Teachers have been quite vocal about the introduction of the new radically reformed exams, but when it comes to the pupils themselves, I’m not always convinced that they have the voice they deserve.

To this end, a Year 12 student, who wishes to be known as Crayola, has written about the roller-coaster of emotions that have accompanied the last two years for her. “Crayola” is a MAS - a More Able Student - and is fiercely ambitious. The MAS label has clung to her throughout her time in school - sometimes acting as a motivator but sometimes also as a source of extra pressure.

Here, she writes about the process by which she came to accept the reality of the new GCSEs. I find it fascinating in that, in many ways, it mirrors my own experience as a teacher. Initial fury at students being used as “guinea pigs”, and then gradual acceptance of what we can’t change.

When asked about her reaction to her results, she felt so dismayed that she was initially lost for words. I feel it necessary to add that, while she didn’t achieve the top grades she almost certainly deserved, she did get a highly respectable set of results that leave all doors open in the future. But, like many teenagers, she is harder on herself than anyone else could be.

Crayola is based in Manchester. All the details about her identity have been changed.

Those who compete are those who win, right? Wrong. 

I think it happened in five stages: five stages led to me believing that I had to compete in order to succeed. 

Stage one: denial

I denied that the exam boards were going to change the curriculum, making everything twice as hard. I denied that I was going to have to…compete. 

In Year 10 I didn’t see it as “denial”, I saw it more as me “fighting the system”. Soon enough, that all changed.

Towards the end of Year 10, our science teacher began to tell us about the changes we’d face with the curriculum and the additional knowledge required. I remember vividly shouting in class: “They think we are robots!” I still don’t think I was wrong. However, it was an excuse for me to not accept the truth: the curriculum was changing and things were getting harder.

I’m not a robot, but I was a student who had to sit the new GCSEs, no matter what. I got on the boat so I wouldn’t end up drowning (also because I can’t swim). I accepted the changes and stopped shouting. 

Stage two: acceptance

Acceptance meant that I got serious. Really serious. I knew what I had to do to achieve the best results possible. In total I had 19 written exams, one practical exam for drama and coursework, a 10-hour exam for textiles split into the course of two days and one speaking exam for French. I knew this was slowly creeping up but I was still going at my own pace. I had all the time in the world to be prepared, right? I just had to balance my time and everything would be fine, right? I didn’t need to compete…right? Wrong. 

Stage 3: self-doubt

I subconsciously sugar-coated everything. This worked for a while until the December mocks. These exams were a harsh slap on the face that left a mark of disappointment and sorrow. My first written GCSE exam was in approximately five months and I had mostly 4s, a few 5s, one 3, one 6 and one 7. I was devastated. My results weren’t catastrophic but for someone whose aim was to get 7s, 8s and 9s, they left me in despair. I am a hard worker, I know that. And yet I still didn’t achieve my goal. That’s when I realised there are two types of working. Working hard and working right. 

I worked hard but I wasn’t working the right way: I should have been doing it the exam board way. I hadn’t looked at the specification once before the mocks. I was revising what I thought I had to know, not what the exam board required. That was the downfall of everything.

After sulking and being utterly shattered, I changed my perceptive. I had to do things their way and not mine.

In December, I got a 3 in physics. In the March mocks, I went up to a 6. For English literature, I had a 5 in December and an 8 in March. All my results showed at least 2 grades’ improvement.

Things were going my way, I ought to be happy, right? Wrong. Self-doubt and insecurity flooded in. 

I was top set for everything. My friends are incredibly talented and intelligent. My expectations for myself were high and I was determined to achieve the best. 

So even with my improvement, I still felt disappointed. I still felt that I could have done better, that I should have done better.

That was wrong. I should have focused only on my own progress, and not on others. No matter the grade you’re on, if you have improved, congratulate yourself, pat yourself on the back, then buckle up and aim higher. 

Stage four: competing

I had to compete. I knew what I was capable of and was more determined, focused and competitive than ever. It drove me to work harder than ever before. It helped me to cast out procrastinating and kept me focused.

I competed against thousands of other kids to achieve the best grade possible. I created a strict revision timetable, restricted my social media and Netflix use, and focused solely on my GCSEs.

Stage four: results day  

The night before results day, I planned my reaction - good or bad.

I was going to walk into the hall, greet my friends and talk about what they did during the holidays, acting as if my destiny wasn’t waiting for me. Then I would give each of them a personal and meaningful speech about the little things they did that I would remember them for and what I wanted them to remember me for. Then, after doing all this, I would walk up to the stand (which I imagined they would put out for each tutor group), take my results, go outside the hall and just reflect on them. No matter what happened, I would go back and talk about them with my friends. I planned it all. 

I forgot one crucial part: You can never plan results day. 

What I ended up doing was rudely waving off one of the lunch ladies, opening my results in the dusty corner of the hall, glancing at my grades (saw a few 6s, a couple of 7s and two 5s) then ran into the bathroom, cried and hid until I couldn’t hear any more footsteps and was sure that everyone was gone.

I didn’t get to properly say goodbye to any of my friends nor give my speeches to my favourite teachers who were waiting for me. I simply hid. I hid because I was ashamed and disappointed with my grades. After all my hard work, I hardly hit any of my goals. I felt ashamed of myself, for my teachers and my friends. 

That was wrong. If my friends had seen me through years of laughter, heartbreaks, joy and moments of progress and achievement, why would they leave in the end? Why would they be ashamed of me? 

The answer is they wouldn’t. 

Instead (when I later replied to my friends’ messages after hours of hiding), they each told me they were proud of me and that my grades were amazing. My teachers also congratulated contacted me and gave a pep talk about how they were not “ashamed” but proud. Neither my friends nor my teachers were disappointed or ashamed of me.

The regret of not saying goodbye will haunt me. I still secretly wish that I could randomly run into each of them so I could say my goodbyes. That chance is gone and I will have to accept that. Like I have to accept my results for what they are. They are not catastrophic as I’m making out to be: the truth is they are fine and they are able to guarantee me a place on the courses I want. 

GCSEs were rough, brutal and probably one of the most stressful and toughest time in my life (so far). Sometimes it feels as though you’ll never get through them, but you will.

Just remember, you do not need to compete to succeed, you need only focus on yourself and what you’re trying to achieve.

Crayola is a Year 12 student in Manchester. Emma Kell is a secondary teacher in north-east London and author of How to Survive in Teaching