For the first time in almost forty years, September has arrived and I haven’t been getting myself ready to go back to school.
Since I first walked through the doors as a tiny four-year-old, every September that followed has seen me preparing for a new academic year in one way or another. First as a pupil, then as a student and eventually as a teacher.
Except this one.
So this September was always going to feel a little unfamiliar and, if I’m honest, a little bittersweet.
There are parts of going back that I’ve missed. I always loved the excitement of preparing a classroom, getting everything ready and knowing that a completely new group of children were about to walk through the door. There was something about those first few days of a new school year that always felt full of possibility.
What I haven’t missed is everything that came alongside it.
The pressure. The relentlessness. The feeling that I was walking back into a new school year with targets already waiting for me, many of which seemed almost impossible to achieve regardless of how hard I worked.
This September feels lighter.
For most of my life, September has felt much more like New Year than January ever has. New routines, new stationery, new timetables and that sense that everything is starting again. I don’t think nearly forty years of that rhythm disappears just because I’ve changed careers, especially while I still have children heading back to school themselves.
So rather than trying to resist it, I’m finding myself using that familiar September feeling in a slightly different way.
I’m resetting our routines after summer, thinking again about how I look after myself and setting a few goals for the months ahead. The difference is that, this time, those goals aren’t attached to somebody else’s targets or another academic year.
They’re mine.
There’s something quite nice about being able to take the parts of September I’ve always loved – the fresh start, the sense of possibility, the chance to begin again – without carrying quite so much of the pressure that used to come with it.
After spending so long in education, I think I’m probably always going to be a teacher somewhere deep down. The rhythms and routines of school are too embedded in me to disappear completely and, actually, I’m not sure I want them to.
Teaching gave me a lot.
It gave me confidence in my ability to learn new things. It gave me a genuine love and respect for education and the belief that you’re never really finished learning. And perhaps most importantly now, it gave me enough confidence to try something completely different – and enough resilience to stick with it when being the beginner again felt uncomfortable.
So yes, it’s back-to-school season.
The uniforms are ready, the school bags are packed and my children are heading into another academic year.
But this time, I’m not going back with them.
And while that still feels a little strange, I think I’m beginning to quite like what September looks like from this side of the school gates.
