School was a strange time for me. On one hand, I loved learning and I showed all the traits of a typical overachiever - a trait psychologists now suggest is common in young LGBT+ people who want to fit in.

On the other hand, homophobia was rife: both on my way to school as endless verbal tirades, and when I got there, too - I endured both verbal and physical abuse.

Once I was escorted to a senior leadership team (SLT) member by a group of peers who were worried for my safety during a particularly nasty incident. I was asked to identify the culprit. But there wasn’t just one person: it was just an accepted norm by the lower years to bully me for being gay.

‘Inviting the criticism’

There were no repercussions, though - not surprising when some of the teachers weren’t much better. A drama teacher made me repeat a scene during a play rehearsal, laughing increasingly hysterically because I was being “too gay”.

Another said I should not stand for head boy: “It might only make things worse.”

When my parents spoke to the headteacher, they were told bullying didn’t happen in this school and that I had invited the criticism by being open about my sexuality. He didn’t see the contradiction.

But this is not a tale of despair. Overriding all of these memories is my hero: my English teacher, Ms Davies.

She was fiercely intelligent, endlessly thought-provoking and had a dry wit that commanded respect. Nobody messed with Ms Davies and, in her, I could see the strength, bravery and drive that I needed to survive.

She was unflinching in discussing the challenges that were facing me and voicing her support for the cause: she made me realise I had to carry on fighting.

If teachers ever doubt the impact they make on their pupils beyond academic attainment, her impact on me is proof beyond doubt.

A strange return

Flash forward 10 years and, after a decade travelling and working in London, I had a sudden urge to return to the school.

I was contemplating a career in education and a former teacher invited me back. Perhaps subliminally, I also needed to go back to confront the place that had caused me so much pain.

While I was apprehensive about returning, I was welcomed back with open arms - including by the many teachers who remembered me and had offered me sanctuary in their classrooms. The old brigade were long gone, and it was clear times had changed.

What’s more, in a bizarre twist of events, I was introduced to the new headteacher who said if I ever wanted a job I was welcome to work there.

By the end of the week, I had signed a contract to work as a cover supervisor and would train on the job from September.

Like every teacher, starting teaching was challenging but, additionally, I had an overriding fear that the same homophobia I experienced as a pupil would recur as a teacher.

Coming out

I was unsure how to proceed but, after a serious incident in which a student shouted homophobic slurs at me in the playground that led to their being suspended, I realised I needed to face the issue head-on.

I discussed options with my mentor, who was supportive of my decision, and we decided I would simply acknowledge my sexuality through a tangential aside in the classroom - “My boyfriend loves that book” - and monitor the response.

Little did we know that by speaking up I would quickly win the respect of my students.

For these young people, I was their first encounter with queerness, and being in my classroom was an opportunity to safely learn and ask questions about the LGBT+ world.

Seeing their inquisitiveness - couched in honest respect and a desire to understand more - I was inspired to start a movement for better equalities education in my school.

A new generation

To do this I turned to the NEU LGBT+ community, Stonewall, Mermaids, Schools Out UK and a plethora of other brilliant LGBT+ organisations to help me transform the school into a hub of LGBT+ excellence.

I also had incredible support from the headteacher, SLT and all of my fellow teachers, who were excited to get to work.

Our projects started with launching a community group for students to meet once a week during lunch as a safe space to talk about their feelings, ask questions about LGBT+ life and connect with other students.

I also mentored vulnerable students who were struggling with their sexuality and was regularly approached by young people who wanted to come out to me and ask advice about managing the process with friends and family.

We also embedded LGBT+ history into areas of our curriculum and tutor time, with members of staff working together to improve representation across our subject areas.

Our work continued: we held LGBT+ charity events, we reworked equalities policies, I gave an assembly sharing my story with the students. With the help of my colleagues, we made LGBT+ equality a talking point. The impact was huge - students wanted to discuss the issue of homophobia in the playground and to share their experiences with LGBT+ people.

Where “gay” was once an insult, now it was being reclaimed. With a little education, students were showing a level of thoughtfulness and empathy that astounded me.

This isn’t to say that there wasn’t still homophobia - it is, after all, ingrained in our society - but others were quicker to speak out against bullying and report it.

Our staff training helped the school achieve a Stonewall Champion certificate to commend support for LGBT+ students. 

Moving forward with pride

Through all this, no one was more proud of what I achieved than Ms Davies, who I am still in touch with to this day.

While she maintains that ultimately I saved myself, I hope that deep down she recognises just how important a role she played (and continues to play) in shaping the man and the teacher I am today.

I’ve since left the school and now work as an initial teacher training tutor at a university. Leaving my school as a staff member was a lot harder than as a pupil: a place that had once caused me so much unhappiness had now become the centre of my world.

In my leaving speech, I shared one final message with my colleagues, and it is a message I would now like to share with you.

Regardless of whether you are LGBT+ or not, teachers have the power to make the world a better place for our young people.

It is our duty to stand up for our students, to challenge prejudices and ensure nobody is left behind.

We need to make our schools safe spaces that meet the needs of our young LGBT+ people and ensure that all of our community are educated through diverse curriculum experiences and the beliefs shared by their role models.

Be a Ms Davies to your students.

James Hodge is an English practitioner from West Sussex. After spending six years as an English teacher, a head of media studies and a lead practitioner, he now works in initial teacher training. He produces teaching and learning videos on Youtube in his spare time. He tweets @MrHodgeTeaches