Milly Allinson had a complex relationship with school.
I dealt with many challenges at school, but most came down to misinterpretations of my behaviour by teachers. These assumptions often led to negative feedback, though I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong. This is a common story for neurodivergent children.
At primary school, my social and academic challenges were masked by my genuine love of learning and my eagerness to please. As I was so conscientious, this made the assumptions from my teachers more distressing. For example, in one incident at primary school, I remember being told off by a substitute teacher. I had misunderstood the task we were assigned. When we were asked to write a mock news story about Henry VIII, I thought we were allowed to invent a story. I was excited about this, as the other children had been entertained by my acting skills in a history class a few days earlier. I wrote what was, I now realise, a somewhat inappropriate story about Henry VIII being involved in a scandalous affair. I read it aloud to the class, only to be glared at by the teacher. I remember shaking and feeling frightened. She said the story was stupid. I will always remember how she said it: “How stupid!” I felt awful and tried to explain that it was based on a performance from a previous class, but she was still angry. She said her instructions had been clear; it had to be a real story. I felt so muddled: why had I made such a mistake? Was it really so terrible? In retrospect, I think my autistic traits and ADHD contributed to my lack of awareness that I was not following the guidance and that the topic might be inappropriate. That, and the fact that I was only eight.
An open-minded, inclusive teacher could have turned this into a positive, strengths-based learning experience. For example, they could have asked me about whether I’d understood the question, or they could have praised my creativity while gently explaining how my writing could be perceived as controversial. It may have been in the wrong setting, but sometimes “stupid” behaviour is just a neurodivergent child thinking outside of the box. In my view, that kind of creativity should be encouraged.
Teachers also told me off for things like forgetting to leave a margin, using tippex too often, struggling to listen to instructions, talking too much or crying in class. All of these could have been opportunities to understand if I was struggling with concentration, or executive functioning or my mental health. When I was crying at school, I would really have valued support with understanding my emotions, a low-stimulation space to recover, and for the teachers to address the reasons for my tears.
When a school friendship broke down and I began to be bullied, it was I, not the other girl, who was brought up in front of the headteacher and questioned about my behaviour. I couldn’t understand what I’d done wrong, and I tried to think of solutions to help me understand. I suggested that the other girl and I write lists of things we didn’t like, so that we could both understand each other. The headteacher said there was no need for that and it was “just about considering other people’s feelings.” I felt sick. I was unhappy with how the other girl was treating me, but I was still trying to resolve the situation, and yet it was I who was being blamed. Autistic children being blamed or expected to take responsibility for their own bullying is not uncommon. In their BPS article for the British psychological Society (see Further Reading), Sue Fletcher-Watson and Dinah Aitken highlighted how, rather than addressing the bully’s behaviour, “social skills” interventions, which promote neurotypical social norms, are sometimes recommended to autistic children as a “solution” to their bullying. In many respects, my school enabled and perpetuated the bullying, and I had to leave within the year to become homeschooled.
School trauma is now recognised as a real issue for many neurodivergent children and adults, and it’s something I have struggled with my whole life. It doesn’t just make children anxious to go to school; it also shapes the way they see themselves and the world around them. School left me feeling like a “problem” and a “burden”, and it has taken many years to unweave these narratives about myself.
My circumstances are different from those of many autistic children today. Perhaps if I had received a diagnosis, teachers may have interpreted my behaviour differently and recognised that I needed extra help. But diagnosed children face another set of misconceptions, with their needs often defined by their diagnosis. Twenty years after my personal experiences, neurodivergent children are still grappling with negative assumptions in the school system.
As more students receive a diagnosis and EHCP, it’s vital to challenge the associated assumptions. As the saying goes, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. SEN training and guidelines are essential, but they can make SEN support a tick-box exercise. Rather than falling back on assumptions about autistic and ADHD needs, a tailored, child-centred approach is best. For example, routines are important to many autistic children, but co-occurring ADHD can make following rigid routines difficult. Autistic sensory issues also extend far beyond loud noises. Bright lighting, rough textures, and intense temperatures can also contribute to sensory overwhelm. Some autistic children may enjoy a bit of socialising, others may prefer quiet time.
Listening to neurodivergent children is vital. Naturally, this comes with its challenges, as many neurodivergent children (and adults) struggle with alexithymia and may not know how to put their needs into words, or how to identify them at all. Again, in this scenario, external behaviours can signal inner turmoil. In schools, child and teen behaviour is still viewed from a surface-level, behaviourist perspective, without recognising the emotional and cognitive processes going on underneath. Is it the case that an autistic child is “acting out”? Or are they trying to stim and self-regulate on an overwhelming school day? Is that ADHD teen being deliberately aggressive, or do they feel unheard and misunderstood?
This is not to ignore or invalidate the struggles of compassionate, hard-working teachers who are also cracking under the pressure of an outdated, underfunded school system. With large classes, reduced resources and training, and limited time, it’s challenging for teachers to provide tailored approaches.
It’s something that former SEN teacher Amy, also struggled to grapple with. We discussed her feelings about the rigidity of the school system: I had spent my life in a school setting, from school and college as a pupil, to working as a teaching assistant and teacher in both mainstream and specialist settings. I met some incredible teachers along the way, but what has always stood out has been the conflict of working within rigid behaviour policies which focus on reward and sanctions. These do not take into account the needs of children with SEND, nor do they identify what the behaviour is and why it occurs.
Despite schools having SENCOs, behaviour support plans, EHCPs and the best intentions to meet SEND needs, this is often surface level, with limited training in an environment that is not supportive. There are far too many unnecessary rules, with children sitting at desks, putting their hands up and having to prove their skills in handwriting to earn a pen licence. This takes away any child’s ability to develop independence and autonomy, suggesting that neat writing is what makes you successful. Teachers feel pressure to enforce these rules and champion a culture that they do not always believe in. This culture is also what feeds into their assumptions of children’s behaviour and how they ‘must’ ensure that every child stays on the green, and if you display any behaviour different from sitting still and listening, you are to be moved onto the red and sanctioned.
The behaviour and well-being of SEND children was always my area of interest. Understanding that ‘behaviour is a communication of need’ and seeking a way to support the young person to communicate that need and be heard was what helped me build strong relationships with young people, letting them thrive. They trusted me, and I also found new ways to engage them in meaningful learning. This came from working within a specialist setting where I was allowed to attend training courses that shared this approach. I built my classroom environment around the needs of the children, knowing that no learning could happen unless they had the tools to communicate and feel safe in their surroundings. This often took the first term to achieve, but was well worth it to create an optimal learning space. I was not afraid to make changes as I knew this would result in positive learning. I would always advise teachers to seek out training and not be afraid to move away from the ‘done thing’ or rigid systems.
The results are so rewarding. Teachers must not be afraid to challenge and ask “Why am I doing this?”, “what impact will it have? and “is it meaningful to this particular child?” We are all eventually going to move into careers that are not always spent sitting at desks, so why are we not giving children the flexibility to be themselves and identify their strengths? These are the questions that the government needs to ask when reviewing the school systems as part of the SEND reform.
Ultimately, what shaped me the most was the young people I worked with. I spent time observing them and prioritised finding out how they communicate and how I can ensure they feel safe and happy, as I knew that learning would follow. What I didn’t anticipate when I started this approach was how much I learned. Training provided me with a wide range of effective strategies, but these were to be used as a toolbox only. Each child needed me to be flexible in identifying which ones worked for them. I also discovered new ways to view the world and got so much joy from learning from the young people I worked with.
We do need a culture shift in school settings to remove rigid systems, empower teachers to be flexible and start challenging our school environments. As teachers and leaders, we need to challenge our own assumptions and look at children as individuals, asking “why?” and “how can I help?.
As Amy says, creating a truly neuroinclusive school environment requires a systemic shift. One that applies across neurotypes, helping undiagnosed neurodivergent children, as well as neurotypical children who may require additional support. Open-minded, flexible teachers can make a world of difference to autistic children’s lives, whether in mainstream education or EOTAS tutoring. They enable children to develop in the way that suits them. They provide guidance when needed, but avoid harsh judgements based on neurotypical social etiquette and rules. They take a compassionate approach that understands and validates the deeper causes of child behaviour.
Homeschooling greatly benefitted my mental well-being, but not every family can manage this. If schools and teachers can adapt to support neurodivergent needs, they can help autistic children to thrive.
Further reading: