Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve
Today, I woke up yet again from another dream about work. This time, I was talking to my former Head of Department, Tom, a very dear person to me. He had left for another school while I was on maternity leave, which meant he wasn’t there to support me when my car accident happened.
In my dream, I poured out my heart, telling him how angry and distressed I was about how our old school had treated me when I developed Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS). It is strange; even though he means a lot to me, we haven’t spoken in over two years. Yet, there he was in my subconscious, listening to my anger.
Later, as I was talking to my husband about it, I found myself wondering if I am developing PTSD from everything that unfolded at work. The intense dreams keep coming, and honestly, it feels like I’m constantly hunted by how the whole thing ended.
What doesn’t help is that the world is full of triggers that constantly resurface the pain. Back in August, it was the A-Level and GCSE results headlines on the BBC that brought those feelings back.
For a long time, Results Days mattered immensely to me. As a Head of Department, that day meant waking up incredibly early, right in the middle of the summer holidays. It didn’t matter whether I was in the Pyrenees or on our honeymoon in Japan. I would dive straight into the data, analyse it, write a detailed report, and navigate the storm of feelings that came with those grades, whether it was the joy of success or the sting of disappointment. Even before stepping into leadership, I cared just as much as a teacher. I would wait anxiously for Tom’s email to see how my students had performed, then immediately do a critical self-review to figure out how I could have helped them earn better grades and what I could learn for the coming year.
So this year’s Results Day headlines reminded me how deeply committed I was as a teacher, always going far above and beyond what my contract required because I cared so much about my students, my department and my school. But they also reminded me that when the crisis hit, my years of devotion, dedication and contributions suddenly meant nothing. No longer an asset, I was seen as an inconvenience, and all that time I was only valued for my utility.
That night, after ruminating all day, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake for hours, trapped in a loop of Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve. I rewrote history in my head again, replaying old conversations, imagining the stronger boundaries I should have set, and rehearsing the perfect comeback sentences I wish I had delivered. I found myself wondering how things would have looked if Tom had been there, if I had left sooner, if I had demanded the justice I deserved, or if I hadn’t cared quite so much.
It is exhausting how a past employer can still steal your peace and your sleep, leaving you fighting battles in your mind, even when it ended long ago in reality.
This new explosion of anger, sadness, and grief made me realise that I am living in what my psychologist calls a trauma loop. Maybe it is because my brain sees my teaching career as unfinished business.
Or maybe it’s simply because, as Taylor sings:
“Lord, you made me feel important
And then you tried to erase us.” 1
Or perhaps, it’s because, underneath it all:
“This place made me feel worthless.” 2
Whatever the reason, it’s clear I have a raw nerve around this topic, and Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve is the song I instinctively go to whenever that button gets pressed. Sonically, the music in the bridge mimics the racing thoughts of my late-night anxiety. It sounds exactly like the moment my brain tries to process a million Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve at once, without letting me stop.
And just as the music captures my mental chaos, the lyrics also perfectly mirror the nighttime battles I still fight with my ex-employer and the different stages of my pain, beginning with the personal agony of being haunted by my old self:
“God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be.” 3
Then it echoes my own frustration about this wound that refuses to heal, and how this trauma has permanently altered my memories:
“The tomb won’t close, stained-glass windows in my mind.” 4
It then gives voice to the betrayal I experienced when my school destroyed my trust, my belief in the education system, and the teaching community:
“You’re a crisis of my faith.” 5
It captures how my mind cannot rest, move on, or find closure:
“I can’t let this go, I fight with you in my sleep
The wound won’t close, I keep on waiting for a sign.” 6
And as the song reaches its frantic peak, it voices my exact reality:
“I regret you all the time.” 7
Finally, Taylor asks the very question that I ask myself daily:
“If clarity’s in death, then why won’t this die?” 8
But the answer is clear. It won’t die because
“I’m just mad as hell cause I loved this place.“ 9
The Concussion Girl
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “I Hate It Here.” The Tortured Poets Department. Taylor Swift, 2024 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve.” Midnights. Taylor Swift, 2022 ↩︎
- Swift, Taylor. “So Long London” The Tortured Poets Department. Taylor Swift, 2024 ↩︎