Ordinary Lass Blog

Some months come and go quietly. May was not one of them.

This past month tested me in more ways than I could have imagined. It asked me to lead under pressure, to show up for others when I’ve felt numb and to be present as a mother while navigating deep personal loss. It was a month of wearing many hats — and feeling like they were all slipping off at once.

A fortnight ago was a busy Monday for me at the secondary school where I teach. At 10.30am, it was announced Ofsted would be coming to inspect the school for the next two days – which as anyone in the UK knows, means pressure to showcase the best of our academy, the staff and our students. Preparation between teaching classes was well underway.

By 1.00pm that same day, I then got the news that there was nothing more the doctors could do for my terminally ill step-mum – who, by that point, had already spent the last two and half months in hospital. We were faced with the insurmountable pain that she was slowly fading away from us.

Leading Under Personal Pressure

As I listened to my Dad sob uncontrollably, I wondered how we were going to break the news to my fifteen year old stepsister. Being consoled by my friend (also the Head of Department) meant that I could eventually gather myself. I knew I needed to go to the hospital and be with my family but there were ends I felt I needed to tie up first. With her support, we managed to finalise some curriculum documents and made a plan for the impending meeting with the Inspectors the following day. Whether I’d be in work or not was uncertain but I felt like we were organised and ready – even if it meant someone else would have to lead the meeting instead. I then left to go to the hospital – not knowing what the night would bring.

At the same time, our English team was supporting our Year 11 students through their GCSE English Literature exam — managing schedules, teenage emotions, and endless questions. The students needed a steady hand, and I tried to be that for them. In education, you learn to mask and suppress your own feelings, aware that you are modelling behaviour to impressionable young people. But behind the scenes, I was juggling just as much of my own pressure and heartache.

I still can’t quite believe that everything collided all at once.

I felt the urgency to run and be with my family 24/7. But how do you that as sole parent household and with educational responsibilities? I didn’t want my students to feel I’d abandoned them on the day of their final GCSE English Literature exam. There was also a part of me that wanted an opportunity to share with the Inspector the best of our school’s reading strategy – something we have worked hard on as a school for over the last few years to help our students access the curriculum more effectively. What was I supposed to do?

My responsibilities are never lost on me – I want the best for everyone and I want to be everything to everyone.

That night, after stifled discreet sobs in the kitchen. I weighed up my options and wondered whether I could find a solution that was a best fit – one where I could be a support for my family, a reliable colleague and educator as well as a present parent to my eight year old daughter.

I summoned up the courage and managed to get my “game face on”.

Check-in calls with my dad and sister and communication with senior management and HR meant that the necessary people were aware and offered their support. In the afternoon, an Assistant Principal and I had the responsibility of meeting one of the OFSTED Inspectors to discuss the reading culture at our academy. It was one of those professional moments where every word, every detail, every choice felt like it mattered — and it does. I had to be focused, articulate, and confident, even when overwhelm and stress whispered otherwise. I’m proud of how I handled it, but I won’t pretend it was easy. Somehow, I remained focused. The two of us were a good team in sharing the different ways we support our students as a school. Truthfully, I don’t know how I did it.

I guess I just followed my intuition.

I did what I felt was right for all the roles I have to juggle in my life.

I left after the meeting and headed to the hospital again. Into a different world where we were consoling each other.

Parenting and leaning on my Support Network

Parenting my little girl during all this is both grounding and overwhelming too. Her needs didn’t pause for deadlines or grief. She questioned why I was on the phone “all the time”. She didn’t know that mummy was exhausted or that mummy cried in the kitchen after bedtime. She just needed me. And I showed up in the best way I could with the help and support of those around me.

With support of family and friends, I juggled childcare and work responsibilities so I could be at the hospital in the evenings. I had a goal to give what I could to Year 11s, to the school and to my family. I was able to give everyone a piece of me.

And then… we sadly lost my step-mum.

Grief waits for nobody

Devastatingly, our warrior lost her battle with metastatic breast cancer. A pain that is still raw, torn through the family and remains with us all today.

Grief doesn’t wait for a gap in your calendar. It just arrives — heavy, painful and unapologetic.

I still haven’t processed it now. I’m glad that I was there by her side the night before, to be a support to my stepsister and our family – and to say my last goodbyes. I gave myself time at home late at night to write down all the ways I am grateful for her.

To be honest, I am battling to see lessons in the pain my family is facing. We are in the thick of it. To cope, I try to take strength and look for positives. Journaling has helped me to see what reflections I’ve made and what I’ve learnt:

Lessons I’m Carrying Forward into June:

1. You CAN do hard things — even all at once. Leadership, parenting, and grief stretched me thin, but I didn’t break. There’s strength in simply showing up and doing what you feel is right. I think we learn to bend, not break.
2. Grief doesn’t wait for convenient timing — and that’s okay. I gave myself permission to feel, even if the world didn’t pause. It’s important to take time for yourself.
3. Lean into your support system. Whether it was colleagues, friends, or family, I learned the importance of accepting help, not just offering it. Kind words and sympathetic interactions make me teary and my emotions spill out. You need people around you more than you realise.
4. Boundaries are an act of self-respect. I said “no” more than usual this month or simply communicated honestly what I could and couldn’t do – and each one was necessary. I don’t say this lightly; there is tension when someone has expectations of you at work and you’re not able to do what they need. You just have to remember WHO you are, what you stand for and ask yourself if you would be proud of how you’d shown up to each challenge.
5. Joy and pain can co-exist. My daughter’s giggles in the middle of tearful evenings reminded me that we’re capable of holding different extremes of emotions. The hardest thing to reconcile at the moment is accepting that life goes on – in world where ours feels empty.

As I step into June, I do so with a little more softness for myself, for my family, a little more respect for my resilience, and a heart that’s still grieving — but grateful for all the love and memories we’ve shared.

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With Love,

Jen x