It’s the week before the May half-term and I am nearing the end of another 10-hour day. The headteacher has dropped into my lesson – “I know you’re busy, but…” – and plonked a pile of CVs on my desk in the hope we can appoint a new teacher to start after the holiday.
The joys of being head of faculty – a member of staff is starting her maternity leave and, even though we have known she was pregnant for months and despite my repeated requests, no advert has gone out to replace her. The head forgot to do anything until it was urgent and we had to contact supply agencies last-minute.
It’s a frustrating situation that is no doubt horribly familiar to many middle leaders across the country. But it’s made even worse because that pregnant teacher is me, and this is more than I thought I would be dealing with four weeks away from the birth of my child. OK, the second in department had been roped in to cover my leadership responsibility, but no thought had been given as to who would teach my classes. It was only my reminder to request the CVs from the agency that meant we even had them.
Amid what many consider a family-friendly profession, this was my first glimpse of how badly maternity leave can be managed in schools. But it was by no means the last.
Fast forward a few months: school is back in full flow and I’m into the swing of motherhood. Just. I have slept for more than three hours a few times and am starting to feel like a person again. My husband has agreed to take our son out for a walk so I can have a couple hours to myself for the first time in weeks. All the things I could do float through my head: a long hot bath, read a book, lie on the sofa and appreciate the quiet. Sadly these are all a no-go as the main reason we’ve had to divide and conquer is that I need to write my appraisal review for my pay progression meeting.
I hadn’t anticipated having to attend an appraisal meeting while on leave, but last year a number of staff failed to get their pay progression because they missed the September deadline, so I emailed the head to check. It was clear from her response that I was expected to do it like everyone else. I didn’t even try to argue that I was on leave – I was too worried it would jeopardise my chances. I could have done it by phone, but when I tried to organise it the head didn’t get back to me. I didn’t push it – I thought I might have to argue my case, which is always easier in person.
I spent a couple of hours collating the evidence and sending it over as soon as possible. This – plus a two-hour trip to school and on top of the hours of work I had done while on leave before the baby was born – made me realise teaching is becoming the job that never stops (even when you’re down to statutory maternity pay).
I can’t help but feel massively resentful. I was powerless to refuse to do it because we need the money. The maternity pay package in teaching is not as good as people might think – I don’t know anyone who has managed to take a full year off. The pay progression meant I might just be able to, and could mean the difference between returning to work on three days a week rather than four.
With the email sent, I awaited a response as to how the meeting would take place. It went like this: I met with the head while bouncing on the spot for half an hour, with my baby strapped to my chest. She didn’t bat an eyelid – it was like this was totally normal. To be fair, she offered me a seat but I couldn’t sit down for fear my son would wake up. We went through my notes. The head told me you could really tell the difference between my review, written by someone who had time to spend on it, and those of my colleagues, who were too busy teaching to give it the same level of thought and attention.
I was completely taken aback. She clearly had no concept that I was looking after a newborn 24 hours a day – working longer hours on this than my colleagues were in school. The utter lack of understanding or empathy for what it had taken for me not just to write the review but to have made it to the meeting on time and without any baby sick on me, shocked me.
Incidentally, it wasn’t just the head who seemed to think maternity leave was just a nice break from teaching. A colleague had emailed me while I was on leave and signed it off with the hope that I am enjoying the “rest”. I couldn’t find the words to respond (none that were appropriate, anyway).
The parting goodbye at my appraisal really sealed its fate. The head told me a useful story about a friend who had returned to work when her children were three months old – she was a middle leader too.
The fact that my colleagues (junior and senior) consider my maternity leave as nothing more than a nice break, to be dropped when you needed to answer emails or be in school, typifies the expectation that teaching becomes your life above all else. Despite the fact we’re looking after other people’s children, day in day out, it’s not a family-friendly profession.
The head genuinely believed that I would want to be there, that I would want to do my appraisal and that I would put these things before my family. More frighteningly, she also believed that that was OK. And as I stood bouncing my son, thinking of all the fun things we could have been doing, I realised that it was up to me to take charge of my own maternity leave, because no one else would. I swore I wouldn’t be back in school until my maternity leave was over. After all, I needed to enjoy the “rest”.
