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Blog post Part of special issue: (Non)belonging: Navigating education and research as a neurodivergent academic

Neurodiversity in the classroom: When teachers don’t fit the system

Emily Bathie, Doctoral Student at University of Derby

Teaching is a mentally and emotionally demanding profession; teachers may often feel overwhelmed or question their competence. Teaching depends heavily on sustained executive functioning – alongside planning, marking and meeting deadlines, teachers constantly juggle multiple responsibilities, sometimes managing safeguarding or serious pastoral concerns while teaching classes of 30 students. Yet despite these demands, there has been relatively little research on teachers with attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). has ADHD, a condition associated with difficulties in organisation, planning and time management that can make employment, particularly in a role as cognitively demanding as teaching, more challenging.

I did not know that my difficulties with executive function, motivation and general procrastination (Holthe & Langvik, 2017) were likely related to ADHD until my early 20s. They felt manageable; I could overcome task paralysis and perfectionism when deadlines were pressing. Entering teaching, though, felt like every ADHD trait I possessed was multiplied 10-fold. From my PGCE year, routine tasks required intense conscious effort. Planning was an early pressure point: I struggled to plan more than a few lessons ahead. I was always prepared for the lessons I taught, but in my first job, this was repeatedly treated as insufficient.

Lesson transitions were similarly demanding. Settling the class, taking the register, setting a starter: all while juggling simultaneous demands – late arrivals, missing equipment, questions – and maintaining authority. During lessons, I had administrative tasks like logging behaviour and toilet visits, all while monitoring timings, supporting students with additional needs and managing general behaviour. Without a fixed classroom or bell system, I had to constantly plan and adjust to be in the right place at the right time.

These may seem small things, but I felt like I was drowning. I knew I was a good teacher. In A-level lessons, with smaller classes and fewer administrative demands, I could thrive, even relax – but this was not enough. ADHD is often linked with low self-esteem and negative self-image (Pedersen et al., 2024), something I already struggled with. As a teacher, I felt that colleagues perceived me as incompetent, and I began to feel it myself. At one point, in my first months as a qualified teacher, the headteacher came into my class and bellowed that the noise level was too high. I perceived no significant noise: students were chatting while they worked, and I was circulating, checking understanding and supporting pupils who, from my perspective, were engaged.

My PGCE mentor had praised my creativity and passion as a teacher, my commitment to innovative ways of learning. These are also traits associated with ADHD (Arnold et al., 2010), and yet I started to feel those parts of me diminishing. Success seemed to be judged by adherence to unspoken standards of competence.

‘Success seemed to be judged by adherence to unspoken standards of competence.’

The Equality Act 2020 requires employers to provide reasonable adjustments for disabled staff. However, what is considered reasonable is left to the discretion of the workplace. I found schools reluctant to deviate from policy, even when there would be no negative impact such as through allowing flexible working when my classes were on study leave. I therefore had to work part-time to cope, and even then I constantly came up against barriers. Teaching three subjects – including two at A-level – in a three-day week would be difficult for anyone, but it felt impossible for me.

Teaching with ADHD highlighted how often narrow ideas of professionalism and competence are mistaken for effective practice. Teaching that looks different is easily misread or dismissed when effectiveness is judged against narrow norms. A lack of support for neurodiversity in schools could mean losing too many creative, innovative and compassionate teachers. Neurotypical colleagues can offer practical support, such as quieter workspaces for planning or marking, sharing resources openly and being conscious of judgment when neurodivergent colleagues work in different ways. Schools could also consider establishing a neurodivergent staff network, with protected time to share experiences and support, and senior leadership responsive to the issues raised.


References

Arnold, B., Easteal, P., Easteal, S., & Rice, S. (2010). It just doesn’t add up: ADHD/ADD, the workplace and discrimination. Melbourne University Law Review, 34(2), 359–391.

Holthe, M., & Langvik, E. (2017). The strives, struggles, and successes of women diagnosed with ADHD as adults. Sage Open, 7(1), 1–12.

Pedersen, A. B., Edvardsen, B. V., Messina, S. M., Volden, M. R., Weyandt, L. L., & Lundervold, A. J. (2024). Self-esteem in adults with ADHD using the Rosenberg Self-Esteem Scale: A systematic review. Journal of Attention Disorders, 28(7), 1124–1138.