“I’m Just the Interpreter” — The Myth of Limitless Availability

By NUBSLI | Published on 22 July 2025

This Nub has been submitted anonymously by a BSL/English interpreter

A few days ago, I found myself unexpectedly furious.

I provide weekly remote interpreting support for a regular client under Access to Work. It’s a full-day booking, and I’m available to interpret as needed during that time. Meetings come in and out of the client’s schedule, and I stay ready. It’s a rhythm that works.

On the morning in question, I logged on 10 minutes before the workday started – well in time to be prepped and ready for a 9am meeting that had been arranged at the last minute. I’d responded to a message from the client first thing, letting me know about it, and that was no issue, I’m good to go by 9 anyway.

What complicated the morning was something closer to home. The night before, my five-year-old son had scalded his ankle. He was okay, thankfully, but sore — so we decided I’d drive him, his sibling, and their dad to school rather than having them walk the usual mile. That meant my attention from 8am to dropping them at the school gates at 8.40am was entirely on parenting: preparing breakfast, dressing the kids, bandaging my son’s foot so his socks wouldn’t rub. All very normal. All very human.

I was back by 8.50, at my desk and ready to go.

What I wasn’t ready for was the cascade of messages I opened my computer to:

“Can we meet before the meeting so I can prep you?”
“Have you seen my email?”
“I’ve sent the prep — please confirm you’ve got it.”
[Missed call]
“If I can’t reach you I’ll contact VRS to cover the meeting.”
“The VRS interpreter is prepped. Don’t join the link.”

I didn’t feel angry at first. I felt guilty, like I’d let my client down. But as I sat with it, I realised the anger came from somewhere else entirely.

It came from a dangerous idea: that as an interpreter, I should be constantly available, always responsive, infinitely flexible: a service provider without a life, a body, or a family.

Three reasons I’m angry – and you should be too.

1. Toxic availability culture is out of control.

Over the course of my career, the workday has slowly bled into personal time. Messages late at night. Calls on the school run. Emails expected to be answered on holiday. A creeping normalisation of being “on call” – even when you’re not.

This is not unique to our profession, but it’s especially pernicious in freelance, gig-based or self-employed fields. The UK still lacks the protections some other countries have introduced, like laws that penalise employers for contacting staff outside of working hours.

This culture tells us that boundaries are optional. But they’re not; they’re essential.

2. Caring responsibilities are invisible … and devalued.

Whether you’re caring for children, elderly relatives or disabled family members, society tells us to keep quiet about it. Don’t let it “get in the way” of work. Don’t bring it up. Don’t ask for adjustments. Just cope. Quietly.

It’s no coincidence that this affects women most. Caring responsibilities remain one of the biggest contributors to the gender pay gap. As a majority-female, self-employed profession, many interpreters are all too familiar with the pressure to return to work just months after childbirth – not because we’re ready, but because we can’t afford not to.

We need to stop pretending that the people who care for others aren’t also professionals. We are both. And we deserve respect in both roles.

3. The interpreter-client dynamic is still misunderstood.

There’s a long-standing tension around value, especially in Access to Work bookings. Interpreters are sometimes resented for what we charge, with comments like “You earn more than me!” or “Why complain – you’re paid well for it.”

But this isn’t about pay. This is about being treated as if we have no right to a personal life; no right to parent, to rest, or to be unavailable for 30 minutes on a school run after a minor household medical emergency.

I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m asking for something very basic:

To be treated like a whole person.

I’m an Interpreter. But I’m Also a Mother. And that’s Okay.

The truth is, I love my work. I take pride in being prepared, professional and fully present for my clients. I don’t resent last-minute bookings. I understand the unpredictable nature of work under ATW. But the expectation that I should be immediately reachable — even before the booking has started — crosses a line.

If I’d been unreachable due to a flat tyre, would it have been viewed differently? Maybe. But as it was, my need to care for my child felt invisible. And unacceptable.

So this is me saying: I see it. I name it. And I’m not ashamed of it.

To the interpreters reading this: Your life matters too. Your caring responsibilities are valid. Your boundaries are worth defending.

To clients and agencies: Respect the professionalism of interpreters by also respecting their humanity. If we’re booked from 9am, then don’t expect a response at 8.15am.

Emergencies are one thing — pressure is another.

Because I’m not just an interpreter.

I’m also a mother. And that’s not something I need to apologise for.