Sean’s story: I sometimes feel guilty that I can’t fix everything

I didn’t enjoy school very much myself. It wasn’t until I got to university that I realised how much more I could learn when teaching was done differently. That reflection inspired me to go into education. I wanted to make things better for young people, to give them the opportunities and experiences I felt I had missed. Fifteen years on, I’m now Head of Faculty (and I’m still learning!). Each school I’ve worked in has brought new challenges, because every group of pupils is different. That constant challenge is what keeps me going. Teenagers are wonderfully honest too - they won’t hold back from telling you if something is a bad idea! 

What I enjoy most about my role is the autonomy and the privilege of working with such a wide mix of pupils. Most of our pupils come from deprived backgrounds, though some are more affluent and the contrast is stark. Our town doesn’t offer many suitable jobs or career pathways, so I often ask myself, how do I tailor the curriculum to really serve these young people? I try to teach my subject – PSHE  - in a holistic way, giving pupils skills that matter in life.  

But working in an area of high deprivation brings daily reminders of poverty. I’ve had to change the way I plan lessons because I can’t assume families can afford basic things (even a 10p pen can eat into a child’s lunch money). I’m always careful when talking about home life or school holidays; what if a child lives in temporary accommodation or cares for younger siblings during the school holidays? 

Trips and enrichment activities are another struggle. Subsidies help, but for many families the idea of spending anything extra just isn’t possible. I’ve seen the resentment it can cause when some pupils can’t join in. To help, I’ve arranged for donated football boots, organised lift-shares and even contacted local companies for support. Still, I carry a lot of guilt. I worry that my pupils won’t achieve the grades they could, simply because they can’t afford things like books. It’s a helpless feeling, knowing there’s only so much I can do. 

The weight of disclosures and the realities of poverty come home with you. I sometimes feel guilty that I can’t fix everything. Many teachers internalise this helplessness and don’t talk about it. Yet the impact is everywhere, pupils compare themselves to peers who can afford extra tuition, they struggle to complete homework without internet access or PCs at home, or they turn down activities to avoid embarrassment of not having the kit.  

More and more, teachers are being expected to take on the responsibilities of social workers. Parents often turn to me for advice on CAMHS referrals, as they struggle with long NHS waiting times. When you raise a safeguarding concern linked to poverty, you carry guilt for the parents who might be doing their best under difficult circumstances.   

When mentoring ECTs, I see how unprepared they are for the systemic issues we face. Teacher training is good at covering pedagogy, but it rarely addresses poverty, class barriers, or how to communicate with parents who may not be literate or speak English fluently. Poverty remains the “elephant in the room.”  

The pandemic magnified these inequalities. For some families, COVID was an inconvenience, for others, it was devastating. Working-class parents struggled with the costs of home learning, food and energy. Pupils told me they were worried about losing free school meals or being crammed into flats with no green space. That anxiety lingered long after restrictions eased. Since COVID, parents are more open about asking the school for help, which is positive, but our budgets are shrinking at the very same time costs are rising. 

Work intensity is another challenge. Deadlines and heavy workloads are part of teaching, but there has been a cultural shift. Staff wellbeing is now being discussed more openly, which is a step forward. Still, the sense of “too much to do and not enough time” never fully goes away.  

Boundaries are blurred with digital communication, and the demands from pupils and parents keep growing. This is the first time in my 15 year career I’ve been asked directly about my wellbeing, apart from when I was signed off once for stress. These conversations need to happen before staff reach a crisis point. 

If I could ask the government to make one key change, it would be to reform Ofsted so that inspections genuinely reflect the realities of teaching in areas of high deprivation. Ministers and MPs need to spend time in schools like mine, seeing first-hand what poverty looks like in classrooms and listen to the people experiencing it. Cuts always feel like something done to us, not with us. If policymakers worked collaboratively, they’d understand the direct impact their decisions have on pupils, staff and communities. School leaders play a vital role too; I’ve seen first-hand how collaboration and genuinely listening to staff can significantly reduce workload and create a more supportive environment. 

I’ve never seen a teacher leave because of pay. They leave because of stress, because they don’t feel supported, or because the job feels too much. The government often asks why teachers are leaving. I think the better question is, why do some teachers stay? What keeps us here despite the challenges? For me, it’s because I still believe I can make a difference. And it feels good to be asked how I feel about the job, not just what more I can do.  

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