The long and short of it is, I didn’t make going back to work, work. I survived it, that is all I can truthfully say. The job was wonderful, my colleagues too. Which somehow made the whole situation worse. Because…. not, the problem, but the disconnect in this whole new equation, is me and what my body needs. Within six weeks of starting the role, working full time, I had to approach my boss and tell him I couldn’t do it anymore. My heart broke at the words, because I knew I meant them. I had meant them within two weeks. Not for my intellectual self. Not for my heart that loved this job.

But for my body. My poor wrecked body. Within those six weeks I also had a fall, rushing across the hall during breakfast club to the classroom. I fell, trying to push back a child coming towards me to say good morning. I lost my grip on my KeepCup and tea went all over my Gabster’s trousers, thankfully, not burning her. The other child, the sweetest girl, I clipped round the face as I put my hands out to brace my fall. My foot bent painfully too. I was absolutely hysterical. An accident yes, but I’d managed to hit a child round the face. I cried and cried and just wanted to hide.

My colleagues soothed me and once I was calm, let me see that Gabby and the other child were OK. The head came to see me and gave me a hug. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” he said kindly, knowing that I would say “I’ve hit a child. I can’t be here, I’m not safe.” He smiled knowingly and asked what I needed. He didn’t scold me or berate me. He’s known me since the beginning of Squidge’s school career and we’ve had many chats about my professional past and aspirations, but we’ve also talked about the challenges of disability too, so he knew I was already punishing myself more than he’d ever need to.

I asked to go home for the morning to see to my foot, sore and a little useless. He agreed but said: “I want you back at lunchtime. You have no need to hide.”

And I made it back. By the end of the half term, I was having to ask for a reduction in hours so I didn’t throw in the towel completely. I did offer my resignation but the head was determined to work with me, because he saw my professional worth.

For the shortest time, a month or so, the weight lifted as I went down to 4 out of 5 days, But another half term, by Easter and I was crawling along again. So, so exhausted, physically and feeling emotionally drained, like there was nothing left to offer my daughters as their mum.

I quickly realised all I needed to do was get to the end of the contract. There was no need to consider a new school year, though in a moment of panic, I did consider them, because the head was so supportive, so keen to keep working with me and nurturing everything he saw I was able to give to the children at school. I really, really appreciated that, being seen for me by someone I respected. But I backtracked the decision quickly, realising I needed peace and to go my own way.

I have always thought, for me, this meant play therapy. I love everything it stands for. Helping children use their voice in a language that is just known to them, belongs to them so that adults in a position to help, can understand each individual child’s view of their world and their circumstances. It’s fascinating to me and always has been.

But play therapy is a very physical  undertaking. And I had to face the idea that if I was dragging my body around an environment I had coped in for years in my youth, then I was not in a position to undertake such unknown physicality.

It was like a death, letting this dream go. I felt like a failure. But I had to stand in my own defence when those thoughts started. This wasn’t just a case of “Well, if you just get your act together and try harder….” because it’s simply not that. And I knew it because with this job, I couldn’t try harder and yet I had nothing left to give. No physical energy. The emotional drain was huge. I cried every night knowing I had work the next day. Not because there was anything wrong with the role. There wasn’t. People listened to me, appreciated me and once I was there every morning, working away, I was fine. But I longed for home, balance, peace.

The tears became more frequent. One morning, one of my colleagues, as we were having a meeting with the year group staff, looked at me with concern. I was holding back tears. I was just ehausted.

“Are you OK?” she mouted discreetly.

There was no point in lying. “No.”

She took me within the hour to speak to the head again, both of them showing such respect and care for what I saw as the same old problem.

“I think I made a mistake. I’m so sorry. I just can’t.”

“You didn’t. You’re brilliant with the children. What do you need?”

We worked out a plan where I would work mornings in the classroom and then supervise lunch club indoors, rather than risking the playground. Children move fast. I do not.

The weight I’d carried around since New Year finally lifted as we made it into spring. It felt like it had rained every day up until that point. I don’t know if it actually did but it seems to fit the whole experince. Half a day feeling productive, half a day resting at home.

I thought maybe I’d get back to the tasks I liked to fill my days with. As it was, I barely moved from the sofa, like my body wasn’t capable of moving after a morning of being switched on in the classroom.

I knew it was time to move on. I’d not ask for a role next year. I spent a while just quietly assuming I’d move on to play therapy. I even spoke to the resident play therapist at school about her training. But honestly, the idea of balancing that alongside my home life just felt beyond the energy it was clear I’d been left to live on. So what now? Not school, not play therapy, what? Just staying at home, doing nothing?

Well, yes. Maybe that is what I need for a while. But, what about my future?

I started researching and found that Swansea Uni have a theoretical MA programme in Developmental & Therapeutic Play. So I wouldn’t be a registered play therapist. OK. I wasn’t built for that anymore anyway. But this programme would still feed my brain, my soul and let me immerse myself in what I’ve wanted to learn my whole life. If I’m not going to work, then why not learn?

I told my boss I wanted to move onto the MA programme and he was wonderful. When I spoke about it, he heard my passion and said, enthusiastically: “Yes, do it! You’ll be brilliant at that!”

So I asked questions of the disability team and headed up to the campus to talk to one of the lecturers. It felt so exciting, so possible. The admissions officer, on hearing about my first from the OU said: “I could offer you today, but if you want to defer, we absolutely can do that too.”

So I wrote my application, speaking from the heart about why I wanted to learn and within 48 hours was offered a deferred place. They could see me, they wanted me there. I knew what was next. That felt awesome.

Because I know what’s next now, it’s of my own choosing. And more than anything, I can say I tried. What else does anyone have to give, really?