On Thursday, it’s A-level exam results day. Next Thursday, it’s the turn of GCSEs. Just typing these words makes the creature at the bottom of my stomach somersault and writhe and put me off my breakfast. The creature comes to life around March each year, just after the second round of mocks. I imagine it a little as the Xenomorph in Alien. It’s the slithery, intrusive creature which recalls the crazy rollercoaster of results days passed; the well-deserved (and sometimes unexpected) triumphs and the disasters.

Remembering the disasters result in that cold, sick feeling of having failed young people and the certain knowledge of weeks and months of post-mortem analysis and difficult conversations ahead. I know I’m not alone in being tortured by this creature - the spectre of the unknown, the uncontrollable and what has somehow come to be the ultimate measure of teachers’ success. The creature made me have to pull the car up on the way to get results last year because I thought I would vomit and causes crazy work nightmares whilst hundreds of miles from home with family.

Just as we give permission to make people feel us bad - guilty or inferior or imposters - I wonder if we have given the creature a little too much power over us.

I will without a doubt be rejoicing with some students and weeping with others two weeks today, and this is right and just. I hope beyond hope that there will be more celebrating than commiserating. These young people have played such a huge role in my life in the last year, seeing them frequently more often than my own children during the working week - witnessing their inspiring leaps forward and dramatic crises in the years that have led up to this crucial moment.

I can’t help but realise that the creature itself isn’t really doing any good at all. I can’t help but wonder whether the creature has a distorted perspective and makes me forget about what really matters. I can’t help but wonder whether it’s time to do my bit towards exorcising it or at least cutting it down to size.

I’m wondering if as teachers we can look back - not just this year but the years preceding it - and before we even know the exam results, take a more measured and more holistic measure of our professional success, whether we’re headteachers, heads of department, teaching assistants or main scale teachers. We will never get everything right every time, but if we turn from grades on spreadsheets to the bigger questions, this may help to mute the creature’s noise.

Like most things which cause anxiety and panic, it’s all about control. Have we done our best to control the things we can? We should ask ourselves the following questions. 

Have we really got to know and understand our students?

This isn’t just about data on the spreadsheet. Do we understand what makes them tick? What builds their confidence, where their fears lie, what passions we can tap into to inspire them in their learning? Has our understanding of them led to genuine breakthroughs in their learning and in their understanding of themselves and the world?

Have we genuinely worked together as well as we can?

If the teacher is the sole crusader in the battle against the powers that be it’s doomed to be a disaster. In every team I’ve ever worked in, there’s been a staggering array of contrasting and complementary talents. The people with the forensic eye for detail; the ones who are brilliant at identifying problems and then suggesting pragmatic ways forward; the creative and innovative; the academically brilliant; the quietly and consistently competent. Have we created an environment in which we have made it possible to celebrate and actively engage these talents?

Have we been reflective and proactive?

Do we just do things because ‘that’s how they’re done’? Or do we stop, reconsider and reshape our students’ daily learning experience to balance their needs with the optimum chances of success in exams? Without making rash and knee-jerk decisions, have we demonstrated a willingness to be flexible in our approaches and to make measured changes where these have been in the best interests of our students?

Has developing subject knowledge been a priority?

This is about both ensuring a deep understanding of the subjects we’re teaching and an understanding of how they are assessed, from the weighting of the assessment objectives to the questions that are most likely to present the biggest challenge to each student. Have we taken every opportunity to develop and discuss these areas? Have we kept ineffective and ‘pointless’ admin to a minimum to allow teachers to get on with the ‘main thing’?

Have we kept a close eye on the horizon?

Have we gone and found out what the most successful schools are doing to develop their students and learnt from this? Have we cherry-picked the most pertinent knowledge and information from the mass of ‘noise’ out there and identified the groups with which we can work most effectively? Do we know about changes to grade boundaries, have absorbed key information from examiners’ reports and made the best use of exemplary materials?

Have we been honest and open to feedback?

The creature can make it hard to be completely honest with our line-managers. If you admit to uncertainty or indeed abject terror in the face of the impending exam results, will this be reflected in the appraisal of your performance and ultimately in your ability to pay the mortgage? But the difficult conversations are important - to have them with others and to initiate them with our line-managers. We will hear things we don’t much want to hear - I’m acutely aware of the things I already need to do better next year - but in the long-run, these are the sorts of conversations that can lead to genuine breakthroughs. 

Have we effectively balanced support and accountability?

If we manage others and they have struggled, have we addressed their struggles promptly and openly or have we hoped that if we ignore them, they’ll go away? Have we been humane in our approach to our adult colleagues whilst at the same time ensuring that the interests of young people are at the heart of every action and decision?

I can clearly identify in which of these areas I’ve been less successful than in others. In some ways, this list, which could begin to provide a framework for departments moving forward, is pretty daunting. But, unlike the conversations in imagined dark offices with mirrored windows that decide our students’ fates next week and the week after, these are all things over which, depending on our role, we can - and must --exert some control.

And then there’s this. The key question. The heart of what we do. Have we cared? Have we laughed? Have we loved what we do? Have we shared our passions and our frustrations and had a few of those lessons where time gets swallowed up and the bell comes as a disappointing shock? Have we felt a flicker of excitement most days when approaching the school gates? If we have, I’d say two things: first, these are signs that we are happy in our roles and happy teachers make better teachers, as I believe I’ve said a few times before. And secondly, if we have, even if a few of our students fall short of the grades we’d love them to get, we’ve given them something more precious, more memorable and more valuable than a number on a grade sheet.

Now, creature, be quiet and still. I have lake swimming to do, ping pong to play, French cheese to eat and family to cuddle. Happy holidays, colleagues.

Emma Kell is a secondary teacher in north-east London and author of How to Survive in Teaching