I’m glad I won’t live to see my school’s next Ofsted inspection

As I looked around the staff room, I saw some faces tense and freeze. 

Some people let out an involuntary nervous laugh while others sprang into a state of skittish alertness.

In March 2022, it was time for our school to be inspected by the Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills, or Ofsted. 

Tensions were high – there were the seasoned veterans, teachers who had fought their way through plenty of inspections and now showed a serene expression of calm, while others were visibly anxious. 

At the time I was just like my colleagues, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every five years or so when the inspectors arrived at the primary school where I worked. 

Now, I’m not so rattled, and with very good reason. 

I have stage 4 bowel cancer and am unlikely to live to see another inspection, let alone be well enough to be at work when it comes. 

Despite that, I’ll use my remaining time to passionately advocate for a change in the ‘name and shame’ style of Ofsted inspections. 

I’ve seen first-hand the impact this culture of fear has on ordinary teachers, pupils and parents, and I don’t want anyone else to suffer through it.    

Fifteen years ago, I decided to become a teacher for one simple reason – to do all I can for the children I work with and give them the best possible start in life.

But for a long time I too became plagued by the unmanageable stress, panic attacks and downright fear that came with the news of an impending inspection.

On the surface, Ofsted inspections are necessary. As the organisation that holds schools to account, it is their job to provide information for parents and carers, all while promoting improvement.

However, you don’t need to dig much deeper before you discover issues.

For a start, there is the palpable grip Ofsted has on the everyday experience of children and pupils. 

Even before inspections are confirmed, every policy, every update, every decision, is seen through the prism of what Ofsted will make of it. 

And as dates for visits are put in the calendar, teachers find themselves paralysed by fear – I know I’ve experienced panic attacks in the lead up to an inspection and so have many of my friends in education.

Having been a teacher over a decade, I know how powerful even the mere thought of a negative rating can have

Schools are constantly required to show in a variety of ways that children are making sufficient progress, which I’ve found has led to kids simply switching off as they are constantly being drilled on meeting age-related expectation targets, rather than a fulfilling learning experience. 

I also find the inspections themselves problematic – in the visits I’ve witnessed, inspectors simply see a few lessons, conduct some interrogations, and pronounce a single world judgement like ‘inadequate’. 

It pains me that inspectors very rarely see the good work over a months or years, nor the actual improvements to a class or singular child. 

Instead, they leave teachers to deal with the trail of chaos and post-traumatic bewilderment in their wake.

And there are real life consequences to this – as the tragic case of headteacher Ruth Perry proves. 

Ruth took her own life last year, and coroners found that a critical Ofsted inspection had contributed to her death. 

It was clear to me that Ruth cared deeply about her pupils, and I can only imagine the sense of shame that accompanies a critical report from inspectors. 

Having been a teacher over a decade, I know how powerful even the mere thought of a negative rating can have.  

After a sleepless night, we tend to spend the entire visit dreading that knock on the classroom door and it’s even worse for school leaders like Ruth, as her sister Julia Waters has made it her mission to highlight.

Ofsted has asked schools to postpone inspections if they’re at risk of impacting teachers’ mental health, and they are planning to hold a consultation with teachers and families – but I’m waiting patiently to see how this changes things.

Even as I write this though, I know it is unlikely I will be here to see the next Ofsted inspection at my school.  

At most, doctors say I have around a 10% chance of being alive to see another one, which is due to fall in the next four years. But who knows if I’ll be deemed fit for work when it comes.  

Even if I am, I will no longer get myself worked up about it. I’m back at work for one reason – to do the best for children in my care. 

I refuse to worry about inspections. I’m filled with nothing but joy at the privilege of being able to teach.  

No more frantic late night scrambles for paperwork, no more anxiety, no more panic attacks.

And no more serving at the whims of a callous system of inspection, interrogation, and judgement. 

And though I will continue to call for change, I just want to live my best teacher’s life with the precious time that I have left. 

And no one, not even Ofsted, can take that away from me.

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