The Teacher’s Role in Student Mental Health.

Hopefully, we have all had a teacher who made a positive mark on us. The kind who stepped beyond academics and paid attention to our wellbeing too, who refused to see us as simply a number in the system and took the time to learn who we actually were.

I know we live in a numerical world, one in which our scores and marks often determine how we are seen and what we are assumed to become. I do believe in the value of testing well towards one’s own goals, but I believe more strongly in the importance of raising kind, healthy human beings, a kind of success that cannot be measured by memorisation and repetition alone.

I have been fortunate enough to cross paths with a teacher of that special kind, and less fortunate to have encountered many who simply delivered facts in pursuit of retention. Let me shine a light on the former.

I will take you back to 2006, the year I met a teacher who had a lasting influence on the person I have become. I will spare the finer details, but for a nine year old, I went through two significant upheavals within the space of a year. I had recently lost my father and, shortly after, moved from South Africa, my home, to the United Kingdom. It ended up being something of an adventure, but as a child, I was leaving everything I had known behind. These changes had a direct impact on my wellbeing, though there were other factors at play too. Put simply, things were difficult.

The English school year begins in September, so I started midway through Year 5. It was, without question, my worst academic year. I know it was only primary school, but as a child who valued achievement, it felt dismal. I could not keep pace with the workload, and I felt the added pressure of being a new immigrant fighting against old stereotypes. The school did little to ease that transition. I felt the weight of starting over: making new friends, learning an unfamiliar curriculum, and proving that I deserved to be there, a burden I largely placed on myself. My teacher that year, meanwhile, seemed to see nothing beyond my below-average marks, with little interest in what might lie behind them. There was no guidance and little understanding. I struggled in silence, counting down the days.

Then Year 6 arrived and changed everything. In some ways, I had to experience the difficult year before I could appreciate the good one. I was fortunate enough to have a teacher, whom I will call Mr S, who saw something in me and took the time to help me draw it out. He noticed my academic potential, but also my sporting ability. It was in a PE lesson, playing cricket, that my confidence first began to grow. He recognised my ability almost immediately, and for the first time in a long while, I felt accepted among my peers. In South Africa, sport had always been part of my life, shaped by countless afternoons playing cricket with my older brother and grandmother. That one PE lesson brought back a feeling of pure joy. I felt like myself again.

He noticed the shift too. The next day, he handed me a letter inviting me to trials for a county cricket team and told me to give it to my parents, adding that he believed I had a real chance. At the time, it felt entirely out of reach, so I pushed the letter to the bottom of my school bag. He was persistent. Each day he asked whether my parents had signed it, and each day I offered an excuse while the letter sat quietly between that day’s lunch and the next day’s homework. Eventually, he followed up directly with my mother after school. She was caught off guard but assured him she would look into it. I was, understandably, held accountable for having kept it from her. Some of that came from self-doubt, and some from not wanting to add extra pressure or expense to our family. Whatever he said to her worked, because she signed the form.

I turned up to trials with little more than a bottle of water and whatever talent I had. I felt immediately intimidated by girls with branded kit and established friendship groups, but the experience stirred something competitive in me. I wanted this, in part because someone had shown me he believed I was capable of it. I had never felt as much a sense of belonging as I did holding a cricket ball. When the letter arrived confirming my place on the county under 11s team, I knew exactly who I owed that success to.

Mr S saw me. He gave me an opportunity that no one else had offered, and it shifted something in me that outlasted any single achievement. I began to do well in my schoolwork again and made the squad every year that followed, going on to play club, academy, and county level cricket for eight years, including representative honours and appearances at youth level. I trained at a ground I once could only have dreamed of, all because of the impact one teacher had on my life. As rewarding as those achievements were, they mattered less than what changed internally: my mindset, and my emotional and social wellbeing.

He gave me a genuine start in my new life in the United Kingdom. He believed in creating a supportive classroom, one that nurtured emotional, social, and academic development in equal measure. He focused on the whole student and made each of us feel that our emotions were worth talking about and learning to regulate. Despite limited support from the school itself, he chose to become a mentor, an informal counsellor, and an educator all at once.

Teachers occupy a uniquely important position in a young person’s mental health, often serving as role models beyond the home. They spend a significant amount of time with children as they grow, which places them in a strong position to notice when something in a child’s day to day functioning has changed. While teachers cannot make a diagnosis, their observations can support early intervention. A classroom can become a space for emotional expression that may not exist elsewhere in a child’s life. Teachers model healthy adult behaviour that children absorb and, in time, reflect back. In this sense, a classroom is a genuinely powerful place, and with the right teacher, it can shape a life.

Mind Over Matter.

Disclaimer: This article is shared for general psychoeducational and informational purposes only. It does not constitute professional psychological, medical, or counselling advice, and is not a substitute for assessment, diagnosis, or treatment by a qualified mental health professional. If anything in this article raises concerns about your own wellbeing or that of someone you know, please reach out to a registered counsellor, psychologist, or your local emergency and crisis services. Where personal experiences are shared, names and identifying details have been omitted or changed to protect the privacy of those involved.