Is it just me, or do the number of 3am friends you have shrink with age? My 3am friends are the people I would call in the middle of the night if something had gone so terribly wrong that I needed their help, or bail money.

I can count my 3am pals on one hand, but in my twenties I had dozens. That is possibly because in those days, 3am was coming home after a medium-sized night out; 6am constituted a big ’un. Now, the only time I’m awake at 3am is if I’m swivel-eyed with worry over the next day’s lesson observation.

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I met one of my 3am-ers in dire circumstances. And contrary to what Keanu said to Sandra Bullock, as she casually dry-humped him in the middle of that bus crash, relationships based on intense experiences occasionally work.

I had only been teaching for six months when she arrived as my new line manager. I missed her first week and all the getting-to-know-you pleasantries, as I was off sick, having just suffered a miscarriage.

On my first day back, she had to introduce herself to me as my new boss, as well as checking that I was well enough to return. I’d only taken a week off to recover and colleagues were concerned that it wasn’t long enough. It probably wasn’t, but I felt like work would take my mind off my grief. It was my fifth miscarriage. My husband and I had got used to navigating a heartbreaking routine of sadness, knowing that whatever the amount of official grieving time we took, it wouldn’t be enough, so we may as well just trudge on with life.

I shook her hand, and we said our nice-to-meet-yous. I sat down in her office and she said how sorry she was. I muttered appreciative sounds. Then she paused. Then she sighed. Then she said “It’s a bit fucking awkward this, isn’t it?” The dark clouds stopped swirling just for a millisecond. I looked up.

“This is obviously a really shitty time and you’re a grown woman and you can decide if you’re ready to come back to work. But I’ve got to check it’s not too soon. What if a student gets on your nerves and you pull a machine gun out of your handbag? That’d be my fault!”

It was the first time I’d smiled for ages. Her honesty about how uncomfortable she was feeling and her wildly inappropriate language made me feel like a person, not just a person in grief. I loved her for it. I still do.

‘Tread carefully’

Human compassion and appropriate professional behaviour aren’t always the same thing.

A while ago, an adult student disclosed some really upsetting news to me and tears started to stream down her face. She looked broken. My natural reaction was to envelop her in my arms to try to give her some maternal comfort so she knew I was truly sympathetic to her situation. But I fought my instinct because a) the intention with which I gave the hug might be received in an entirely different way - it might feel to her like the opposite of comfort, she might feel threatened by it, and b) physical contact between a teacher and student, even an adult student, even one who is in extreme distress, is not appropriate.

There’s a difference in power and status implicit in the teacher-student relationship, regardless of the ages of either party. And when power disparity and physicality are combined, especially in a professional arena, it’s wise to tread very carefully.

To acknowledge my feelings and let her know I cared, but without assuming my closeness would be welcomed, I said “I want to give you a massive hug, but…” I was going to say “but I shouldn’t because that isn’t what teachers do”.

Before I could say the second bit, she collapsed into my arms, weeping, with her head on my shoulder. We stayed there for half minute at least while I struggled to keep my shit together, too, feeling deep empathy for her and a real privilege that she had allowed herself to be vulnerable to me.

I know that hugging is a no-no between teacher and student. Of course it is. And being purposely visible (keeping the classroom door propped open, making sure you’re in full view of the corridor outside), during the occasional circumstance when being alone with a student is unavoidable, is sensible for everyone’s sake. 

But I think there are rare occasions when a parental reaction to console, to protect, to soothe is the right professional choice. There are times when behaving inappropriately is the entirely appropriate thing to do.

Sarah Simons works in colleges and adult community education in the East Midlands and is the director of UKFEchat. She tweets @MrsSarahSimons