HeadSHIP

I have always been ambitious and always saw myself becoming a headteacher. I don't know where I got this drive from, but it had always been there and, at the start, I was totally up for the challenge when I took on my first headship role as acting head at the age of 30. I had been at the school for a year prior to this step up, as deputy head – my first experience of senior leadership. Within six months, the school was deemed to requirespecial measures by Ofsted. Six months later, I was the acting head after the substantive head was signed off.

Despite my lack of experience and lack of a senior leadership team, I set out all guns blazing and was up for the challenge, eagerly awaiting to learn from experienced colleagues who would surely be allocated to support the school by the local authority or diocese. But the help never came. Instead I found myself being set with unrealistic accountability targets, deficit budgets, the governing body resigning, forced academisation… and minimal support. However, I still had reserves of enthusiasm and tackled the barriers whilst managing to steer the school on the right trajectory to improve… and my enthusiasm quickly turned into poor work-life balance and my job becoming my identity.

I now know that this was the first signs of poor mental health. I convinced myself that the school needed me to work 16-hour days, that the extra work over the weekend would leads to huge gains and that the ‘sacrifice’ of missing out on family time or socialising with friends would be worth it in the end. I’m now ashamed to say that work became so all-consuming that I was checking emails on my phone as I held my eldest daughter within hours of her arriving in the world via emergency c-section, as my wife recovered in the bed next to me.

The excessive hours continued and my mental health deteriorated. I was at home so little, I struggled to form a relationship with my daughter and the first real signs of depression hit. But things were going from strength to strength at school and, when this is where the majority of your self-worth comes from, I convinced myself things were going well – and I was doing it on my own!

We academised and I was really excited to now learn from the experienced colleagues within the multi-academy trust. But in truth, the support was sporadic at best and I slowly spiralled into a deeper depression as I struggled to process being diagnosed with an eating disorder and high-functioning anxiety. Surely this was the time to seek support and let someone, anyone, know what I was feeling? No. I embraced the stereotypical male mindsetand buried my issues, putting on a brave face to the world around me. No-one knew what I was going through and to everyone else I portrayed calmness and control personified. Andthis was when things started going really wrong.

With the extra accountability and pressures that came with the MAT, I began to crumble. I became disorganised, unreliable, inconsistent, erratic in my mood and isolated myself to my office. More deficits to sort, the school being sued by a parent, permanent exclusions rescinded through not fault of my own and complaints to Ofsted ate away at my low levels of resilience and the inevitable happened – I was signed off after suffering chest pains at work.

The six week spell away from school helped me to accept I needed help and returned to work enthusiastic and ready to open up to the MAT about my troubles. I opened up and I could feel the clouds that had consumed me clearing. Occupational health was sought and it helped and weekly check-ins kept me talking. But I knew that I needed a change. The role had taken its toll on me and I was excited to see a new role had opened up within the trust. I saw it as a fresh start and a chance to regain some confidence. I still remember that conversation with a member of the MAT central team. “You must be joking! You’re needed here!” was what I heard when I honestly shared that I felt I needed a change and I couldn’ttake the school further. My honesty fell on deaf ears and within months I’d been signed off again – but this time I never returned.

The final straw? Yet more deficits to address and having to make a teacher redundant. I knew the process like the back of my hand by now and was confident I had done the calculations properly. But I didn’t have a selection panel and asked for help from the Trust. It never came and we missed the deadline, meaning the poor colleague who was maderedundant would have to start the next academic year knowing they were surplus to requirements. I’m still scarred with having to deliver that message, on my own before school on a Friday, having not slept for 2/3 days prior. I stayed professional and apologised to my colleagues, went to my office, sat under my desk and cried for a long time.

I don’t really remember what happened next but my career had fallen off a cliff face and even worse, my physical and mental health had deteriorated to the point I didn’t recognise myself. I was signed off for an initial 4 weeks which became 6 months, prescribed meds and referred to therapy. In the months that followed, I went to some really dark places as I recovered from the trauma of what happened. The job had become my identify and that was gone. At my lowest, I thought the world would be better off if I wasn’t here.

It has only been recently that I’ve processed the whole situation and have moved on. I now know that I was, most likely, suffering from depression and anxiety for nearly three years the day I finally burned out.

But I can’t help but wonder:

What if someone had really listened?

What if someone recognised the signs of my poor mental health?

What if someone, anyone, would have stepped in and supported right at the start?

I truly believe that managers and leaders at all levels need to have an awareness of the symptoms associated with mental health conditions. Leadership in education is such a stressful job it is going to take a toll on anyone.

It’s easy to ask a question but hard to actively listen. Leaders need to check on the welfare of their staff and genuinely listen to the response. Just because someone says they are ok, does not mean they are ok. If someone’s performance has dipped, don’t threaten with capability – offer genuine, tangible support.