zone. No worrying about the kids’ homework, no opening work email, no gentle fiddling with the departmental action plan. This sunny Sunday, rather than becoming increasingly grumpy as a try to learn to iron for the first time in 44 years (darned secondary school shirts!) and embellish the departmental bulletin repeatedly, we broke free and spent the day in the sunshine. Only at 7 p.m did I sit to consider the week ahead – and there will still be time for bedtime stories; mine and the children’s.

The tough reality is this: I have learned (and re-learn at regular intervals through the school year) that I simply can’t be the friend those loyal to me deserve; the wife my husband needs me to be; and the best version of my mother-self without un-synching the work email and closing the laptop and giving them, not 20% of my attention, but all of it. To sit and watch (actually watch!) a whole film with the family is a rare and special thing, and something that there needs to be more of. To actually engage with my child’s homework; to wave my husband off on his latest overseas trip without a lesson plan between us; to take time to work through the latest adolescent strop (can’t go over it, can’t go under it…); to splash around and howl with laughter in a swimming pool; to stand on the sidelines of my children's football matches and whoop and holler whilst 100% there; to cast of the cardigan and take a moment to relish the early autumn sunshine.

Humans first, teachers second, as the wise and wonderful Mary Myatt once wrote. Here comes another week. I’m genuinely refreshed, so bring it on. Being a martyr is a choice. If the context you’re working in demands unreasonable sacrifices, find another context. Happy Monday to you all.