What I Tell My Students During Exam Season (When They're Anxious, Fed Up, or Just Done)

There’s a moment just before an exam starts - a quiet sort of panic in the room. Pens clicking. Deep breaths. Someone whispering “I haven’t revised.” Every year, I hear the same things from my students, and every year I find myself saying the same things back.

This time of year, the emotions are all over the place. Some students are genuinely panicking that they haven’t revised enough. Some are totally burnt out. Others are loud and jokey, pretending not to care. A few are just… done.

English is tricky because it’s not like maths or science, there’s not always a “right” answer. That’s scary for a lot of students. Revision can feel vague and confidence can wobble, especially with English Language and Literature.

But after every exam, no matter what they say when they come to find me, I say the same thing: Well done. It sounds like you did your best. That’s all I’ll ever ask of them.

Here’s what else I tell them:

“Take your shoes off, if you want.”

It’s a weird one, I know, but hear me out.

Before every exam, I tell them: You’ve got this.

But I also tell them to forget they’re in an exam hall. The setting can be more intimidating than the paper. I tell them how I used to sit my exams with one foot tucked underneath me - GCSEs, A Levels, even at uni. It was how I revised, that’s how I sat in most of my lessons, so it was how I sat the paper.

Now, I see some of my students get as comfortable as they can before they start - and if that helps them focus, I’m all for it.

“You care. That’s what this feeling is.”

Afterwards, if they’re spiralling or feel like it went badly, I tell them it probably went better than they think.

That awful post-exam feeling is normal. Honestly, I’d be more concerned if they walked out thinking they’d smashed it. That anxiety? That’s what reflection looks like. It means they care.

I always tell them about my A Level history exam. The question was almost identical to the one I’d chosen for coursework. I was so prepared. I’d written an A-grade answer before. I came out of the room buzzing. I knew with 100% certainty I had smashed it.

And yet… I got a low D. It happens. Exams aren’t always fair. We don’t always have the best day. And you’re allowed to feel frustrated.

“Don’t ask me what grade I think you got.”

And I won’t guess. I never try to predict grades based on what they tell me after the exam. I am very much. It’s done; focus on your next one.

A few years ago, one of my A Level Lit students told me he’d written about the antagonist having a messiah complex—something we hadn’t even discussed. He’d gone in with a totally different lens to all the different angles we had covered in lessons. I remember thinking the examiner would either think that’s genius or completely mad. It turned out it was genius. He scored a high A.

I tell that story every year.

And there is a reason for it. With literature, especially, I remind them: as long as your argument is reasonable and supported by the text, it’s valid. You don’t have to say what the mark scheme wants - you just have to argue it well. (Though I draw the line at Macbeth being abducted by aliens. That one’s a no.)

That’s also why I tell them: I don’t care about the grade. I care that you tried your best. And your best is always enough.

“These exams don’t define you.”

If I could say one thing to every student in the world that is sitting exams right now, it would be this:

These results don’t define you.

Yes, they’re important. But if it doesn’t go the way you’d hoped, there are other paths. Hard work and persistence will take you far. These results are not the final word, they’re just one chapter.

I got a U in AS Level French.

Not a single person has ever asked me about it. I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to professionally and academically without that grade holding me back.

Ten years from now, these exams won’t be the thing that matters most. You will be.

Final note for the teachers...

We’re holding a lot right now - pressure from above, pressure from the kids, pressure from ourselves.

All I’ll say is this: You’re doing more than enough. You’ve already made a difference.