For 25 years, I built a career in management consulting. I climbed the corporate ladder, took on bigger change management projects — where the reality was that most people didn’t actually want change — and put in the late nights, the weekend implementations, and the inevitable work nights out. It was mentally and physically demanding, and the office politics could be emotionally exhausting, but the rewards were good: financial security, a lively work-social life.
For a long time, change management was exciting. But then I got… bored.
It didn’t happen overnight — just a slow erosion of excitement to eye-rolling despair as I joined my first of eight teams calls for the day (every day). I wasn’t learning anymore, and I didn’t feel fulfilled. I knew how to do my job inside out, and the challenge had gone. I began to wonder about my small contribution to the world — was it worthwhile? Or had I spent most of my life in a bullshit job, as the late, brilliant David Graeber put it?
I wanted to do something that mattered, something that helped people who needed it. I wanted to give something back.
The decision to leave wasn’t met with universal understanding. My colleagues thought I was nuts and couldn’t quite believe I was walking away from a stable, well-paying job to retrain as a teacher. But some thought it was fantastic, if a little crazy. My teenage daughter was utterly bewildered why I would want to spend my days in a state secondary school — She’s seen things I haven’t, and while I’ve had plenty of stories, she has spared me some of the more ’high-spirited’ details with a knowing smile.
Honestly, the only real doubt I had was financial: going back to student life in my 50s meant sacrificing little comforts I’d become quite accustomed to. No more spontaneous European city breaks or luxury Caribbean beach holidays. I’d been saving for a rainy day, but not enough to maintain the standard of living I had, so I planned a serious budget. I’m now very considerate about what I buy. Every single purchase is carefully thought through. Food is usually made from scratch or bought from the Coop’s orange sticker shelf — whatever’s cheapest. The weekly shop is now at Lidl instead of Tesco. I only buy clothes when my old ones are falling apart, and then I get them second-hand on eBay. I just don’t buy anything I don’t need anymore. Some things were non-negotiable — my son’s piano lessons, my daughter’s driving lessons. Occasionally, I hate feeling so skint and wish I could treat myself or jet off to a paradise island. But I quickly got used to it and found it incredibly rewarding to live more intentionally and waste less. Also, I’m pretty pig-headed and once I get an idea in my head, I tend to follow through with it.
My decision wasn’t just about career dissatisfaction. It was personal. My daughter struggled with anxiety and ADHD at school — she was a school refuser at times. I knew the story all too well, as I had been there myself 35 years ago. I saw first-hand how education can either support or fail students who don’t fit the traditional mould. I wanted to be the kind of teacher who saw those kids, who could offer a bit of kindness, structure and support to students having a tough time. As a parent of two teenagers, I had already learned how fun, complex, and rewarding young people can be. I wanted to be part of something that helped them grow.
Two years into a four-year course, I’ve felt the reality of the job. My teacher training is largely online, which can be isolating, though I stay busy with studying and writing. We have intermittent placements in secondary schools which can feel intense. I’ve had largely amazing experiences on placement, but one day I drove the whole hour home sobbing. I don’t miss the corporate world, but I do miss the travel. I used to spend a lot of time travelling around UK and European cities, though I was always too busy to enjoy them. I remember a work trip to Milan, and I was desperate to squeeze in a visit to the Duomo but I was stuck in back-to-back meetings from 8am to 8pm. Now, my deadlines look different — lesson plans, assignments — but the pressure remains, particularly when I’m on placement. The biggest difference? In consulting, I had teams to share the load. In teacher training, you do the work yourself — all the lesson planning, all the essays, all the reading, all the writing — because that’s how you pass the course! Of course, the lectures are a brilliant, shared experience, but when it comes down to it, meeting the deadlines with high-quality work is on me.
The classroom itself doesn’t stress me out — I love teaching. Seeing the kids — pretty much all of them — fully engaged in topics such as animal rights, obedience, religious festivals, racism, and the environment is quite beautiful to watch. Despite some of the bad press teenagers get, they’re overwhelmingly good kids — they’re curious, thoughtful, and full of opinions. Given the right environment, they engage, debate, and challenge ideas, in ways that remind me why I made this career change in the first place. What does worry me is making sure every student gets the support they need to succeed. I have high expectations. No unnecessary excuses, but plenty of encouragement. I want students to perform to the best of their ability and push themselves beyond, and I’ll do everything I can to help them get there.
As for ‘giving back’? I’m still figuring that bit out. Maybe it’s not about a grand sense of contribution but about the small things in life, being a steady presence, showing kindness, and helping kids believe they can achieve something. I know not everyone has the option of making this kind of shift, and I don’t take that for granted. But for me, staying in a job that drained me felt like a bigger risk than starting over. It was a bit of a mad decision, and my old life is long gone. Some days, I still wonder what on earth I’ve done. But overall? I wouldn’t change a thing…