As a mother and a teacher, I'm conflicted about strikes

Like thousands of teachers up and down the country, I was on strike yesterday. In just under a decade of teaching, I've seen conditions plummet year on year. I've seen my wages and that of my colleagues dwindle in light of the cost of living crisis. I've seen funding cuts decimate education from the inside, destroying the life chances of the most vulnerable young people who rely on school as a lifeline.

I dreamed of being a teacher as a child. I saw my English teachers as lights in the darkness. They gave me solace in a childhood spent feeling like I didn't belong. I imagined myself doing the same, like Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, transforming students' lives through the beauty of verse. But the reality is starkly different. In fact, it's so different, it would be funny - if it didn't have such tragic consequences for both teachers and the young people we educate.

Being a teacher in a state school in 2023 feels like putting out fires constantly, equipped with nothing but good intentions and a thimble of water. It feels like doing 10 jobs in one - none of which you're trained for. A social worker and a child psychologist and a police officer, rolled into a food bank service and a motivational speaker, all at once.

Under the pressures of the state education sector, drained of resources, teachers are floundering. We have more work than ever: bigger class sizes and fewer colleagues to spread the load.

Simultaneously, we are facing more pressure to perform consistently, to secure even better results for young people who are facing a multitude of battles outside of school.

Imagine your salary being tied to being able to secure an A* for a student who is sofa-surfing, fighting hostile immigration policies or a young carer for their five younger siblings. The pressure is unsustainable. It is unhealthy. Pretty much every teacher I know is experiencing the symptoms of chronic stress and anxiety.