Every now and then, a phrase starts popping up online that makes me stop scrolling. This summer, it's been "Hot Teacher Summer." At first, I honestly thought it was just another TikTok trend. You know the kind... teachers celebrating the end of term, airport outfit videos, pool days, Aperol Spritzes, deleting the 6am alarm and counting down the days until September feels like someone else's problem.
But the more I saw it, the more I realised there was something about the phrase that I genuinely loved, because I think it captures something we've almost forgotten. Somewhere between planning lessons, answering emails, remembering who needs reading intervention, worrying about that child who just can't seem to catch a break and mentally writing tomorrow's to-do list while you're trying to switch off in the evening, teaching becomes your whole identity.
It never happens all at once. It's gradual. One term becomes another, then another, and before you know it someone asks what you've been up to recently and every answer somehow comes back to school. We've all done it. We laugh about it because we love what we do, but I don't think we were ever meant to lose ourselves inside our jobs.
That's why I actually love the idea of a "Hot Teacher Summer." Not the social media version where it has to be beaches, cocktails and the perfect holiday. I'm talking about something much deeper than that. To me, a Hot Teacher Summer is about slowly coming back to yourself again. It's about remembering who you are when you're not standing in front of a classroom.
I don't think burnout always looks the way we imagine it does. Sometimes it isn't lying on the sofa completely exhausted or feeling like you can't keep going. Sometimes it's much quieter than that. Sometimes it's simply forgetting what makes you feel like you.
So... who were you before school took over?
I've actually been asking myself this question recently, and it's harder to answer than I expected. Not because I don't love education, we all know I am obsessed with my job, but because I realised how naturally my whole world revolves around it. I spend my days thinking about children, education, ideas, routines and planning, and I started wondering when I last did something purely because I enjoyed it.
Maybe you're the same.
When was the last time you finished a book that had absolutely nothing to do with teaching? When did you last spend an entire day without checking your work emails or mentally thinking about September? What hobbies used to make you lose track of time before your evenings became lesson planning and your Sundays became "getting ready for Monday"?
And here's probably the biggest question of all...
If someone took teaching away tomorrow, what parts of you would still be there?
Not because teaching is all you are, but because somewhere underneath the educator, the planner, the organiser, the mentor and the problem solver is still the same person you've always been. Summer gives us something incredibly rare: the chance to reconnect with them.
So... what does a 'Hot Teacher Summer' actually look like?
For one educator it might be finally booking the trip they've been talking about for years. For someone else, it might be spending slow mornings in the garden with a coffee, taking longer walks with the dog, trying Pilates, learning to bake sourdough or simply catching up with family they barely saw during term time.
It might be reading novels instead of educational books. It might be saying yes to spontaneous lunch dates on a Wednesday afternoon because, for once, you actually can. It might be sleeping until your body wakes you up naturally instead of an alarm dragging you into another busy day.
Or maybe, and this is just as valid, it looks like doing very little at all.
I think somewhere along the way we've convinced ourselves that summer should also be productive. We should redesign our classrooms, make new resources, complete another course or spend July getting ahead for September. We almost feel guilty if we're not "using our time well."
But what if using your time well actually meant resting? What if the most productive thing you did this summer was absolutely nothing related to school?
