Approximate reading time: 11 minutes
Written Thursday 9th July 2026
This morning, a job came through on my app from a school that is literally a 7-minute walk from my house. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked past this school and fantasised about working there. My work-life balance would be infinitely better if I wasn’t waking up at the crack of dawn every morning.
In the last 6 months, I have actually emailed the head teacher twice offering to volunteer my services… for free – just so that I could get my foot in the door.
(When I moved back to South Africa, I volunteered at my old primary school and ended up getting full-time work there. So, it HAS worked in the past!)
Unfortunately, I never heard back from her, so I shelved the dream.
And then… this morning… my
‘big’
opportunity to make myself known appeared!
The only problem was it was teaching Year 4!
As I have written about numerous times…
I don’t teach the older kids.
I have taught them on occasion and survived, but it has always been incredibly stressful – especially if I am not given enough time to actually look at the lesson plans beforehand.
Walking into a nursery or reception class is infinitely easier to ‘wing’ than the older year groups.
So, I sat staring at the job feeling very conflicted.
(It, of course, didn’t help that yesterday I had a pretty awful day floating around a school with far too many shouty adults and highly dysregulated, reactive children. It’s always emotionally exhausting being in these types of schools, and all I needed was a nice, calm, relaxing day in a lovely little nursery class somewhere.)
I willed the job to disappear – for some other supply teacher to snap it up quickly so I wouldn’t have to make this horrible decision.
But it sat there… my ‘dream location school’ just waiting for me to click ‘yes’.
I decided to suck it up and take the risk.
(The gains could be sooooooo great!!!)
About a minute after accepting the job, Dave, the agent who looks after that school, called and said:
“I just wanted to warn you there is going to be drumming.”
I was confused.
“Umm… what do you mean by drumming?”
He said:
“I’m not too sure.”
I was perplexed:
“Um, okay?
But I don’t understand… drumming inside the classroom?
Drumming outside the classroom?
Where exactly is this drumming taking place?”
Dave was just as perplexed:
“Sorry, I am really not sure, Gayle! I was just told to tell you there would be drumming.”
What I ‘should‘ have done was pressed for clarification.
But I was so excited to finally be going to ‘the dream school’ that I very stupidly made an assumption.
I assumed that there was some sort of drumming workshop going on at the school, so it would just be a bit loud.
I’m not going to defend myself – it was a HUGE dumb-arsed assumption to make!
But I made it nevertheless!
I mean I could cope with a drumming workshop.
Sure, my nervous system would no doubt be doubly fried by the end of the day…
…but THIS WAS MY BIG CHANCE!
Bring on the drumming!
I arrived at the school at 8 am… half an hour before my actual start time because I wanted to give myself enough time to prepare properly for the lessons.
The stony-faced receptionist who greeted me was my first red flag.
She checked my papers and then, bypassing any formal introductions or providing any basic information about the school, dryly said:
“I’ll take you to the music room and the art teacher will bring you your lesson plans for the day.”
I queried why I was in the music room and, with the dullest, coldest eyes imaginable, she said:
“Because you are the music teacher today!”
Um… say what???
After my last disastrous attempt at being a music teacher, there is no way in hell I would ever want a do-over.
(I know my strengths,
and keeping the beat IS NOT one of them.)
I expressed my concern that I wasn’t a music teacher, and she eyeballed me with a look that roughly translated to:
“Does this look like my problem?”
I didn’t press it because this was my very special school, remember.
I definitely wanted to make a good impression.
So, I followed meekly and was deposited into the largest music room I have ever seen in my whole entire life – filled with a zillion instruments.
(None of which I know how to play!)
I sat down and waited for the ‘art teacher’ to bring me the plans while trying not to panic.
I turned the computer and screen on.
I drank some water.
I scanned the class looking for something…anything that might give me a slight clue as to what I was supposed to be doing today.
Nothing.
The clock is ticking…
I tried to phone Dave… but no one EVER answers the bloody phones at his agency!
I reminded myself to breathe, while Neurotic Angel told me off for being such a drama queen.
I did my best to ignore her.
At 8.15 am I went back to the office to ask the sullen secretary if she hadn’t perhaps made a mistake and put me in the wrong class.
Ms Medusa was not in the least bit impressed that I was insinuating that she might have made a mistake.
She responded with a slow and slightly patronising:
Internally, I am screaming at her:
“NOOOOOO, fuck it!!!
NO MUSIC.
NOOOO MUSIC!”
I asked about the login details for the computer and Ms Medusa responded with:
“You will need to wait for the Art teacher!”
Dave eventually called back and insisted that he had told me it was a music-teacher role.
Apparently, that was the whole purpose of his call earlier that morning.
Really, Dave?
I thought you called to tell me about the mystery drumming!
Was I going crazy?
My exact words to him had been:
“What do you mean by drumming? Drumming in the classroom? Drumming outside the classroom?”
At which point, surely, the obvious response would have been:
“The drums are in the class because you are
THE MUSIC TEACHER, Gayle!!!!”
Which I know for a fact he did not say.
A small voice reminds me to stand my ground and NOT doubt what I had heard.
Dave said he would phone the deputy head and see what he could do.
I waited another 20 minutes for Dave to call back.
At 8.40 am, I overheard someone outside the class, presumably the deputy head, asking one of the teachers if they could
not send the Year 4s to music.
The teacher responded with:
“Why? Don’t we have a music teacher today?”
And then all I heard were muffled whispers!
Neurotic Angel is screaming so loudly in my head I want to cry.
“OH, MY GOD!!!
Look,
is on her horse again!
Now everyone will know how difficult you are!”
At 8.42 am, a flustered lady – presumably the Art teacher – walks in and hands me what can only be described as a ‘doctoral thesis’ of meticulously typed-out notes.
Aaahh… today’s plans!!!
(Which would have been absolutely wonderful – 45 minutes ago.)
I stare at this gigantic wad of writing, knowing full well I could try and read it, but NOTHING is going to go in when I am this dysregulated.
I try to explain to the flustered lady that I am not actually a music teacher.
(Mental note: “You are starting to sound like a stuck record, Gayle)
At this point, I am painfully aware of how overwhelmed I am feeling. More than anything, I just needed someone to acknowledge what I was trying to say. A little kindness and connection would have gone a long way in helping me to calm down.
“I can’t help you. I have my own class to teach. Everything is in the notes.”
But just for good measure, she does have enough time to reprimand me for not being logged in and tells me I need to go upstairs to get all the login details.
Now I am beyond frustrated and on the verge of tears.
(Why didn’t stupid office lady tell me that forty minutes ago?)
I asked Art Lady what time the children were arriving, and she said:
“8.45 am”
I glanced down at my phone to check the time.
“Oh, you mean like in 2 minutes?”
“Yes,”
she said irritably.
Something inside me snapped.
( I am beginning to think I might have a huge, HUGE intolerance to dismissive, unhelpful people – is there a pill for that? )
And then I found myself opening my mouth, and the words that came out were:
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
I am not sure who was more shocked… me or Art Lady.
All I heard was a loud
“WHAT?”
To which I responded:
“I can’t teach like this”
And then I picked up my bags and left.
At that point, no amount of money was worth the stress of facing a classroom full of children with not even a single minute to look over the lesson plans.
I, quite frankly, did not have a single ounce of ‘winging-it’ energy left in me.
I realise that, as a supply teacher, “being flexible” comes with the territory. But there is a difference between flexibility and being expected to work without the basic information needed to do your job.
Despite all Neurotic Angel’s frantic and belligerent screaming in my head, another voice was clear.
“You did not create this chaos, so it is definitely not your responsibility to try to clean it up.”
It was the school’s (or the agencies’) responsibility to advertise the job clearly and accurately. Had they done that, then I could have made an informed decision as to whether or not I wanted to be a music teacher for a whole day.
(My answer would have been a resounding Hell NO!)
Failing that, a basic handover would have gone a long way towards repairing the first mistake and making the situation far more manageable.
I do wish I could have stayed calm and expressed my thoughts clearly instead of running out so quickly. But by that point, my nervous system had shifted fully into flight mode, and I was no longer thinking logically or strategically. All I could think about was getting out of the school as quickly as possible before I burst into tears and embarrassed myself even more.
I cried the whole way home.
(Don’t worry, it was only 7 minutes 😉 )
More out of disappointment than anything.
I had such high hopes for this school, dammit all!
Throughout my 8 years of supply teaching, I have only ever walked out on one other booking. Why did the second time have to be my imaginary dream school?
Oh, and then of course there was the residual guilt.
Sometimes the hardest part of being a highly sensitive recovering people pleaser is the guilt you have to deal with after you finally find the courage to stand up and say,
“No thank you.”
In many ways, this last year has been a roller coaster ride of me starting to set boundaries and saying no to things that aren’t
healthy for me professionally.
Do I feel empowered?
Um, yes, in a way.
Of course I’m incredibly proud of myself for finally recognising that my own needs matter, instead of always pushing through discomfort to make things work for everyone else.
But the truth about boundary setting –the bit I never got the memo on – is just how bloody uncomfortable it can feel.
I still feel selfish.
I still feel like I’ve done something wrong.
It feels unnatural, and yes, at times the guilt can be relentless.
But luckily, I’ve got the memo now.
And at the end of the day,
On the plus side,
I received an apology from both the school and the agency, and I was still paid for the day.
So, I guess there are definitely some perks to finally standing up for yourself. 🙂