This aspect of the process was, for me, difficult and awkward. It had personal and emotional investments and repercussions and I felt uncomfortable about it. But working 300 miles away from where I was doing school run was impractical and frankly ridiculous, so handing in my notice was also a necessity. Forgive me for stating the bloody obvious.
I was walking away from a teaching job where I worked with young people with Social, Emotional and Mental Health needs, many of whom were in care. I cared so much about the impact my leaving would have on the young people, I lost sleep over it, lying awake night after night worrying about the instability it might bring about. I worried that they would hate me and feel let down, abandoned. Again, by yet another person who said they cared. But the concurrent reality of the job was that I was working more than 60 hours a week and my own children were losing out. My 12 year old son has autism and the impact of my long hours was negatively affecting him. Frequently my husband would open the door to me when I arrived home late in the evening and greet me tongue in cheek with "Oh hello madam, do I know you?" before I would put my laptop on the dining table and he would just drop his head, glass of wine in hand, long since knocked off (from the guy on 4 times my salary). When I handed in my notice and thought ahead to our lives in the Lakes, it was also this that I allowed myself to think upon. What was my time and mental health worth? As a wife, mother and human being as well as a teacher and professional.
Owing to the good relationship I had established with the company, work very generously released me from my contract early so I would be able to move with my family, as a unit. This sidestepped the issue of having to live in a hotel after they had relocated, and working my full notice. For that, I was infinitely grateful. Despite the sinking feeling of dread I felt as I handed in my notice and then waited for and navigated the response, doing it with purpose and focus helped enormously.
And those young people? My students. My ducklings. Following the termination of my contract, I went into school to return my laptop, phone, lanyard and to collect my personal belongings. The school is attached to the care home where some of them live, and as I arrived, the door flew open and they rushed out to greet me. We laughed, chatted and they offered to help me carry and collect my things. We talked about our time together and their futures, agreeing to keep in touch. Along with staff from the home, they walked me to my car and waved me off, horn beeping and lights flashing. They think I'm moving to Cucumber, because they'd heard of that and not so much Cumbria, but I told them I would write, so it'll become common parlance in time, I'm sure. As I constantly remind my own children, we do not have to turn our backs on things, if we choose to grow from them. Each experience can be a stepping stone, a paragraph, a chapter. I hope that when my students receive a letter from Cucumber, they will be reminded of how we have helped each other to grow and that this paragraph is dedicated to them.
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