Physical and Mental Wellbeing: I even tried hypnosis to cope with stress
When asked about my job, I sometimes describe being a headteacher as similar to being in an emotionally abusive relationship. I read a definition once, which described it as ‘a consistent pattern of abusive words and bullying behaviour that wear down a person’s self-esteem and undermine their mental health.’ And without diminishing the terrible experiences of people who have been in emotionally abusive relationships, I can’t help but find a correlation between the cycle of emotional abuse and the cycle of experiences I have working in education.
Some days I feel like I can handle it, and on others I feel completely crushed. No one in teaching needs me to tell them that being a headteacher isn’t easy. The past two years have added another dimension of difficulty to an already tricky job. The chances I used to have to refill my resilience-cup have dwindled and so, all it takes at the moment to make me spill over in despair is one more complaint from *that* parent, one snide comment from someone about how little teachers work, or one more child or family remaining un-helped by Social Services, CAMHS or one of the other over-burdened support systems out there.
There are delightful bits, of course there are, my passion for pedagogy and bearing witness to a child’s development are the bright spots in my working day. I enjoy assemblies, hearing children sing, chatting to the children in class and on the playground, reading stories and just having the chance to love the little people for who they are. Sadly, this is being buried in the putrid swamp of outside pressure and lack of funding. New curriculum, over-testing, new inspection frameworks, less funding, less support, less resourcing. At times it feels overwhelming.
I never would have described myself as a political animal, but the current situation has certainly forced me to be more aware and to speak up against the injustices being done to school staff, school budgets and the families and communities we serve. But, it is hard to stand against the continued media barrage against teachers, the head of Ofsted criticising us for helping children and families eat when no one else would, and the endless and ridiculous amount of information that is shovelled at us by the DfE.
My job as headteacher is to be a protective umbrella over my school, taking care of the bigger picture so my teachers can teach, my teaching assistants can assist, my children can learn and my families can flourish. In my 12 years as a head, I have faced tough times, deficit budgets, bonkers parents and challenging children. I have had death threats levelled at me and I have had a mentally ill parent actively try to strangle me (I was saved by a wonderful teaching assistant who held a door shut with her bodyweight so I could escape and call the police). I have had parents formally complain to the Local Authority about me for ridiculous reasons. I have had so many Ofsted inspections (including one from an inspector who brought a pink silk corset with honest-to-god nipple tassels on it into my school in her briefcase!) from which I have learned nothing about my duty to school, although I did learn a great deal about my capacity to cope with stress and keep a straight face!
I coped with all these things. I cried sometimes, I comfort ate my way through barrel-loads of junk food sometimes, I ran miles and miles, I composed and deleted my resignation letter, I even tried hypnosis to cope with the stresses. The thing is, these tough times would pass and I would have a chance to recognise the joy in my job, find my equilibrium and come back stronger and more positive.
Lately, however, it feels like there is no let up between the punches- I’m not able to fight back, I have no recovery time between blows… I feel like I’m being bludgeoned into a paste. I have put on weight, I hardly sleep, when I do sleep I grind my teeth so badly that I shattered a molar, I don’t exercise, I cry in my car on the way home but I can’t seem to explain exactly what it is that has tipped me over the edge. I feel like I shouldn’t feel like this. I have a job, a home, a family. I have so much to be grateful for, and so much that brings me joy. My staff are wonderful. They are amazingly supportive, genuinely good people. They try so hard and do their work magnificently. My governors are great and do so much to help me. They ask me how I am and how they can help me. They are the spokes in my umbrella, keeping me up and open over my school but my fabric is being torn to shreds.
I would love to do something else- at times I wish I could do anything else- but I am so worn down and burned out that I believe it when I think there is nothing else I know how to do. I’m trapped in this relationship, waiting for the good times that seem to be fewer and further apart.
Case Study: It’s easy to ask a question but hard to actively listen; leaders genuinely listen to the response.
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’ve learned that support is out there and no headteacher should ever feel like they’re on their own. Support networks are now all over the place and if you’re not getting the support from the authority/CEO then there are wonderful communities out there than can give you what you need.
I’ve also learned that I am strong, resilient and am so much more than a headteacher. I’ma dad, a husband, a son, a brother, a friend and I happen to work in education. |
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. |
After a short period of time out of leadership, I’ve recently taken on my second headship in another special measures school. It’s challenging, but the experience I’ve shared has made me so much stronger and, importantly, I have the network of support I need to thrive in the role. |