It’s the night before results day and my brain refuses to switch off. Although this is my 25th A-level results day as a teacher, my mind cannot help but reliving my own anxieties from 30 years ago, and I am always shocked at how raw those emotions feel.

I have set an early alarm, but I will not need it. The clock ticks past bedtime, and I’m lying here, staring into the dark, thinking about my students.

I’ve seen the hours they’ve put in. The late-night study sessions. The endless essays and plans rewritten until their hands went numb and the ink smudged.

The moments when they doubted themselves and kept going anyway. I know how much tomorrow means to them.

It’s impossible not to worry — not because I doubt them, but because I know the weight these results can carry in their minds. The letters on that page feel like a verdict, but of course they are not. They’re just one chapter in a much bigger story.

Tomorrow, some will walk away elated (I hope) and some may be disappointed.

Some will be quietly proud, even if no one else sees why. My job is to remind them — and maybe myself — that wherever those grades land, they will still have choices, opportunities, and worth beyond measure.

Results day will come and go. But the courage they’ve shown, the resilience they’ve built, and the kindness they’ve given each other and me — those things will last far longer than any letter or number.

Tonight, I’ll try to sleep. Tomorrow, we face it together.