on teaching and self employment

It's now six months since I stopped working from home. There are moments when I see the bank balance slowly emptying that I wish I had kept going longer. Then I remember those last six weeks of teaching, remember just how badly my health suffered, just how physically, mentally and emotionally spent I was. And then I wish I had pulled the plug sooner.  

In the weeks before stopping, I would often sit at the dinner table, my eyes heavy, the mere suggestion of a conversation overwhelming me through the fog of the fatigue. I woke in the morning after a long night of sleep, knowing that rest had nonetheless alluded me.


I was so happy to be building my little teaching business. To finally have more than enough students on my books to pay my half of the bills and even have a little over to put aside for a rainy day. Independence and security. More than I could have hoped for.

As well as working with students directly from home, I was also working four or five days a week in a language school down and out of the valley, over half an hours drive away. At the back of my mind, I knew that it was all a bit too much. That eventually something would have to give. I just wish I had stopped sooner. Then perhaps it wouldn't have been my health that had to suffer.


But despite my heavy load, there was a part of me that felt I needed to be so busy, that I should work like everyone else. Should. Such a powerfully strong word that we so often inflict upon ourselves as justification for things that are not good for us. So unnecessary. But still, it was what I believed at the time.

Despite my steadfast belief, there were many occasions where I admitted to Nico that I needed to slow down. He wholeheartedly agreed with me and offered his support. But I kept on going. Why?

Because I didn't have the confidence and self-belief to decline the opportunity to work more hours or take on more classes.

Because I didn't have the strength to stand up to my own fears of financial uncertainty to cut-back on my hours.

Because I didn't have the courage to accept that a little is more than enough, because in the eyes of other people I was "doing the right thing" for once. 

A sort of haze had installed itself when I first set up as self-employed back in 2013. Complete with blurred perspectives and a powerful determination to make my little business work. It was heavy and unyielding and I couldn't see my way out of it. Hence I kept on going. 

But then nature decided for me; I got really sick, had no choice but to stop. And just like that, it was over.

Months later, I'm still trying to recover from that relapse, but am also basking in the lifting of that self-employment cloud. Yes, there has been much sadness and grief at the current loss  of my livelihood. I have waded through strong feelings of shame at the thought of having let others and myself down. Not to mention quite a lot of frustration and anger.

But little by little, as I let all those "shoulds" loosen their grip on me, there has also been profound relief. Although I'm still waiting for the energy to return, for now, I'm feeling calmer and more at ease.

I'm never going to get things exactly right: treading the rope strung between what I need to do, what I want to do and what is best for my health and well-being is not an easy path to tread. Therein lies the complexity but also the opportunity for a challenge.


For me teaching languages, especially working one to one with students of all ages, has never been simply the physical act of imparting knowledge from one person to another. It is also work that comes from the heart, an opportunity to build relationships, learn and exchange from one another. It is something that brings me great personal joy and satisfaction...as well as stress and worry if I don't keep a check on things...and myself.

I still haven't quite decided if I'll return to freelance teaching or not. For the time being, I just need to concentrate on getting back to a place of stability and balance with my health and better well-being in my life.

If the time comes for me to embark once again on a new teaching journey, I'll do so with gratitude but also a little more care than the last time. I know I'll bask in the opportunity to once again sit down with my students, connect to different aspects of their lives, craft lessons and guide and accompany them in their personal learning journey. 

But I'll also try to go about things at a slightly slower pace. Be a little less ambitious of my physical capacities, a little more careful of my workload, a little more mindful of the impact teaching also has on my own health.

I'll take it day by day and this time round, I'll aim to continually take note of my health and well-being. I'll ask myself: "What's best for me?" - because I'm important, too. 

And if for some reason I decide that teaching is no longer a possible activity for me to pursue...well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. 

busy hands

We're now back in our valley home, after a few weeks away. Lately, fatigue has been becoming more and more a heavy weight around my neck. Not the everyday tiredness that comes from leading a hectic life. Nor the Sunday morning sluggishness and lethargy be-known to students brought on by one too many sugary cups of coffee, frequent late nights or not enough fresh vegetables. Rather an exhaustion that greets you when you wake in the morning, that a good night sleep won't lift. A tiredness so consuming it seeps into your bones, that could drain away all happiness if you let it do so.

Just a few short months ago, I was a teacher and translator. Working for myself from home. Weaving together words and untangling muddled syntax. It feels like another life ago. I've been off work since March, too ill to work. And as this current rough seems to be showing no sign of abating, looks like I'll be taking the rest of the summer off too.

As we try to navigate our way back to that path of wellness, my days have been stripped back to the essential. Eating wholesome food. Fresh air. Long sleeps. Deep breaths.

Foraging in the woods helps. Picnics in the sunshine helps. Spending time with friends helps. And above all, keeping my hands busy helps.

a school

At the breakfast table a week or so ago, I was asked by a curious couch-surfer what brought me to the Pyrenees. So early in the morning and with a busy day of teaching ahead of me, I was initially stumped. As I drove to a neighbouring valley for my first lesson, I shifted through the layers of reasons, trying to pinpoint the exact reason: university, necessity, university...

Later in the week, I was invited to an evening of poetry in Esquièze, and I stumbled upon the real reason I came here: une ecole.

It is so long since I last set foot in that school as a visiting English Language Teacher that I had almost forgotten...

It was only a couple of years ago that I hang up my coat for the last time, but every time I walk past I feel I could reach out and open the door to that school, finding my seat and guiding the children through the basics of the English language. Change is inevitable and is of course hard. But were there not a constant stream of comings and goings in that little school, it wouldn't be such a wonderfully rich and dynamic place of learning and exchange.

This valley has been a place of so many firsts for me, sometimes it seems as if every gushing stream, jagged peak and rounded stone has been instrumental in shaping the course of my life.

And here, a school. My first as a teacher. Here in this hallway we helped the little ones out of their ski boots each morning in the winter. Here in the garden, we planted daffodil bulbs in the Spring. We lit candles in December and I taught the children to sing English Christmas carols. They scuttled in with their new pencils and school bags in the first week of September.

All so long ago now as to have been a dream. But it wasn't a dream. I have the evidence right here: "Oh Fran, tu venais nous voir quand on étais petit..."

I walk past that school, bump into pupils and parents almost every day. Perhaps that was the reason for the inexplicable deep sadness that filled my days since moving back here last year and until very recently.

I am no longer in my beloved school, but the memories will stay forever fresh.

Life has moved on and the children are growing up. But then if I take a moment to think about it, I realise that so am I, in both ways...

19th March

This is what an immigrant looks like, grinning from ear to ear and full of wide-eyed wonder and hope, having just set foot in the country she has longed for from afar for so very long.

That was me back in 2009, at the start of my year abroad. The 19th of March 2009 will forever be a day engraved in my memory.

It was the day I was first woken by the bells of L’Eglise des Templiers, the day I took my first steps as an English Language Assistant in Esquièze School, the day I began my life here in the Pyrenees.

We visited the school, we went to Lourdes, I drove in the gorges for the first time. My Pa was with me every step of the way, getting me ready for the inevitable separation, which at the time was heartbreaking.

Apart from the smiling face, I can hardly recognise myself in that photo above, hardly believe I had the courage, aged only 21, to take the plunge and start up life abroad. As I think back to my first few weeks out here, it is wonderful to realise just how far I have come, how much I have grown and learnt during my time here. And how attached I have become to this place.

hello, sunshine

The past few days have been just glorious. Warm breezes, cloudless skies, sunshine on our faces. Trees, flowers and hedgerows bursting into bloom. White blossoms against swathes of blue sky. Delighted cries of "It feels like spring summer!" when bare legs and bare toes get their first outing of the year.

We're halfway through the new month and I've decided to take a break from work. I need a bit of breathing space. To slow down. To gather my thoughts. To listen to the rhythms of my body. To find a place for healing.  

It's not been an easy decision to make, and we certainly haven't taken it lightly. Right now, I'm a little afraid of what this is actually gonna mean for me, for us. But as the anxiety and tension gradually melt away, I'll gradually be able to appreciate the decision. This slower life is exactly what I need right now. Knowing that I have nothing to do but to listen to my body, to pace myself, to finally find balance. I'll have time for siestas. Time to slowly walk around the village, leaning heavily on Nico's arm. I'll have time. Time to sit out in the warming sun and do....absolutely nothing.

As we step into this newness, as we slow down, I say with a joyful heart: "Hello, sunshine. You are so very welcome."

untangled

Another exhausting week at work, where there is nothing to do but keep going, in spite of the awful fatigue.

It leaves me wondering what I can should do to get on the road to recovery. Perhaps I should take a few weeks off to recuperate a little bit? But that would leave my students without a teacher, and me without an income. I feel so powerless, so lost faced when faced with this dilemma...

Thankfully, I have plenty of small, manageable projects to distract me between siestas. They occupy my fingers, and keep my mind from worrying too much. One of my favourite projects of the week has been untangling the mess of knots from my newly acquired yarn from last week-end, bringing order and calm to my recycled yarn stash.

If only it were so easy to unravel my dilemma....

sleepless nights

What a fortnight, what a week...

I've been overwhelmed with work, overwhelmed with that mind-numbing fatigue.

Lessons to prepare, verbs to conjugate, translations to hand in on time.

But worst of all: insomnia, aching muscles and fatigue have been holding me in a headlock. I've tried to break free, but it's impossible. 

Sleepless nights ... 
Sleepless hours ...

Sleepless hours tossing and turning, trying to not get overwhelmed by this rhythm that seems just a little too tight for comfort at the moment. 

Fortunately, there are good friends to come for tea. To distract me with their sewing projects, their swelling bellies, their imminent weddings...

Fortunately, there is knitting to be done, a pair of slipper socks for my cheri to be finished. Whether a row or just a single stitch, it helps me feel like I've achieved something with my day, no matter how insignificant...