Stress and anxiety? Not me. Of course, times get hard, right? You just deal with it and move on, it’ll pass, life will get better, things will get easier and go back to normal. Stress is part of life, it just means you haven’t organised your time properly, managed your workload or you’re just being a bit over-sensitive to things.
Yeah, about that.
On the face of it, that first paragraph sounds callous, harsh, judgemental and shows a lack of empathy. I get that. I should be really clear though – I never felt that way about other people feeling those things – just myself. I understood why and how other people might feel stressed and anxious, why it might affect their ability to do their job and I gave people time, space and support to get through it. I just imposed those feelings on myself and my own view of what being productive, successful and healthy was.
Academic year 24/25 had been tough. I had contemplated leaving education many times, to the point of enquiring about other jobs and trying to find something different I could do with my dubious skillset. I had spent the second half of the summer term just trying to paint on the brave face really, while trying to think of things I could do to get out. I looked at a few things out of education and education-adjacent but then the summer break came. Let’s give it a break I thought, the summer will do me good – I just need to refresh, recharge, reboot and reconnect with myself and my family. And I did just that – a great summer break, a lovely time abroad, time spent pottering around the house and before I knew it September was here again.
The year started well enough. I had been exercising, losing weight, which made me feel much better. The first month went well and we settled into our usual routine in school. But then, when October hit, things started getting harder. Nothing discernible, nothing workload-related, nothing on the face of it had changed, but I felt different. Very different.
Waking up in the morning was a struggle, but sleep eluded me night after night. Walking out the front door was a challenge every day, but getting home filled me with dread too. I lived for the weekends, but spent them grumpy and irritable with everyone around me. My life had become a series of juxtapositions, none of which was fulfilling.
Every morning became teary.
Every day became a mountain to tackle.
Every email made my heart race and my stomach sink, somehow both at the same time.
Until one morning I broke. I woke, showered, sat on the bed and just cried. I sobbed and sobbed and it just wouldn’t stop. My kids were downstairs, my wife getting ready. She found me in a heap on the bed, the pillow soaked through. I needed to hide. I pulled myself under the duvet, not letting her see me, not wanting to face the world, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to face anything. I couldn’t bring myself to come out of that duvet, to look anyone in the eye, to even begin to think about doing anything but weep. I was a shell of myself, completely lost, joyless and directionless at this point. Something needed to change. I managed to get a message to the deputy to say I wouldn’t be in.
I needed some help, some support, some… thing. I didn’t know what. The first call was to the GP. I didn’t get through my date of birth with the receptionist before bursting into tears again. Somehow, I managed to get across what I was feeling and what the problems were. They promised me a call back. I sat numb while I waited. My wife went to work, the kids went to school and life carried on around me. At that point I could not tell what the problem was – just a sense of dread, of being inadequate, of being overwhelmed and just not knowing what to do next. A callback from the doctor led to more tears and a prescription for medication to help with anxiety and a number to call for some talking therapies. They also gave me the offer of being signed off. Two weeks, a month? What did I think I needed? I had no clue. I didn’t take anything, in the end. It wouldn’t have solved any problems, and half term was just over a week away. I needed to address the root of the problem – time away would have just been the same as in the summer – refreshing, but not actually solving anything.
Later that day, my wife messaged me to see how I was. She had broken down on the school playground to a friend worried about me. She suggested a private therapist who a friend had been using. I mustered up the courage to give him a call, and after a brief chat we set up a session for the following week. I didn’t really know what to expect.
Going back to work the following Monday was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Getting out of that front door felt like conquering Everest. The rest of the school had carried on oblivious. My deputy knew, as did the Chair of Governors, but that was it. I smiled, went about my work and tried to survive the next weeks.
Half term came – meds were taken, just a small dosage, therapy started. Very unscientific, trying two solutions at once, but who was I to argue? I needed something. I was sceptical of talking therapy to start with. Would it really make a difference? I have never really opened up about the way I feel, or what it is like to be inside my head.
I don’t need their judgement, and they don’t need my burdens.
That’s how I felt. Scared of what people would think and worried about giving people other things to worry about when everyone has enough on their own plate. Over a series of weeks we unpacked a lot. Starting with my imposter syndrome – why do I never feel good enough? Perhaps because I never have been? I have always felt I underachieved. I could have done better, could have done more if I had worked harder. This is certainly true of school and exams, but I got by. I did just enough to get what I needed. Perhaps my constant fear of being caught out is that I have always felt like I got away with it back then, so I must just be getting away with it now. And, if you are just getting away with it, then being caught out, found out and humiliated is just a small step away. We talked about the burden I feel – the burden of everyone else’s problems and taking them on as if they are my own.
I’ve discovered that isn’t just an empathetic thing. It’s a worry thing. If someone is unhappy, it is because I haven’t done my job properly. If I had, everyone would be happy all of the time, with no problems. I’d have solved them all and everyone would be thriving. If they weren’t, then I had failed. I took every issue anyone had personally. Over time, these things were put into perspective.
It. Is. Not. All. My. Fault.
It is obvious, really. But it is so hard to accept at the same time. That feeling of not being enough, not being good enough is so dependent on what other people think and how other people feel – at least it was for me anyway – and that is completely out of my control.
I am happy to say – nine months on, I am in a significantly better place. I have a fresh perspective on life and work, in particular. I can handle people being unhappy. I don’t like it, I want to make things better for them, but I have come to accept that I can only do what I can do to help them, and after that, their burden does not have to be mine to feel quite as keenly as I was. Hurdles that would have floored me before are becoming more manageable – all because of that perspective shift. Ofsted came and went – not without stress and anxiety, but it did come and go without dragging me down.
My mental health had always been a cycle. Feeling fine and slowly getting dragged down and down, until reaching the bottom – feeling awful, then breaking it and starting at the top again. The problem was the bottom of the spiral was getting lower and lower every time. Now, I am equipped to stop that spiral, to recognise what’s happening and change my thinking before I get dragged in.
I am finishing talking therapy – it had become an offloading session rather than anything else. I now keep a daily journal. I am winding down the meds.
Most importantly, I want to stay in education. I’ve fallen back in love with it, I realise I am actually OK at the job I do and can be more confident in myself and the decisions I take. The perspective of the job has changed, I’m happier, more joyful, and enjoying life again.
I am looking forward to next year. This is something I haven’t been able to say for a number of years.
So what’s my message? Don’t let yourself burn out, don’t accept the signs of stress – get help. Get it earlier than you think you do. It might just change everything.
The Secret Headteacher 