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Inclusion without structural change: what neurodiverse academics tell us about inequality in higher education

by Eleni Meletiadou

The blog is based on the recent outputs from our COST ACTION CA20137 VOICES project entitled: ‘Lived Experiences of Neurodiverse Academics and Early Career Researchers in Higher Education: Identifying Structural Barriers and Pathways to Inclusion.’

Introduction

Higher education institutions across Europe increasingly emphasise equality, diversity, and inclusion, yet neurodiversity remains unevenly addressed within academic career structures. While universities have developed policies to support disabled and neurodiverse students, far less attention has been given to the experiences of neurodiverse academics, particularly early-career researchers and women. As a result, inclusion is often framed as an issue of individual adjustment rather than institutional design.

This blog presents findings from a qualitative survey conducted as part of the work of the VOICES COST Action, which examines inequalities affecting Young Researchers and Innovators (YRIs) from a gender perspective and promotes dialogue between researchers, institutions, and policy-makers across the European research ecosystem. The project explored the lived experiences of neurodiverse academics in higher education to identify structural barriers and inform policy and practice.

The findings suggest that, despite the growing visibility of neurodiversity, academic systems continue to be shaped by narrow assumptions about productivity, communication, and career progression. These assumptions can disadvantage those whose cognitive styles or working patterns do not align with dominant norms, particularly in contexts characterised by high workload, precarity, and informal career expectations.

Academic norms and the persistence of the ‘ideal worker’ model

Participants in the survey frequently described academic work as governed by implicit norms rather than transparent criteria. Expectations related to teaching, research, administration, and collegiality were often perceived as unclear, variable, and dependent on departmental culture.

Previous research has shown that academic environments tend to reward constant productivity, long working hours, and high levels of self-management, reflecting what has been described as the ‘ideal worker’ model. These expectations can create difficulties for academics whose cognitive styles involve fluctuating concentration, sensory sensitivity, or the need for predictable routines.

Respondents highlighted challenges associated with unpredictable workloads, competing deadlines, and the pressure to remain constantly available. Conferences, meetings, and networking events were also described as demanding environments, particularly when participation required rapid communication, multitasking, or tolerance of sensory overload.

Such findings indicate that the difficulties experienced by neurodiverse academics are not simply individual challenges but are closely linked to the way academic work is organised. Consistent with the objectives of the VOICES COST Action, inequalities affecting early career researchers often arise from structural features of the research environment rather than from personal limitations.

Intersectional inequalities: neurodiversity, gender, and career stage

The survey also revealed that neurodiversity intersects with gender and career stage in ways that intensify disadvantage. Early career researchers on temporary or part-time contracts reported reluctance to disclose neurodivergence or request adjustments due to concerns about job security and professional reputation.

These findings align with existing research showing that precarious employment conditions are common in early academic careers and can discourage individuals from seeking support. When career progression depends on short-term contracts, publication output, and informal recommendations, academics may feel pressure to conform to existing expectations even when these expectations are difficult to meet.

Female participants described additional pressures related to expectations of organisation, emotional labour, and collegial behaviour, which have been widely documented in studies of gender inequality in academia. These expectations were perceived as particularly demanding in environments where workloads are high and institutional support is limited.

From the perspective of the VOICES COST Action, such findings highlight the importance of examining inequalities through an intersectional lens. Neurodiversity does not operate in isolation but interacts with gender, career stage, and employment conditions to shape academic experiences.

Inclusion policies and the gap between commitment and practice

Most respondents reported that their institutions had formal equality, diversity, and inclusion strategies. However, the implementation of these policies was often described as inconsistent. Support frequently depended on individual supervisors, line managers, or departmental cultures rather than on clear institutional procedures.

Participants noted that adjustments were typically provided only after formal disclosure, placing responsibility on individuals to identify their needs and request support. This approach can be particularly challenging for neurodiverse academics, for whom disclosure may involve perceived professional risks.

Research on disability and inclusion in higher education has shown that institutional responses often focus on individual accommodations rather than structural change. While accommodations are important, they do not address the underlying assumptions about productivity, communication, and career progression that shape academic work. The findings of this study suggest that inclusion policies may have a limited impact if they are not accompanied by changes to workload models, evaluation criteria, and organisational culture.

Implications for policy and institutional practice

The qualitative data point to several areas where institutional policy could better support neurodiverse academics and early career researchers.

Greater transparency in workload and progression criteria

Clear expectations regarding teaching, research, and administrative responsibilities can reduce uncertainty and support fairer evaluation. When criteria are implicit, those who struggle with informal norms may be disadvantaged.

Flexible and predictable working practices

Flexible deadlines, structured communication, and predictable scheduling can support a wider range of working styles without lowering academic standards. Such measures may benefit many staff, not only those who identify as neurodivergent.

Training for academic leaders

Supervisors, heads of department, and line managers play a key role in implementing inclusion policies. Training that increases understanding of neurodiversity can help ensure that support is applied consistently and fairly.

Mentoring and peer support networks

Structured mentoring programmes can reduce isolation, particularly for early-career researchers and women. Informal support networks were frequently described by participants as essential for coping with the demands of academic work.

Dialogue beyond the institutional level

In line with the aims of the VOICES COST Action, improving inclusion requires discussion not only within universities but also at national and European policy levels. Research evaluation frameworks, funding structures, and career pathways all shape the conditions in which academics work and therefore influence who is able to succeed.

Towards more inclusive research environments

The findings presented here indicate that neurodiversity in higher education continues to be addressed primarily through individual adjustments rather than structural reform. Academic career systems remain shaped by implicit norms that privilege particular working styles and disadvantage those who do not conform to them.

If universities are to meet their commitments to equality, diversity, and inclusion, neurodiversity must be considered within broader discussions of precarity, gender inequality, and the sustainability of academic careers. Creating more inclusive environments requires not only support for individuals but also critical reflection on the assumptions that underpin academic work.

As initiatives such as the VOICES COST Action emphasise, meaningful change depends on sustained dialogue between researchers, institutions, and policy-makers. Without such dialogue, there is a risk that inclusion will remain a policy aspiration rather than an everyday reality.

Higher education has the opportunity to move beyond reactive accommodations towards more inclusive structures. Doing so is not only a matter of fairness but also essential for retaining talented researchers whose contributions may otherwise be lost to systems that remain insufficiently flexible to support diverse ways of thinking and working.

Dr Eleni Meletiadou is Associate Professor (Teaching) at London Metropolitan University and a Principal Fellow of the Higher Education Academy. Her research focuses on equity, diversity, and inclusion in higher education, with particular emphasis on neurodiversity, gender equality, digital pedagogy, and education for sustainable development. She leads the Research Group on Inclusive Learning, Transnational Education and Academic Sustainability (RILEAS) and the Gender Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (GEDI) Research Group. Her work has been recognised with the British Academy of Management Education Practice Award (2023) and includes several European and international projects on inclusive assessment, AI in higher education, and widening participation. She is an active member of COST Actions examining inequalities in the research ecosystem and the impact of digital transformation on higher education. Her research interests include organisational change in universities, inclusive curriculum design, early career researcher development, and socially just approaches to teaching and learning.

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/dr-eleni-meletiadou/


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What the experience of neurodivergent PhD students teaches us, and why it makes me angry

by Inger Mewburn

Recently, some colleagues and I released a paper about the experiences of neurodivergent PhD students. It’s a systematic review of the literature to date, which is currently under review, but available via pre-print here.

Doing this paper was an exercise in mixed feelings. It was an absolute joy to work with my colleagues, who knew far more about this topic than me and taught me (finally!) how to do a proper systematic review using Covidence. Thanks Dr Diana Tan, Dr Chris Edwards, Associate Professor Kate Simpson, Associate Professor Amanda A Webster and Professor Charlotte Brownlow (who got the band together in the first place).

But reading each and every paper published about neurodivergent PhD students provoked strong feelings of rage and frustration. (These feelings only increased, with a tinge of fear added in, when I read of plans for the US health department to make a ‘list’ of autistic people?! Reading what is going on there is frankly terrifying – solidarity to all.) We all know what needs to be done to make research degrees more accessible. Make expectations explicit. Create flexible policies. Value diverse thinking styles. Implement Universal Design Principles… These suggestions appear in report after report, I’ve ranted on the blog here and here, yet real change remains frustratingly elusive. So why don’t these great ideas become reality? Here’s some thoughts on barriers that keep neurodivergent-friendly changes from taking hold.

The myth of meritocracy

Academia clings to the fiction that the current system rewards pure intellectual merit. Acknowledging the need for accessibility requires admitting that the playing field isn’t level. Many senior academics succeeded in the current system and genuinely believe “if I could do it, anyone can… if they work hard enough”. They are either 1) failing to recognise their neurotypical privilege, or 2) not acknowledging the cost of masking their own neurodivergence (I’ll get to this in a moment).

I’ve talked to many academics about things we could do – like getting rid of the dissertation – but too many of us are secretly proud of our own trauma. The harshness of the PhD has been compared to a badge of honour that we wear proudly – and expect others to earn.

Resource scarcity (real and perceived)

Universities often respond to suggestions about increased accessibility measures with budget concerns. The vibe is often: “We’d love to offer more support, but who will pay for it?”. However, many accommodations (like flexible deadlines or allowing students to work remotely) cost little, or even nothing. Frequently, the real issue isn’t resources but priorities of the powerful. There’s no denying universities (in Australia, and elsewhere) are often cash strapped. The academic hunger games are real. However, in the fight for resources, power dynamics dictate who gets fed and who goes without.

I wish we would just be honest about our choices – some people in universities still have huge travel budgets. The catering at some events is still pretty good. Some people seem to avoid every hiring freeze. There are consistent patterns in how resources are distributed. It’s the gaslighting that makes me angry. If we really want to, we can do most things. We have to want to do something about this.

Administrative inertia

Changing established processes in a university is like turning a battleship with a canoe paddle. Approval pathways are long and winding. For example, altering a single line in the research award rules at ANU requires approval from parliament (yes – the politicians actually have to get together and vote. Luckily we are not as dysfunctional in Australia as other places… yet). By the time a solution is implemented, the student who needed it has likely graduated – or dropped out. This creates a vicious cycle where the support staff, who see multiple generations of students suffer the same way, can get burned out and stop pushing for change.

The individualisation of disability

Universities tend to treat neurodivergence as an individual problem requiring individual accommodations rather than recognising systemic barriers. This puts the burden on students to disclose, request support, and advocate for themselves – precisely the executive function and communication challenges many neurodivergent students struggle with.

It’s akin to building a university with only stairs, then offering individual students a piggyback ride instead of installing ramps. I’ve met plenty of people who simply get so exhausted they don’t bother applying for the accommodations they desperately need, and then end up dropping out anyway.

Fear of lowering ‘standards’

Perhaps the most insidious barrier is the mistaken belief that accommodations somehow “lower standards.” I’ve heard academics worrying that flexible deadlines will “give some students an unfair advantage” or that making expectations explicit somehow “spoon-feeds” students.

The fear of “lowering standards” becomes even more puzzling when you look at how PhD requirements have inflated over time. Anyone who’s spent time in university archives knows that doctoral standards aren’t fixed – they’re constantly evolving. Pull a dissertation from the 1950s or 60s off the shelf and you’ll likely find something remarkably slim compared to today’s tomes. Many were essentially extended literature reviews with modest empirical components. Today, we expect multiple studies, theoretical innovations, methodological sophistication, and immediate publishability – all while completing within strict time limits on ever-shrinking funding.

The standards haven’t just increased; they’ve multiplied. So when universities resist accommodations that might “compromise standards,” we should ask: which era’s standards are we protecting? Certainly not the ones under which most people supervising today had to meet. The irony is that by making the PhD more accessible to neurodivergent thinkers, we might actually be raising standards – allowing truly innovative minds to contribute rather than filtering them out through irrelevant barriers like arbitrary deadlines or neurotypical communication expectations. The real threat to academic standards isn’t accommodation – it’s the loss of brilliant, unconventional thinkers who could push knowledge boundaries in ways we haven’t yet imagined.

Unexamined neurodiversity among supervisors

Perhaps one of the most overlooked barriers is that many supervisors are themselves neurodivergent but don’t recognise it or acknowledge what’s going on with them! In fact, since starting this research, I’ve formed a private view that you almost can’t succeed in this profession without at least a little neurospicey.

Academia tends to attract deep thinkers with intense focus on specific topics – traits often associated with autism (‘special interests’ anyone?). The contemporary university is constantly in crisis, which some people with ADHD can find provides the stimulation they need to get things done! Yet many supervisors have succeeded through decades of masking and compensating, often at great personal cost.

The problem is not the neurodivergence or the supervisor – it’s how the unexamined neurodivergence becomes embedded in practice, underpinned by an expectation that their students should function exactly as they do, complete with the same struggles they’ve internalised as “normal.”

I want to hold on to this idea for a moment, because maybe you recognise some of these supervisors:

  • The Hyperfocuser: Expects students to match their pattern of intense, extended work sessions. This supervisor regularly works through weekends on research “when inspiration strikes,” sending emails at 2am and expecting quick responses. They struggle to understand when students need breaks or maintain strict work boundaries, viewing it as “lack of passion.” Conveniently, they have ignored those couple of episodes of burn out, never considering their own work pattern might reflect ADHD or autistic hyper-focus, rather than superior work ethic.
  • The Process Pedant: Requires students to submit written work in highly specific formats with rigid attachment to particular reference styles, document formatting, and organisational structures. Gets disproportionately distressed by minor variations from their preferred system, focusing on these details over content, such that their feedback primarily addresses structural issues rather than ideas. I get more complaints about this than almost any other kind of supervision style – it’s so demoralising to be constantly corrected and not have someone genuinely engage with your work.
  • The Talker: Excels in spontaneous verbal feedback but rarely provides written comments. Expects students to take notes during rapid-fire conversational feedback, remembering all key points. They tend to tell you to do the same thing over and over, or forget what they have said and recommend something completely different next time. Can get mad when questioned over inconsistencies – suggesting you have a problem with listening. This supervisor never considers that their preference for verbal communication might reflect their own neurodivergent processing style, which isn’t universal. Couple this with a poor memory and the frustration of students reaches critical. (I confess, being a Talker is definitely my weakness as a supervisor – I warn my students in advance and make an effort to be open to criticism about it!).
  • The Context-Switching Avoider: Schedules all student meetings on a single day of the week, keeping other days “sacred” for uninterrupted research. Becomes noticeably agitated when asked to accommodate a meeting outside this structure, even for urgent matters. Instead of recognising their own need for predictable routines and difficulty with transitions (common in many forms of neurodivergence), they frame this as “proper time management” that students should always emulate. Students who have caring responsibilities suffer the most with this kind of inflexible relationship.
  • The Novelty-Chaser: Constantly introduces new theories, methodologies, or research directions in supervision meetings. Gets visibly excited about fresh perspectives and encourages students to incorporate them into already-developed projects. May send students a stream of articles or ideas completely tangential to their core research, expecting them to pivot accordingly. Never recognises that their difficulty maintaining focus on a single pathway to completion might reflect ADHD-related novelty-seeking. Students learn either 1) to chase butterflies and make little progress or 2) to nod politely at new suggestions while quietly continuing on their original track. The first kind of reaction can lead to a dangerous lack of progress, the second reaction can lead to real friction because, from the supervisor’s point of view, the student ‘never listens’. NO one is happy in these set ups, believe me.
  • The Theoretical Purist: Has devoted their career to a particular theoretical framework or methodology and expects all their students to work strictly within these boundaries. Dismisses alternative approaches as “methodologically unsound” or “lacking theoretical rigour” without substantive engagement. Becomes noticeably uncomfortable when students bring in cross-disciplinary perspectives, responding with increasingly rigid defences of their preferred approach. Fails to recognise their intense attachment to specific knowledge systems and resistance to integrating new perspectives may reflect autistic patterns of specialised interests, or even difficulty with cognitive flexibility. Students learn to frame all their ideas within the supervisor’s preferred language, even when doing so limits their research potential.

Now that I know what I am looking for, I see these supervisory dynamics ALL THE TIME. Add in whatever dash of neuro-spiciness is going on with you and all kinds of misunderstandings and hurt feelings result … Again – the problem is not the neurodivergence of any one person – it’s the lack of self reflection, coupled with the power dynamics that can make things toxic.

These barriers aren’t insurmountable, but honestly, after decades in this profession, I’m not holding my breath for institutional enlightenment. Universities move at the pace of bureaucracy after all.

So what do we do? If you’re neurodivergent, find your people – that informal network who “get it” will save your sanity more than any official university policy. If you’re a supervisor, maybe take a good hard look at your own quirky work habits before deciding your student is “difficult.” And if you’re in university management, please, for the love of research, let’s work on not making neurodivergent students jump through flaming bureaucratic hoops to get basic support.

The PhD doesn’t need to be a traumatic hazing ritual we inflict because “that’s how it was in my day.” It’s 2025. Time to admit that diverse brains make for better research. And for goodness sake, don’t put anyone on a damn list, ok?

AI disclaimer: This post was developed with Claude from Anthropic because I’m so busy with the burning trash fire that is 2025 it would not have happened otherwise. I provided the concept, core ideas, detailed content, and personal viewpoint while Claude helped organise and refine the text. We iteratively revised the content together to ensure it maintained my voice and perspective. The final post represents my authentic thoughts and experiences, with Claude serving as an editorial assistant and sounding board.

This blog was first published on Inger Mewburn’s  legendary website The Thesis Whisperer on 1 May 2025. It is reproduced with permission here.

Professor Inger Mewburn is the Director of Researcher Development at The Australian National University where she oversees professional development workshops and programs for all ANU researchers. Aside from creating new posts on the Thesis Whisperer blog (www.thesiswhisperer.com), she writes scholarly papers and books about research education, with a special interest in post PhD employability, research communications and neurodivergence.