The Sunday Dread

I  want to talk to you about something real.

When I was at sixth form, regardless of how much I enjoyed myself (and I really did) I used to suffer from the most crippling Sunday night anxiety.  I used to call it the Sunday Dread and in a way it has followed me around in one way or another for most of my adult life. Now you are probably reading this thinking, no shit, anyone in the world who works a Monday to Friday nine to five suffers with that.  But I need to explain the specificities of my Sunday Dread. This wasn’t something that was strictly limited to Sunday night. My boarding school was weekly, meaning that I came home every Friday afternoon and returned on a Sunday night. Seemingly a perfect setup.  Well let me tell you before long this was not the case. From almost the moment I woke up on a Sunday I would be overtaken by the feeling.  The impending doom of the Sunday night drive back to Surrey used to actually stop me from making ANY plans on Sundays.  I used to make the excuse to myself that I needed to “pack for the week”, a job which let’s be real should have taken no more than 30 minutes.  So what this actually meant is that near enough FIFTY per cent of my weekends were wasted by this ludicrous anxiety. And what was even worse is that I loved my sixth form.

Now, once I finished my A Levels and left sixth form, embarking on my gap year this anxiety certainly alleviated somewhat but there were still traces of it that remained, from time to time pervasively creeping up on me just as I was trying to tend to a hangover or relax into a Sunday afternoon roast dinner.  Once I started University I also gained some brief respite when, a few weeks into my course the realisation that I had no lectures or seminars to attend on a Monday really hit home! (the joys of a degree that was fifty percent History of Art). For a brief interval the Sunday Dread was a distant memory.  

That was until my mid twenties when I hit a real turning point in my life ...I trained to become a teacher.   

Now I would throw it out there and guess that most of us who have worked in nine to fives can relate to the Sunday Dread that I have described above.  We have also all been to school so we know what the Sunday Dread version of going back to school feels like after an average weekend. Multiply that feeling by about ten for the end of a half term, Christmas or Easter break.  Maybe by about a hundred after the glorious 6 week summer holiday. Now if you want to feel something really frightening, imagine multiplying that post holiday dread by about a thousand. Add in a bone dry bank account, a rapidly depleting overdraft facility, probably a big old credit card bill for good measure, stir in a bit of “I haven’t done any work” guilt and you are starting to understand what the queen of all Sunday dread feels like for your average teacher.  The “back to school after summer holidays dread”. It’s chronic.  

You would have thought that after 10 years of teaching this would have alleviated somewhat.  I have to tell you it hasn’t. Last Sunday wasn’t pretty. It began with a raging hangover after an overly indulgent all weekend wedding celebration in the countryside followed by a 4 hour car journey, which honestly felt like an achievement.  It’s honestly a miracle that I survived it given the state I was in when I first woke up. What followed was a feeble attempt at a relaxed yet organised Sunday night in complete with laying out outfits, packing school bags and lunch preparation with a moderate amount of wine (only the wine made the cut unfortunately).  The worst part was that there weren’t even going to be any children in school on Monday thanks to our headteacher who likes to ease us in after the summer with two days of staff training. I like to think of it as rehab. Like a reintegration into civilised society after a summer of travel, late nights, no alarms, drinking at, let’s be real, whenever you want - it’s always midday somewhere right? And generally forgetting that you are a functioning human adult with normal responsibilities.  Well now training is over, summer is a distant memory and tomorrow poses the real challenge. The children are back and teaching begins. Feeling pretty sorry for them right now. But not as sorry as I’m feeling for myself.  

I guess the real joy of teaching though is that give me 24 hours back in my classroom with the wonderful young people who I love so dearly and this feeling will be a distant memory.  Just like my summer of adventures…..sigh…..oh well, you win some you lose some. And that’s the silver lining of the Sunday Dread, it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived.