Tag: neurodivergence

  • Higher education needs to better understand the link between neurodivergence and hormonal dysregulation

    Higher education needs to better understand the link between neurodivergence and hormonal dysregulation

    The purpose of this article is to highlight an issue that is likely to affect many women working in higher education – but it’s one that they, their colleagues, and their managers are probably unaware of.

    In general, there is now a much greater understanding of the issues for women, and their male colleagues and managers, around peri- and post-menopause. Obviously that is not specific to HE but something that many organisations, including universities, have been keen to provide information and support on.

    What is less well publicised is the link between hormonal dysregulation and an exacerbation of neurodivergent traits in neurodivergent people. You might be wondering why this would be a particular issue for the HE sector. But there is evidence to suggest that universities are likely to attract a higher percentage of neurodivergent staff in academic roles (albeit often undisclosed), due to the strengths that are associated with many neurodivergent behaviours.

    These strengths include the ability to hyperfocus on the details of a single topic for a long time, without noticing when one is tired or hungry, for example. This is often a skill or behaviour that is displayed by those with significant responsibility for research.

    Perfectionism is also a known neurodivergent behaviour, often displayed by academics involved in both teaching and research, as are high levels of intellectual curiosity, creativity and original thinking. Finally, many neurodivergent individuals have a strong empathy towards the disadvantaged, linked to a strong desire to improve social justice – without this, many academics would not have decided to work in higher education.

    Having any or all of these skills does not mean that one is neurodivergent, but rather that neurodivergent individuals often have strengths in these areas. There is also an understanding that those individuals who excel at mathematics, and other STEM related disciplines, are more likely to be neurodivergent. Again this will include many academics working in HE.

    Making the link

    It is only recently that psychologists and schools have started becoming more aware of how neurodivergent traits manifest in children, and so more children are being diagnosed with these behaviours – and thus able to get the help, support and reasonable adjustments they need to thrive.

    Not so with the current adult workforce. When I was at school there was some awareness of dyslexia, although it was rarely talked about, but nothing about autism or ADHD. Indeed I first learned I had dyslexia during a university interview aged 17 when I was told that my English teacher had “helpfully” declared this in her reference. There was no awareness that finding out this way might be a shock, or that I might have other challenges that might benefit from support.

    Even when my children were school age (some 20 or 30 years ago), very few children in their classes were diagnosed, and then it was limited to boys with disruptive behaviours.

    There is now a greater understanding of the different forms of neurodivergence and, in particular, ADHD and autistic spectrum disorder. People with these neurodevelopmental conditions can exhibit the strengths above as well as less welcome ones, such as overwhelm, difficulty coping with sudden changes, the need for routine and one’s own space, sensory issues including noise and lighting, and suicidal ideation and self-harm.

    Why is this a problem? I went undiagnosed for 59 years. I could have gone through life without needing a diagnosis – had it not been for the exacerbation of traits that I now recognise was a result of the hormonal dysregulation I have experienced during the past 15 years. Years of significant overwhelm leading to dark thoughts and a desire to self-harm, extreme reactions to certain lights, noise, a dislike of being touched and an increasing inability to cope with change – particularly last-minute changes (not uncommon in higher education at present).

    I experienced similar issues during puberty and pregnancy. As with menopause, I put this down to hormonal change but failed to appreciate that this was linked to my, then unknown, neurodivergence.

    From recent experience and observation, I began to suspect that autistic traits increased as we aged and for women were exacerbated when linked with the symptoms of menopause. However when I attended a course on neurodiversity in the workplace facilitated by Zara Sloane, I learned that there was indeed a known link between hormonal dysregulation and an exacerbation of neurodivergent traits.

    In that same course, I also learned that the positive traits of many neurodivergent conditions were the very behaviours that arguably made great researchers and academics. So there are also likely to be many undiagnosed neurodivergent women in HE, unaware that the extreme physical, emotional, and functional impairment that they experience during their monthly cycle could be due to a neurodivergent condition which when treated, or even just better understood by themselves and their managers, could make life much more manageable.

    Supporting neurodivergent women in academia

    We now have more women in the UK workplace in general and also in higher education. Many of these are entering peri- and post-menopausal stages. In every menopause café my workplace runs, I hear examples of extreme symptoms women have that are not being sufficiently helped by HRT and other therapies. Is there something more going on? I am not saying we need to diagnose every potentially neurodivergent academic but, if someone suspects they might have a neurodivergent condition, and wants a screening, should we not find the resource for this?

    Just knowing that my monthly cycle, peri- and post-menopausal symptoms have been and are affected by my autism, in ways that other women don’t experience, is liberating. I now understand the overwhelm better, and can put in place periods of quiet work during the day to help regulate me. I can remove myself from situations that are particularly noisy and find a sympathetic ear without it leading to a crisis. But what about the thousands of other female academics who have not yet been diagnosed and are unaware of this relationship?

    If you have read this far, please bring this to the attention of your managers and leadership teams. Together, let’s publicise this link and get the support for the neurodivergent women in academia who think they just have extreme hormonal symptoms and don’t realise this is connected to neurodivergent conditions which need treating differently.

    Source link

  • Higher education misunderstands neurodivergence | Wonkhe

    Higher education misunderstands neurodivergence | Wonkhe

    The term “resilience” is everywhere in higher education.

    It shows up in strategic plans, wellbeing frameworks and graduate attribute profiles.

    Universities want students who cope well with pressure, bounce back from problems, and adapt quickly to change.

    But this obsession with using resilience as the cure all is quietly doing damage – particularly to neurodivergent students, and risks perpetuating a culture that conflates survival with success.

    Resilience, as it is often used in policy or wellbeing guidance, makes assumptions about a universal baseline.

    All students (and staff) are under pressure to “cope” with the demands of higher education, including anything from deadlines, group work, feedback, through to accommodation moves. It is as though everyone is starting from the same place, with the same resources.

    But neurodivergent students often come into higher education already managing complex internal landscapes – sensory overwhelm, executive dysfunction, rigid routines (or lack of), social anxiety, rejection sensitivity dysphoria, and demand avoidance, to name but a few.

    These are not just barriers to learning in an abstract sense but are, in fact, daily realities.

    And when we talk about resilience without consideration of this as a baseline for some, we begin to measure students by how well they endure suffering, not how well they are supported.

    A lack of adaptation becomes lack of success.

    Surviving is not thriving

    Neurodivergent students often go to extraordinary lengths to meet the expectations of higher education.

    They may appear to be coping, attending lectures, submitting assignments, and even achieving high grades.

    But this superficial success can be very misleading. What is often interpreted as resilience is, in many cases, a form of masking, a conscious or unconscious effort to suppress traits, needs, or behaviours to fit in.

    This is not a sign of thriving – it is a survival strategy.

    Masking is emotionally and physically exhausting. It can manifest as mimicked social behaviours, hiding sensory issues, or continuing despite major executive dysfunction. Over time, this leads to chronic stress, anxiety, and burnout.

    The student may be praised for their work, but inside they are struggling to maintain the illusion. The cost of appearing resilient is often invisible to staff and friends, yet it can be devastating.

    This is where the resilience narrative becomes dangerous. It rewards students for enduring environments that are not designed for them, rather than prompting institutions to question why those environments are so difficult to navigate in the first place.

    A student who seems to be “doing well” may be on the brink of collapse. Without understanding the hidden labour behind this apparent success, we risk reinforcing a system that values endurance over wellbeing.

    Support as self-blame

    While the rhetoric of resilience is often framed as empowerment, in practice it can move responsibility away from universities and onto students, especially neurodivergent students.

    Support services may focus on coping strategies, stress management, or time management techniques. These can be helpful, but when offered in isolation, they imply the problem is that the student cannot adapt satisfactorily, rather than with the system’s failure to accommodate.

    This framing can lead to a harmful cycle of self-blame. When students struggle, with rigid timetables, inaccessible assessments, or overstimulating environments, they are told to be more resilient. But resilience, in this context, becomes a term for tolerance of unsuitable conditions.

    When students inevitably reach their limits, they may internalise this as personal failure, that they didn’t try hard enough or put enough effort in.

    The reality is that the burden of adaptation is not equally shared. Institutional structures can be inflexible, and staff may lack the training or resources to provide robust accommodations.

    This creates a scenario where neurodivergent students are expected to conform to a model of academic success that was never designed with them in mind. When they can’t, they disengage, not because they lack resilience, but because the system has failed to support them.

    This creates a vicious cycle. The student struggles. They perseverate on that as personal failure. And yet, ultimately, they are encouraged to be more resilient. And when that doesn’t work, as masking and self-management have reached their limit, this is when neurodivergent students disengage or drop out.

    Whilst national statistics are not readily available due to underreporting and also confusion around definitions, research does point to these issues. The British Psychological Society (2022) reports that due to an over-reliance on self-disclosure, as well as inconsistent support systems,

    ND students face a disproportionate amount of challenges in higher education. Furthermore, the Office for National Statistics (2021) report that only 21.7 per cent of autistic adults were employed in 2020, demonstrating systemic barriers which students may face when transitioning to work.

    They will blame themselves.

    Rethinking resilience

    That is not to say resilience is inherently bad. The ability to manage setbacks and adapt to change is fundamental but, for neurodivergents, that can only be when it is coupled with appropriate support, inclusive systems and compassionate pedagogy.

    In its current format, the discussion around resilience become a deflection. It reframes structural exclusion, such as inaccessible or rigid assessment methods, inflexible teaching patterns, and overstimulating spaces, as personal challenges that they must overcome.

    An example of this may be that many universities still require in-person attendance for some assessments. For a student with sensory or processing issues, this could effectively provoke masking, which could lead to overwhelm and/or burn-out. Despite us having the power to change it, we instead expect students to improve at surviving the experience.

    A solid example of where this has been integrated, in terms of flexibility, is the University of Oxford’s (2024) NESTL toolkit, which demonstrates how applications of moving adaptations throughout the programme can, in the first instance, support ND students, but actually could have implications for all students in terms of authentic assessment and individualised learning.

    From resilience to responsibility

    If universities are serious about supporting neurodivergent students, they must start by reframing resilience not as an individual concept but as a systemic responsibility. Rather than asking students to become more resilient, the more important question is how institutions can reduce the need for resilience in the first place.

    This begins with designing systems that are accessible from the outset. Instead of relying on individual adjustments, universities should embed flexibility into their base structures, with adaptable deadlines, varied assessment formats, and alternative ways for students to engage with learning. These changes not only support neurodivergent students but enhance the experience for all learners.

    Creating a culture of safety is vital. Disclosure should not trigger a bureaucratic process but should be met with empathy, understanding, and timely support. It would be a bonus if staff training could go beyond basic awareness and involve critical reflection on how teaching practices can embody inclusion and empower educators to make meaningful changes.

    Finally, institutions must place ND students in the centre throughout the design and review of policies, curricula, and spaces. Lived experience should not be treated as an optional perspective but as a foundation. Only by shifting from a format of individual endurance to one of collective responsibility can we begin to challenge the structural barriers that resilience discourse too often obscures.

    The myth of the resilient student is appealing and offers a neat solution to complex challenges. But it also permits institutions to bypass important discussions about structural exclusion, academic tradition and the limitations of current support models. We have to rethink the system from the ground up, and not just ask students to endure it.

    Source link