Like all headteachers, I have a lot of worries but I try very hard not to let them impact on my mood at work and my smile as I walk through the school. My teachers don’t need to see me looking worried. It does nothing to help them feel supported and secure.

I think worrying is a massively under-discussed part of being a teacher. You don’t worry more as a headteacher, necessarily, but the nature of your concerns is different: if I get it wrong, my staff, children and parents will suffer, not just me.

What do I worry about?

The ultimate one, and the one that refuses stubbornly to vanish, is the feeling of “Am I good enough?”

A common problem? 

I wonder how many other heads feel the same way.

Whenever some new challenge appears in my world I go through feelings of complete inadequacy. I regularly have to talk myself into confronting this new encounter head on - but the underlying worry never dissipates.

You need a thick skin in this job, and you need honest staff and to be able to react to feedback. Fortunately, my guys all know me well enough, and hopefully trust me enough, to feel able to come to me and tell me that my “bright idea” is actually complete nonsense.

They never phrase it like that - they are far too courteous and respectful - but when one of them says the wonderful words “Have you got a moment?”, followed by “We really aren’t sure what you mean by this new idea. Could you explain it again please?”, then I know they really mean “Your idea is complete rubbish and none of us know what on earth you are going on about!”

I accept it, I change. And the worry continues.

The worry can be damaging, but it can be useful, too.

Humbling experience

Recently, I became concerned that not enough learning was taking place in my school. This was down to the impact that rehearsing our traditional key stage 2 production was having. This was a worry about accountability, really. And it was dangerous.

Then I saw the end product and my concerns disappeared. My amazingly talented teachers, teaching assistants and, of course, pupils created something seriously special. Watching those incredible children on that stage performing to the highest standard I had ever witnessed was so humbling.

I see a child being courageous and singing solos even though I know they suffer from anxiety. I see a child learning a multitude of lines even though I know they struggle to read. I see a child dressing up in an amusing costume, even though I know they are self-conscious.

Most of all I see the pure joy and overwhelming pride in my teacher’s faces while watching their children perform. I see my teaching assistants beaming with pride. These are the people who have supported and nurtured these children throughout their primary lives.

Now I worry we do not have enough room for these experiences amid the maths and the literacy. That’s a good worry to have as it will inspire me to make that room.

Fears for the future

So as another academic year draws to a close. Tears and tissues abound for everyone. Children move on and staff move on.

I wonder: what will the new academic year bring? What new worries will come my way? I have no idea. I’m not sure those at the Department for Education have any idea either. But we know there will be plenty of things thrown at us.

Wouldn’t it be great if we could meet with them, ask them whether they’ve got a moment and say, “I’m not really sure what you mean by this new idea? Could you explain it again please?”

It would be fantastic if, for a change, it was the DfE worrying and not us.

Sally Hamson is headteacher of Wollaston Community Primary School in Northamptonshire

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