I’m rubbish at regulating my energy. I tend to either charge at life with hurricane-level force, or seek silent solitude, with my head shoved right up my work. There’s not much in between.

Going from zero to a Great Gonzo level of frenzy in three seconds is a useful tool to whip up a crowd and pass on a bit of that energy. It was handy for conference-type gigs before Covid shut the door to rooms full of people. It’s also one of the many reasons I’ve never been a full-time teacher. My “on” energy isn’t sustainable in the longer term. I’d be done in by Thursday lunchtime, asleep under my desk, snarling like a honey badger at anyone who demanded anything from me - like being taught, for example.

So teaching half the week and working on other projects for the rest of it keeps me in a solid routine and on an even keel. Or it did - before 2020 shat all over everyone. Nowadays, I teach via Zoom and only see students face to face for one day a week. I’m so excited to be in the company of real-life people that I empty the tank every single time and leave myself increasingly exhausted. But there’s something else putting a hitch in my giddy-up.

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I’ve been finding it hard to get motivated of late. It’s irritating as I love my work, I’m keen to crack on with new projects and take on some new teaching. But recently, it’s felt like a heavy sheet of fog has landed on me and all I really want to do is sleep.

I was beginning to worry that I was slipping into a serious state of depression, the kind that stops life chugging onwards. But this new sludgy feeling felt similar to something serious starting, but not exactly the same. This downturn of mood coincided with the R rate going back up, the prime minister rambling on about the possibility of another six months of semi shut-in, as well as the nights getting darker.

It would be obvious to assume that a combination of those things was the reason for my mystery deflation - loads of people get a bit droopy as the nights close in. But as someone who starts to feel a tickle of festive excitement sometime in August, I bloody love a dark winter evening - it means that Christmas is on the cards. It would also be obvious to assume that the global crisis was putting a bit of a downer on my mental health - but that didn’t make sense either, as I was one of the fortunate ones who quite enjoyed being shut away with my family for half a year. Honestly, I’d have a moat installed and pull up the drawbridge as soon as look at you if we lived in one of those giant countryside sprawlers - so why would another six months tucked away with my pack be a problem? 

Real-life chats

I was getting increasingly concerned, so as real-life chats are no longer a thing, I shared how I felt on Facebook and asked if anyone else was feeling similarly odd in a way they couldn’t quite fathom. I’m glad I did. It was reassuring to have so many replies so quickly from so many people who were feeling the same - exhausted, fed up, overwhelmed, lost their drive, pissed off, drained. No one could really explain why. One particularly insightful friend wondered if it wasn’t just that the seasons are changing and we’re coming towards the end of the year, but because all the usual markers that give the year a familiar shape had gone by unnoticed, so our sense of time and place is distorted.

That’s especially pertinent to those who work in education. We’re used to getting double starts and finishes to the year. The one in January that everyone gets a go at, and the academic one in September that’s just for us. As well as specific holiday times, we also have the pattern of content that we teach. I find comfort in how my FE year finds its form: first with autumn term, full of surprises, getting to know the students, setting up routines and boundaries. Spring term is the fun one, all about being creative and experimental with teaching, learning for the joy of it. Then summer term arrives and exams loom, before end-of-year celebrations and goodbyes. I definitely feel adrift without that familiar time framework. 

Feeling out of kilter, but confident that my reaction wasn’t unusual, I thought about what to do to try and feel a bit more grounded and give myself a kick up the arse. Maybe it’s about finding ways to consciously gain more energy, then consciously spend it in a sensible way. Maybe it’s about being strict with my own personal routines - getting-up time, bedtime, work time, playtime. Or maybe I should just go with it and accept that feeling a bit shit is an appropriate reaction to a confusing, disorienting, unsettling time. Yup. That sounds more like it. I’m going to weather the storm and wait for the feeling to pass. And remember that this time will eventually pass.

Sarah Simons works in colleges and adult community education in the East Midlands and is the director of UKFEchat