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We Can Never Be Employers of Choice Until We Promote Being a Sector of Choice

A guest blog by Helen Stevenson. Helen (a former teacher and MAT Executive Leader) is the Founding Director of Satis Education which deals with recruitment at all levels across the schools’ sector. Satis Education are market leaders in MAT executive leadership recruitment. Follow Helen on Twitter.

There’s a huge focus across the education sector about how we become employers of choice. However, I don’t believe we can ever become employers of choice until we operate in a sector of choice.

As education leaders, before we can begin to talk about how to become a sector of choice or employer of choice, it’s really important that we all understand what, in the 21st century, we are perceived to be.

We live in an increasingly consumerist society and as such education, like many other sectors, is viewed as a service industry.

We don’t make things, we don’t sell things – we provide a service. And to provide the best quality service we need to employ the best 'service providers'. With the current crisis in recruitment and retention, we need to do everything we can to encourage a new generation of 'service providers' to join us.

When when it comes to promoting the education sector as a sector of choice, we all have two choices: We can be an Eeyore – the eternal pessimist, or we can be Forrest Gump – the ultimate in glass half full.

Unfortunately, in recent years, and certainly coinciding with an increased use in social media, I fear there are far too many Eeyores taking to social media to bemoan our wonderful profession. I don’t believe in 'naming and shaming', so I purposely won’t provide examples.

However, as someone who spends a lot of time on social media for professional reasons, please believe me when I say if you are connected to people within the profession, it won’t take long before you come across numerous posts from education staff complaining about their job, directly or indirectly.

How do you feel about this?

What impact do you think it has potentially to new entrants to the profession?

But before I offend anyone I want to make one thing very clear, I’m not for one second saying that working in the education sector is easy. There are a number of issues that need to be tackled – the most pressing of which is workload.

And I for one would love to provide the silver bullet that means we could rid our colleagues of overwhelming workloads in one go – sadly none of us can do that.

The challenge of teacher workload is not one that will be resolved overnight – it will take school leaders collectively and persistently knocking on the doors of those in power and those who would be in power before anything is done. Together we are stronger, together our voices are louder, together we become a crowd and are more difficult to ignore.

But for the time being we can also be relentless in coming together to promote the positives, as well as seeking to address the negatives. Building the reputation of the sector will allow us to try to do something constructive about the recruitment and retention crisis ourselves.

In preparation for a presentation I gave at a conference recently, I contacted some colleagues and asked why they had chosen to work in education. And without sounding like I’m presenting Family Fortunes their top answers included:

• It’s more than just a job – you get the chance to make a difference
• No two days are the same – it keeps you entertained
• You become not just a teacher but a lifelong learner
• It’s generally a secure profession – a job for life if that’s what you want
• It’s a profession that allows you to be flexible in terms of where you choose to live and work – your qualifications and skills are recognised nationally and internationally

Now I have to say I don’t think that’s a bad list... it contains a great balance between altruism and personal gain.

If we let the Eeyores dominate we’ll reach a position where we’ve become part of the recruitment and retention problem, by promoting a narrative that puts people off joining the education sector.

I believe it’s incumbent on us all to accentuate the positives associated with the profession, in an attempt to ensure the sector becomes a sector of choice.

We are in charge of our narrative – let’s make it a positive one.

by wpadminuser

Clarity, Connection and Coaching

by wpadminuser

Possibilities and Perspective

A guest blog by Sarah Hussey.

Possibilities and Perspectives or What You Get When You Begin to Heal.

My little blog, How Headship Broke My Heart, was viewed over 400,000 times! It connected me with all sorts of wonderful people, and I even appeared on the local news! So, for anyone who is interested, here is an update from my current position in a brave new world.

As I write this, I am sitting on a blanket outside a beach hut close to where I live on the Isle of Wight. It is a Tuesday, term time and 2 o’clock. I am calm and I am breathing. It feels alien and amazing all at once. I am not in front of a screen (I am handwriting in a notebook), and my phone is on silent. I am calm and I am breathing. I do not have an emotionally dysregulated child (or two) with me, building Lego to calm down (neither do I feel the need to explain this to a member of staff who perceives this to be a reward!). I am calm and I am breathing. I am guessing that my blood pressure is fine, and I have a distinct and welcome lack of pains in my chest, head or arms and no sign of overwhelming feelings of anxiety. I am calm and I am breathing.

I am also very lucky.

It has been six months since the cardiac events that hospitalised me and scared myself and my family to distraction. Six months since I admitted to myself the impact that headship was having on my physical and mental health. I am still taking extensive amounts of medication daily and cannot do everything as ‘full on’ as I used to. I know I cannot go back to headship and stay well, and I am still waiting on a decision about ill health retirement (patience has never been a virtue of mine). On reflection though, I am not just lucky, I am lucky to be alive.

During the past few months, I have started to heal, and I have realised much about our education system and about myself. I maintain that the system is broken and serves neither pupils or school staff. It has slowly dawned on me that I am just one person, and that I cannot and should not do the job of five. And I finally recognise that I deserve a ‘good life’, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care and support others along the way.

Don’t get me wrong – I miss the school community deeply. It is a wonderful concoction of families and staff that I have invested my time and emotions in. I miss contact with the children, cuddles, jokes, comments about my outfits and, of course, the joy that good education brings them. I have learnt that I thrive on human contact and interactions and on some days I feel the loss of them.

However, there are many, many things that I do not miss. In pole position is jumping through hoops for an invisible inspectorate. Followed swiftly by the absolute ridiculousness of testing children for government league tables and allowing them to feel the pressure of these nonsense exams! After considerable rumination, I think that my third position would go to the daily difficult conversations and conflict that now makes up a large part of the headship role. I could go on…

For weeks after I was signed off, I didn’t know who I was – I had lost my sense of purpose. But over time I started to return to myself and remember who I was before I broke. I naturally have days when I am anxious about my heart health. I suffer with angina quite regularly and although I know how to treat it and what to avoid, sometimes I worry that the pain will turn into something more sinister. I have a wonderful therapist, who quickly identified that I have trouble slowing down and want everything done immediately (there has even been some discussion about ADHD – who would have known?). Her services are provided by the wonderful NHS, free of charge! And amazingly, my internal monologue telling me what a failure I am only pipes up occasionally and is no longer on a permanent loop!

If you are still reading, well done – stay with me as this is the important part! During the healing process I have been blessed with two life affirming things – possibility and perspective. I have possibilities stretching out in front of me. I am training to be a performance coach (with NLP), and this is teaching me valuable lessons about life and how we approach it. I am excited/terrified about supporting others to gain clarity and reach their goals. My mind is working overtime, ideas jumping about. Could I write a book? Train others to coach or teach? Run a cake shop that sells books? Become an influencer? A stand-up comedian? A pub landlord? (Okay I agree not all of them are sensible ideas!) But it is time to set some new goals, use my skills in a different but not less important way and how blooming exciting is that?

As for perspective, it is a game changer! All of the terribly important things that kept me awake at night, that I wanted to do better – they are no longer important to me. I did my best and that was enough. When you are in the midst of a busy life, in stressful situations, your perspective can be lost, normally shortly after your sense of humour!

Perspective has made me look to the future. When you suffer trauma of any kind you need time to adjust (recognised by therapists now as Adjustment Disorder). Knowing that you have risked your health for your job brings both clarity and perspective.

It is an obvious thing to say, but it is something we forget. You have one life and how you shape it is in your hands…

by wpadminuser

What It's Also Like to Be a Teacher

This blog is reproduced here with permission. Written by Ian McDaid on his blog on 15th May 2023.

Preface from Emma

I’m constantly struck by the narratives around our profession and am acutely sensitive to how they play into the ongoing and serious recruitment and retention crisis in teaching. Whilst it’s important to call out poor practice and be honest about challenges, it is also essential that we remember that working with young people is a privilege and is frequently joyful and rewarding. I came across this blog during what feels like a particularly dark period in our profession, when something bordering on despair seemed to pervade my interactions and my social media and it was a poignant and essential reminder of how wonderful this job can be, despite everything.

What It's Also Like to Be a Teacher

“Good morning Sir, had a good weekend?” That was my first interaction with a pupil today. However it wasn’t the first interaction since leaving school on Friday. Over the weekend I received this:

“Hi sir, I just want to inform you that I will be going on holiday on Saturday 20th May so will be missing the last week of term. This is a one off holiday and I my attendance this year has been 100% so far.

My parents did inform the school on the 5th February with a leave of absence form, but I was unsure if the attendance team had informed you.

Do I have to let all my individual teachers know?

Kind regards, ********”

Day then continues with praising a form for their attendance last week, and bigging up all last week’s achievement points awarded.

First lesson of the day… a timetable rotation mix up. I’ve got a whole class of kids sitting in a room, books open and raring to go. It’s the wrong class! Off they trot to where they should be and the correct class arrive shortly after.

Parental email to respond to, querying a detention ending with the words “if this is the case you have my full support”.

Break duty, always tricky, but more positives to take away. What stood out was the politeness of the student who wanted access to the lift. Good manners always appreciated and make a huge difference. Also spoke to some Y11s who were positive about the RS GCSE they just sat.

Practical lesson with Y8. Engaging, happy hour, with loads of achievement points awarded for outstanding work. Yes, a few positive rule reminders needed, but that is the norm.

After lunch I see a student I teach looking anxious about attending a lesson. I acknowledge that she looks agitated, and tell her to take a few mins to compose herself. I’m thanked by her. Without kindness we have nothing in schools.

Last lesson of the day was the most challenging. An example of one or two students wanting to rule the airwaves. Yes, sanctions were applied, more than I’d like, but that is why systems exist – to support teachers so we can get on and teach. Take away from that lesson “is it as easy as this?”, says the previously sanctioned pupil!!

Let’s see what tomorrow brings… other than a fresh start for every pupil.

Image by Freepik

by wpadminuser

Muddy Waters

A guest blog by Aini Butt.

‘Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and water is clear? Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?’ Lao Tzu

No.

I often lack this ability to be patient and I believe that I may not be the only one who struggles with this romanticised version of patience.

Stillness of the body does not always equate to stillness of the mind; it is during the silences that the inner voices are no longer drowned out, and their echoes may confuse you.

Passive listening will only add to the confusion and waiting for the inner storm to pass will not guarantee a relief either. It is during these times of emotional turmoil that motivational quotes are thrown around like toxic sprinkles of positivity only to add to the frustration.

This does not mean that there is no wisdom in these words. On the contrary! These pearls are of profound value; however, when taken out of their spiritual context they can feel like empty shells.

It was during another futile attempt at practising stillness of the mind that I decided to go for a run instead. During the run, I saw many muddy puddles and I thought of Buddha’s saying,

‘The lotus flower blooms most beautifully from the deepest, thickest mud.’

My mind wandered to the past when this quote was a stimulus for reflection and an art piece.

This whole time I had been trying to run around the mud only to realise that even muddy puddles have the ability to reflect the vast sky if only you change your angle. The pictures below show both the puddle and the reflection captured from a different angle:

A slight change to my angles allowed me to reflect the cloudy sky within this muddy water.

It was like an epiphany, arguably a long overdue one. This is when it all made sense! The growing frustration during those enforced moments of stillness followed by shame; the painful gaslighting of one’s own emotions. Until some much-needed, yet temporary, relief of the ‘muddy’ phase followed by a repeat of the same emotional cycle.

Racing my mind back to my muddy puddle, a change of perspective allowed me to understand that it was not the emotion itself that made me feel frustrated. It was the passive state of mind followed by inaction, which meant that this whole cycle of emotions was repeated over and over again. This is when my mind turned to Rumi’s words,

‘These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.’

When you experience physical symptoms of an illness, you don’t just ‘listen’ to them; you are required to make active attempts at pinpointing the cause and deal with its roots. The emotional turmoil you face at times may put you through inexplainable pain, one that you fail to describe or share with others. It is during these moments that being still seems like the only way to see it through. Although this may provide temporary relief, chances are that another storm is on the forecast.

A passive state of stillness alone will not cure these pains. So why do you expect your emotions to fade away or settle by merely allowing yourself to feel them? Are you expecting the flood of your emotions to drown you, and somehow by remaining still you will miraculously resurface?

You shame yourself when the underlying emotions muddy your waters despite all your efforts to keep them neatly tucked away and plough through your days. You continue to tell yourself that their resurfacing will only create unnecessary upheaval and some things, including some emotions, are better left buried.

What if you changed your perspective? Just like I did to capture the reflection within the muddy water. Maybe it is time for you to change the way you look at your emotionally turbulent times and allow the subconscious emotion to float to the surface, allow it to muddy your waters until you cannot deny it anymore.

As Rumi said,

'When someone beats a rug, the blows are not against the rug, but against the dust in it.’

In the same way, muddy waters serve a very important purpose. If you allowed the dust to settle back into the rug, the beating would have been of no use, similarly, passively waiting for your waters to become clear without appropriate action would be a missed opportunity for reflection upon the subconscious emotions.

The whole world has been made a source of reflection for you, even your muddy waters. Become a mirror to catch a glimpse of the depths of your emotions.

by wpadminuser

How Headship Broke My Heart

A guest blog by Sarah Hussey.

Preface by Emma Kell

Presenting to large groups of people is (and arguably, should always be) nausea-inducingly terrifying. My secret trick is to start by focusing in on a handful of key people: the one who exudes kindness and nods from the moment you introduce yourself, the one with the stubbornly straight face who you aim to win around, and the shrewd one who exudes the kind of wisdom that says, ‘I won’t take any crap, but I’m listening…’. Two years ago, in the Isle of Wight, Sarah was the latter. She’s the kind of person who exudes moral purpose and high standards – who inspires you to be the best version of yourself you can be. She’s the kind of person you want to go to the pub with and put the world to rights. I’ve since had the privilege of getting to know Sarah. She’s the kind of leader who makes me want to relocate so I can work with her; the kind of leader who eschews fads and polarities and embraces what works for her school and her community. She’s fiercely loyal to her team, wickedly funny, entirely lacking in ego and unapologetically authentic in her words and deeds.

During the months when I first got to know her, the ‘scabby pigeon’ in the corner of the ceiling (you can’t take your eyes off it because it might sh*t on you at any moment) was Ofsted. Sarah was frequently gung-ho about them – it’s our school and we know our community best and we know we’re doing a great job – but as she watched colleagues beaten down by inspections and the chant of ‘not good enough’ became louder and louder amongst fellow school leader she cared so much about, Sarah’s anxiety levels rose.

Ofsted came and went, as they eventually do, and it actually wasn’t as bad as she might have imagined.

Then, less than a month later, I received this text from Sarah

So looks like I am poorly after all. Have been in hospital since yesterday at 6pm and they want to transfer me to Queen Alexander hospital in Portsmouth as I have had a heart attack!!! I'll have to bloody rest now won't I? xxx

Sarah’s no longer in headship. The decision was taken out of her hands. Here’s her story.

Back in the summer of 2022, I wrote a blog for Emma Kell all about the ‘Joy of Headship’. I meant every word and I was looking forward to my 13th year of headship. It is now April 2023 and I have not been able to work since 1st December, plus I have handed in my notice for the end of the academic year. I am only 52! I often sit and wonder how I got here and if I could have done things differently. I am yet to come up with a definitive answer.

Let me talk you through the events and see if we can draw some conclusions.

Firstly, I need to make it clear that I have always loved my stressful but rewarding job, but something shifted in me this year and I was unable to switch off. Is it possible to care too much? The school is a good school; our team has worked bloody hard to ensure this and we were happy to show it off. However, stories of awful inspections were filtering down to me - through social media and then from fellow heads who had very recently been visited. I began to worry about our outcome; we were due any day and those worries became huge anxieties that I carried with me at all times. I have a history of depression and high blood pressure and I sought medical support with them both through October - but I was ‘fine!’

Ofsted called and visited us on 15th and 16th November (the same days as Caversham Primary, Ruth Perry’s school, which is not lost on me!) It was as I had been warned, a very different experience to the previous two I had led. The inspector had her views on the school before entering the building and there was a distinct lack of professional discussion. We retained our ‘good’, with a warning that they will be back in two years to check the things that weren’t ‘good enough.’ The outcome is not important though, it is the stress of the build up and the actual process that needs to be examined urgently.

A week prior to the inspection, my normally high blood pressure was even higher and I was prescribed extra medication to help bring it down. During the safeguarding ‘grilling’, my deputy and I watched my feet and ankles swell, reminiscent of Augustus Gloop! Another emergency GP phone call was made. By the end of the gruelling second day I was broken, I had barely slept and had been surviving on adrenalin only for 72 hours. The process was a constant battle, with my staff and I trying to prove how we knew the school was good and having the resilience to keep going. It was really tough - much tougher than it needed to be.

But hey Ofsted was done! I naively thought that once they had left the building I would feel joyous relief and be able to carry on where we left off. This time it was different. There were things that had been said, comments made in those two days that ate away at me. I had concerns about my brilliant staff and how they had coped; I felt like I hadn’t protected them enough. School life carried on, but it seemed to be even more stressful. We were dealing with some really challenging situations as all schools do and not enough time or money for staff to fulfil their roles effectively. For the first time in my role as headteacher, I felt that my staff were unhappy and wanted me to have all the answers - and I didn’t.

By the end of November, I was really struggling both mentally and physically. I decided to go on a school visit with my year 1 class and their wonderful, young teacher - I needed time out of my office and with some children (I barely remembered what they looked like). On the coach on the way home, I felt some mild chest pain and pins and needles in my left arm - I put it down to the fact that a little girl had fallen asleep on my arm!

The following day I had a particularly difficult meeting; I am normally really good at staying calm and seeing everyone's perspective - this meeting left me angry and frustrated (one of those where you sit in your office afterwards and cry angry tears!)

I called my GP the next day as I was feeling increasingly unwell and was told to go to A&E for an ECG, to be on the safe side. I really wasn’t sure where I would fit it into my day but I did manage to pop up at lunchtime, really not expecting what happened next. What followed was a period of morphine foggy conversations with different medical experts. I was admitted, discharged, admitted again and then told by a Cardiologist that I had experienced a string of cardiac events and that I was leading up to a huge heart attack - I know the clues were there but I was too busy and indispensable to listen to them. Did I mention that I am only 52?

I was then blue-lighted to the hovercraft, where I was stowed in the luggage bay with my own emergency team and taken to QA hospital in Portsmouth, it would have been exciting if I wasn’t so terrified! I then had a few days of bed rest and extensive investigations. I was finally discharged with a diagnosis of Acute Coronary Syndrome and more medication than my 81-year-old father has to take daily.

I am not recovered, physically or mentally, but I am getting there. I am attending Cardiac Rehabilitation (I am the youngest there), accessing mental health services and in a few days time will be travelling to London for a specialist cardiac MRI to see the scale of any damage done to my heart.

Do you know, I think I have read the Ofsted report a handful of times; it is so insignificant to me now. We really are replaceable at work - my school has continued without my presence.

My amazing GP is helping me to claim for ill health retirement from Teachers Pensions, this has been almost as stressful as the build up to an inspection and nowhere near sorted. It is a difficult process and you need to have your wits about you. My blood pressure is now deemed to be treatment resistant hypertension (I take four different medications all with different side effects for this alone) and I have a diagnosis of acute coronary syndrome, as well as depression and anxiety. However, if an Occupational Health expert decides that I will be fit for work again before pensionable age, I will not qualify for even the first tier of ill health retirement. The first report they wrote was so factually incorrect and badly written that I had to make a complaint to get an apology and a rewritten report. The doctor who saw me over Zoom for twenty minutes described in the report that I had a physical reaction to the ‘perceived stress’ of my job. In a time when colleague heads have taken their own lives I would like to think that other professionals would acknowledge our stress as very real. In our interview I was asked; if the governors could remove Ofsted inspections, a lack of budget, challenging families and leading a team of staff, did I think I would be able to do my job? Oh the irony!

So what do you think? Can we make any connections between my health and my role as Headteacher? I don’t think it needs to be spelt out, does it?

Schools need and value a system of accountability, but the current system is toxic. Education in this country is broken, we are undervalued and our concerns are dismissed - remember we are the sector that stayed at home during the pandemic. There will be no experienced headteachers left if this continues. Sadly, despite all the amazing things I have achieved in my career, I have been left with an overwhelming feeling that I have failed. No job should put your body under so much stress that it drastically affects, not just your quality, but the length of your life.

Change must happen!

by wpadminuser

Shards

A guest blog by Aini Butt.

You seek validation from the mirror,
a forced smile to please its reflection.
Your tears blurring your vision,
a forceful flood thirsting for its affection.

You work tirelessly, pushing all your doubts and fears aside, towards that romanticised image – the perfect depiction of success and happiness. When you pause to reflect, whether that is by choice or a grinding halt forced upon you, holding your breath before you open your eyes and gaze upon your reflection in the mirror. It's not what you had expected...

You see yourself as a failure when your mirror doesn't show what you had envisaged. You close your eyes. As you open them again, you look at the mirror hoping that the forced smile will somehow make it all better. But you forget, that it is not a mirror's job to entertain your desires; its reflection does not lie – and it will not lie to please you.

These are the struggles that we face when we have developed the ability to reflect, but the years of trauma do not allow us to practise self-compassion and accept our true reflection. Whether it be the result of generational curses, societal standards, toxic relationships, we hold ourselves and our image at ransom against unrealistic expectations.

One of these unattainable standards has been perfectionism, which I'm unlearning through my art. I have been trying different art media for a while now and have had some that turned out a lot better than expected. Despite the harsh criticism from within, they were seen as good enough attempts and deemed worthy of sharing with others.

These are the leftovers of an art piece I was working on. I tried something new and it didn't work out; not being able to face this failure during an already difficult time, I didn't have to think twice and it ended up in the bin.

Sat there at my desk still struggling to write in my journal, it dawned on me that I was still trying to escape those things that hadn't gone to plan. In the process of this desire to discard any evidence of my failures, I was trying to escape the lessons. Maybe because I'm tired of the lessons and the hurt that comes with them – every time!

I took the art out of the bin and tried to rip it up. Yes, it was anger and frustration, but allowing this emotion to flow through my body was the only thing that was within my control, even if for a moment it seemed like I was losing it. When I realised that I couldn't rip the Yupo paper, tears of frustration rolled down my cheeks. I grabbed the scissors and started cutting into the already-ruined art piece. When I had finally cut it into several pieces, I closed my eyes and sunk back into my chair. Looking at the pieces lying in front of me, the desk light shone its light on one of the smaller ones; the metallic gold shimmered, maybe even more so than when it was part of the whole picture.

All I could see was the glistening beauty of that small piece, which was part of my failure. In that moment, I forgot that I had failed to depict the image I'd had in my mind. I knew that going back to the same image was now impossible after cutting it into pieces. Even with the best efforts, I would not be able to recreate alcohol ink design in an identical way. I stuck the pieces into my journal and filled the gaps with gold foil.

Is that what we are meant to do when life breaks us apart and that desired reflection in the mirror is shattered into smithereens?

Sometimes we need to accept that the image we were working towards has been destroyed and it is only when we practise self-love and self-compassion that we will be able to see the glistening beauty of our shards.

by wpadminuser

My Response to the Plan

A guest blog by Abigail Gray.

The day before the new SEND Improvement plan was published, I was at the Outstanding Schools Conference at County Hall with leaders of international schools. There were delegates there from all over the world: India, Ukraine, Greece, The Netherlands, France, Dubai and, of course, the UK.

My good friend Louise Dawson, a passionate advocate for inclusion and an international SEND consultant, had invited me to her session on putting SEND policy into practice. It involved a hilarious pass the parcel activity, but typical of a great SEND practitioner, there was deep intent in the fun. There were presents but also questions instead of forfeits. School leaders quickly began an animated conversation about the challenge and opportunity of an inclusive school. What are the things we need to change? What needs are hardest to meet in the classroom? How do we fund effective support? What is included in our universal offer? How do we meet and manage expectations? This list went on.

One of the words that Louise used repeatedly in her presentation was ‘intentional’. She made it clear that inclusion doesn’t happen by accident, it happens by design. I think she’s completely spot on.

It’s long been my observation that no new plan, no law, no regulation, guidance or policy enacts itself. Writing it down doesn’t make it so. It takes people to do that.

It takes people to firstly be aware of what it is that they need to do, then work out how it might best be done. It takes action and courage and stamina and commitment. It takes personal and professional integrity. Every head teacher, every local authority officer, every teaching assistant, every teacher, every educational psychologist, every one that makes it happen. All of us.

All this talk of transformational plans, while the transformation yet to take place in education is the one that genuinely places children with SEND at the heart of what we do. At the heart of our inspection frameworks, our performance measures, our planning, our pay spine, our conscience. Not only do we need to be absolutely clear in understanding our obligations but, as Louise rightly says, of our intentions.

It’s always very clear to me when this has happened in a school. When a school gets it right for children with SEND, everybody benefits.

There is a sense of ownership and pride in the relationships that exist with families and children.

There is an understanding of the law and its importance in protecting the rights of the most vulnerable.

There is a willingness to listen to all feedback.

There are opportunities to try and sometimes to fail in pursuit of something better.

There is a shared belief that all children can achieve and thrive at school.

There’s a transparent approach to funding for SEND and to establishing value for money.

There is realism in recognising the limitations of both people and resources.

There is a genuine interest in staff well-being and development.

The graduated approach, we hear so much about for students, is in place for us and our own systems.

There is collaboration.

There is laughter.

There is success.

I know. I’ve been there and it was great.

by wpadminuser