Recently, I faced the fact that I had failed at something – quite publicly and dramatically – and it really hurt. I had a role of responsibility and I could not do it as I believed others felt I should have. Therefore, I resigned from it. It wasn’t all my responsibility – but in the moment of resignation, it felt like it.

What hurt even more was the fact that the role I had, though not directly linked to my headship, was within education and therefore the hurt was professional, as well as personal.

I then got nominated for TES Headteacher of the Year. An honor, but a bitter one as well. It caused some very close friends to question my integrity and roast me over the fact that I acted all humble about it but knew damn well I was in the mix because that is how awards work. You don’t get nominated out of thin air – you apply. My integrity matters to me, but deep down they are both right. The hurt isn’t deep enough for me to pull out, but I do need to come clean as to why.

Therefore, as you can imagine, I have been doing quite a lot of thinking about integrity and failure this bank holiday weekend.

The wisdom of learning from our failures is well documented. I suppose it is human nature not to keep doing the thing that hurts you. There comes a point in which it becomes blatantly obvious that we need to change our current direction of travel, “Let’s not poke that Hornets’ nest again…” for example. Sometimes, the thing we need to do is clear and apparent – The Hornets sting hurts us and we want to avoid it. But learning from failure isn’t always that simple. I think it is a very rare person who goes through life without making the same mistake more than once.

In the case of the resignation I keep thinking, why didn’t I just hold on and see it through. The difficult challenge wasn’t insurmountable but, in a moment, (A Sunday afternoon) after a flurry of emails I had a small tantrum and quit – on the spot. I regretted it almost as soon as I had sent the email… but there was no going back.

In the case of the award – why do I feel the need to be be recognised in this way? I know that I am not one of four of the best head teachers in the country. What have I done this year that’s better than hundreds of head teachers quietly getting on with the role under huge pressure? Nothing. I have done sweet FA more than them. When I look at it like this I understand my friends’ venom towards me. It is about integrity. Those people who turn down an OBE because they follow what they believe in, rather than use it as an excuse for why they aren’t recognised in the first place. Isn’t the job well done, enough?

For me… it’s not. My background and insecurity need the recognition. It is one of the things that has driven me throughout my career. It is the reason I became a headteacher. Why I wrote the book, Lessons from the Heads Office. To a degree, it is my strength and Achilles heel.  It started at school when I was in D Band (There were four bands and A band were where the so-called clever people were). I left school with no qualifications. My parents were so working class that my mother cleaned the toilets on Burnham sea front. I still remember being laughed at(almost daily) by other children because of this… poor, stupid and weird were the usual words thrown at me throughout my secondary school days. Even in later years I always feel friends think I am not as clever as them… not as well read, academic or cultured. Those that know me often have to struggle to get a word in as I try to regal them with stories or experiences. I think this has always left me with a burning desire to show everyone that I am a success.

LOOK AT ME NOW!

The problem is… I am no longer in need to prove this. I have had a great career, I have a lovely family, I enjoy the culture I love and I have fantastic friends… So, why still keep doing it? Why not ‘shut up’ and listen?

I think, firstly… This is who I am… I need to be comfortable with this need for recognition – rather than apologetic about it. The ‘acting all humble’ accusation was the piece of criticism from a friend that cut the deepest, but only because it was true. The positive is, reflecting on our weaknesses, our failures so to speak is not a bad thing. We need them. It either stops us doing something stupid, or allows us to see more clearly. The alternative is we pretend we are the perfect embodiment of a being. We have no skeletons, no frayed edges. Failure is inevitable and therefore something we should embrace – rather than avoid. As painful as it is to recognise a part of myself that others dislike I am at least showing some integrity towards it if I am open and honest about it.

The truth is there is nothing wrong with awards, as long as we recognise them for what they are. Events that we either choose, or don’t choose to be part of. Once I admitted this I felt a little better. But, I think most people don’t look at it like this. They assume that the shortlisted candidates are all randomly picked from the multitudes. That is not how they work. The TES awards are an incredible event. I have been lucky enough to have attended in the past. It is a night where you feel incredibly special and you do get wrapped up in the euphoria. Part of me wanted to feel that buzz again… Though there’s also the bitter disappointment of not winning mixed in.  But, I will certainly be far more realistic this time. Win, or lose it doesn’t matter because deep down a few sharp slaps from friends has allowed me to face up to the fact that I may need to step back and stop trying to convince the world that I am a ‘somebody’. Maybe that was what always made that friendship a long and successful one?

In the words of the farmer Hoggett in the film Babe, “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.”