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Judgement under pressure: generative AI and the emotional labour of learning

by Joanne Irving-Walton

What AI absorbs and why that matters

Most debates about generative AI in higher education fixate on what it produces: essays, summaries, answers, paraphrases. I find myself increasingly interested in something else – what it absorbs. Over the past year, as conversations about AI have threaded through seminars and tutorials, a pattern has gradually become visible. In those discussions, students rarely begin with content production; instead, they talk about how it helps them get started and steadies them enough to keep going. They use it when the blank page paralyses, when feedback stings and when uncertainty feels exposing. One student described asking AI to “make it feel possible”. Another spoke of feeding tutor comments into the system so they could be “explained more kindly”. A third reflected, almost apologetically, “I don’t want it to do my work… I just need something to push against before I say it out loud and risk looking stupid”.

In each case, AI is not replacing thinking. It is absorbing part of the emotional labour involved in it, and as that labour is redistributed, the texture of judgement shifts. Academic judgement does not tend to emerge from comfort. It develops in the stretch between knowing and not knowing, when confidence dips, stakes feel heightened, and your sense of competence is quietly tested (Barnett, 2007). Staying in that stretch long enough for thinking to clarify demands more than intellectual effort; it requires emotional steadiness, time, space and the capacity to tolerate uncertainty without rushing to resolution (Biesta, 2013). Traditionally, that steadying work has been shared across learning relationships: tutors reframing feedback, peers normalising confusion, supervisors encouraging persistence through doubt. Generative AI now occupies part of that terrain.

I do not think this is inherently a problem. For some students, it is transformative. It marks a shift in where the labour of learning takes place and that change deserves examination rather than alarm.

Four modes of engagement and emotional labour

When students talk about how they use AI, their practices tend to cluster into four overlapping orientations. These are not moral categories so much as shifts in where emotional and cognitive labour is undertaken.

Instrumental engagement appears when students use AI to summarise readings, refine phrasing or impose structure. Here the friction lies in form-making and shaping thought into something communicable. The judgement at stake is procedural: what is proportionate or efficient in this context?

Dialogic engagement emerges when students test interpretations or rehearse arguments. AI becomes a low-stakes sounding board, absorbing some of the vulnerability of articulating something half-formed. The question beneath it is interpretive: what does this mean, and how far do I trust my reading and myself?

Metacognitive engagement is evident when students ask AI to critique their reasoning or compare approaches. What is absorbed here is evaluative tension and the discomfort of examining one’s own argument. The judgement in play is comparative and strategic: which option is stronger, and why? And then there is affective-regulatory engagement. Here, AI absorbs the anxiety that precedes judgement itself. It breaks tasks into steps, softens feedback, lowers the threshold for beginning, offers reassurance before submission and quietens the internal ruminations and rehearsals of everything that might go wrong. This is not peripheral to learning. It is increasingly central.

Figure: Where the labour of learning now lives

Accessibility, safety and the risk of smoothing too much

For many students, particularly those navigating anxiety, executive dysfunction, neurodivergence or heavy external commitments, this emotional buffering is not indulgence but access (Rose & Meyer, 2002). Breaking tasks into steps or privately rehearsing ideas before speaking can widen participation rather than diminish it.

We should not romanticise struggle. Nor should we imagine that institutional structures have ever been able to hold every student perfectly. For some learners, AI offers another place to rehearse thinking, one that sits alongside, rather than replaces, human dialogue.

But there is a tension here. If AI consistently absorbs the strain of uncertainty before ideas encounter resistance, if feedback is softened before it unsettles, if structure replaces the slow work of wrestling thought into form, then something quieter begins to shift. Much of this work happens privately, in browser tabs and late-night prompts, in spaces students do not always feel comfortable admitting to. That makes it harder for us to see what is being strengthened and what may be thinning. The danger is not comfort, but the quiet disappearance of formative strain.

By formative strain, I do not mean suffering for its own sake, nor simply the “desirable difficulties” described in cognitive load theory (Bjork & Bjork, 2011) or the stretching associated with a Vygotskian zone of proximal development (Vygotsky, 1978). I am referring to the lived experience of remaining with ambiguity, critique and partial understanding long enough for judgement to consolidate; the emotional as well as cognitive work of staying with a problem. If that work is always pre-processed, it may narrow the rehearsal space where judgement forms.

Scaffold or substitute

Much depends on whether AI remains a scaffold or begins to function as a substitute. Used as scaffold, it lowers the emotional threshold just enough for deeper engagement, absorbing anxiety without displacing judgement. Used as substitute, it reduces not only strain but evaluation itself; the work of deciding and committing shifts elsewhere. The distinction lies less in the tool than in how it is woven into the learning environment.

Individual awareness and institutional responsibility

It would be easy, and unfair, to frame this as a matter of individual discernment. Students already carry a great deal. But nor is this simply a matter of institutional correction. We are all navigating new terrain in real time, without a settled script.

If we are serious about judgement formation, then responsibility is shared — and it is evolving. This is less about detection or prohibition than about openness. AI engagement is happening whether we discuss it or not. The question is whether we bring it into the light. That might mean inviting students to reflect on how they used AI in a task, not as confession, but as analysis. It might mean modelling, in our own teaching, what it looks like to question or refine an AI response rather than accept it wholesale. It certainly means acknowledging the emotional labour of learning openly (Newton, 2014), recognising that starting can be harder than finishing and that this, too, is part of learning.

At a structural level, we also need some candour. Systems built on speed, metrics and visible output inevitably amplify the appeal of friction-reducing tools. If polish is rewarded more consistently than process, we should not be surprised when students bypass the stretch between uncertainty and articulation. Cultivating discernment, then, is not a matter of allocating blame. It is a collective project of making the shifting terrain of AI use visible, discussable and educative.

Where the emotional work now lives

Generative AI has not diminished the importance of human judgement. If anything, it has made visible how emotionally mediated that judgement has always been (Immordino-Yang & Damasio, 2007). The interior work of learning – the hesitation, the rehearsal, the private negotiation of uncertainty – has never been fully observable. It has always unfolded, at least in part, elsewhere.

What AI changes is not the existence of that interior space, but its texture. Some of that labour now takes place in dialogue with a system that can stabilise, extend or subtly redirect thinking. That creates an opportunity: we are at a juncture where the emotional dimensions of learning can be surfaced and examined more deliberately than before.

It also carries risk. Students can disappear down an AI rabbit hole just as easily as they once disappeared into rumination. The question is not whether the interior work exists, but how it is shaped and whether it ultimately strengthens judgement or thins it.

References

Barnett, R (2007) A will to learn: Being a student in an age of uncertainty Open University Press

Biesta, GJJ (2013) The beautiful risk of education Paradigm Publishers

Bjork, EL & Bjork, RA (2011) ‘Making things hard on yourself, but in a good way: Creating desirable difficulties to enhance learning’ in MA Gernsbacher, RW Pew, LM Hough & JR Pomerantz (eds), Psychology and the real world: Essays illustrating fundamental contributions to society (pp. 56–64) Worth Publishers

Newton, DP (2014) Thinking with feeling: Fostering productive thought in the classroom Routledge

Vygotsky, LS (1978) Mind in society: the development of higher psychological processes Harvard University Press Rose, DH & Meyer, A (2002) Teaching every student in the digital age: universal design for learning ASCD

Joanne Irving-Walton is a Principal Lecturer at Teesside University, working across learning and teaching and international partnerships. She is particularly interested in how academic judgement and professional identity develop through the emotional realities of higher education.


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Students in quality assurance – representatives, partners, or even experts?

by Jens Jungblut & Bjørn Stensaker

Throughout Europe, students are often regular members of external quality assurance mandated to perform evaluations and accreditations in higher education. While this role has been secured through the Standards and Guidelines for Quality Assurance in the European Higher Education Area (ESG), we have little knowledge about how students participate in such panels and which roles they take up. In a paper presented at the SRHE conference in Nottingham in December 2025, we addressed this issue – both conceptually and empirically.

One could imagine that there are several roles that students could play as part in an external quality assurance panel. Students are most often seen as representatives of their fellow students. This has implications as to how students are appointed to such panels, as various student interest organizations usually have the power to nominate specific students to the task. More recently, the idea of students being partners has also gained interest, where a key assumption is that students should be involved and participate in all aspect and processes related to their own education – including quality assurance. The initiative “student partnerships in quality Scotland (sparqs)” is a well-known example of this inclusive approach (Varwell, 2021). However, one could argue that students may even take on an expertise-based role in quality assurance. This type of role is not based on experience per se but rather the ability to reflect upon the knowledge possessed and the ability to engage in systematic efforts to learn more – based on these reflections (Ericsson, 2017).

In our paper presented at the SRHE conference we argue that the role of students participating in quality assurance panels (or any other related processes in higher education) may not be static, restricting students to merely one role at a time (see also Stensaker & Matear, 2024). We rather argue – in line with Holen et al (2021) – that the roles students may take on are highly dynamic. A consequence of this would be that students may shift rapidly from one role to another, depending on, for example, the evaluation context, committee setting, or the issue that is being discussed.

To test our assumptions, we conducted a survey targeting students taking part in European quality assurance processes; to be more specific, we targeted the `Quality Assurance Student Experts Pool` within the European Students’ Union. This group was established in 2009 with the aim to improve the contribution of students in quality assurance in Europe. When included in the pool, students undergo training sessions providing them with relevant background knowledge about quality assurance processes and the ESG. The members of the pool are then called upon by quality assurance agencies throughout Europe to act as student representatives on their quality assurance panels at program, institutional, or national level, performing evaluations, accreditations and other forms of assessments. The `Quality Assurance Student Experts Pool` therefore represents a unique entity in Europe, as it is the only European structure that collects and trains students for these roles. 35 students (of a total of 90) responded to our survey.

The students responding have on average been involved in quality assurance for more than four years, and over 60 percent have participated in four or more evaluation or accreditation processes. In line with our expectations, the students indeed report that they are taking on several roles during the evaluation processes, they are representatives of students, they feel they are equal partners within the evaluation panel they are part of, and they also see themselves as experts. In our data, we could not identify a clear hierarchy between the different roles. However, our data suggest that students are often perceived as a partner, while less often as experts. A possible interpretation here is that temporality and experience matter: students may be initially viewed as a representative and as a partner when starting their work within the panel, and through the process of participating in multiple panels over time they might demonstrate expertise which is in turn recognized by their peers in the panels. An interesting feature coming out of the data is also that the students in the `Quality Assurance Student Experts Pool` regularly share knowledge among the members of the pool, and in that way contribute to continuously build the expertise of all members. Expertise is in this way not taken for granted or expected as a prerequisite for being a member, but rather nurtured, systematised and made available to newer and future members.

We want to thank all the students that bothered to respond to our small questionnaire. While our study is exploratory, we do think it provides new insights regarding student involvement and influence in a setting characterized by a high level of expertise and professionalism, and we hope that the findings can help future research to further unpack the dynamic nature of students’ roles in quality assurance panels.

Jens Jungblut is a Professor at the Department of Political Science at the University of Oslo. His main research interests include party politics, policy-making, and public governance in the knowledge policy domain (education & research), organizational change in higher education, agenda-setting research, and the role of (academic) expertise in policy advice.

Bjørn Stensaker is a Professor at the Department of Education at the University of Oslo. He has a special research interest in governance, leadership, and organizational change in higher education – including quality assurance. He has published widely on these topics in a range of journals and book series.


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Do we really empower sabbatical officers to be the voice of students?

by Rebecca Turner, Jennie Winter & Nadine Schaefer

Student voice is firmly embedded within the architecture of universities, with multiple mechanisms existing through which we (as educators) can ‘hear’, and students can ‘leverage’ their voice.  The notion of student voice is widely debated (and critiqued – see Mendes & Hammett, 2023), and whilst relevant to this blog post, it is not what we seek to focus on here. Rather we focus on one of the primary figureheads of student voice within universities – the sabbatical officer – and consider how they are empowered to represent the ‘voice’ of their peers to their university.

Sabbatical officers are elected by the student body to represent their interests to the wider university community. They are leaders and trustees of their student union – semi autonomous organisations that operate alongside universities to advocate for the student body (Brooks, Byford & Sela 2016).  As elected student representatives, sabbatical officers sit on high-level university committees where student voice is ‘required,’ making the rapid transition from a student in a lecture hall, to a voice for all. Though this is an anticipated move, it is potentially challenging. Becoming a sabbatical officer is the accumulation of a hard-fought election campaign, which commonly builds on several years of working with their students’ union alongside their undergraduate studies (Turner & Winter, 2023).

In collaboration with the NUS, and with the support of a small grant from the Staff and Educational Development Association (SEDA), we undertook a national survey to develop contemporary insights into the work of elected sabbatical officers. Sabbatical officers were clearly keen to share their experiences as we achieved responses from 59% of student unions affiliated to the NUS. We also undertook interviews with a sample of sabbatical officers (n=4) and permanent student union staff (n=6) who supported them during their time in office. Here we reflect on headlines emerging from this study, to place a brief spotlight on the work of sabbatical officers. 

What a busy year (or two!)

Sabbatical officers were often negotiating multiple, potentially competing, demands – as this survey respondent reflected when invited to comment on the main challenges they faced:

‘Getting up to speed with the fast-moving world of [being] a sabbatical officer and the many roles I had (sabb, trustee, leader, admin and campaigner)’.

Sabbatical officers had a long list of responsibilities, including jobs inherited from their predecessor, union and university commitments, as well as the commitments they made through their own manifestos.  Attending university committees to give the student voice took considerable time, with many questioning the value of the time spent in meetings:

‘It’s very much the case that you are in a room for two hours where you will be speaking for, I don’t know, two minutes. So sometimes it seems very boring to get involved with those random conversations which have very little to do directly with student experience.’ SO1

It was a common theme that sabbatical officers were silent during these meetings, waiting for the brief interlude when they were invited to speak. Leading us to question both where their agency as student representatives lay in these committees, and how they could effect change in this space, when their engagement was limited. A concern shared across survey respondents, for example:

‘I’m in a huge number of meetings which significantly reduces the amount of time I have to work on manifesto objectives.’

With a jobs list (and a diary) that echoed that of many Vice Chancellors (though with considerably less experience in HE), sabbatical officers reported engaging in trade-offs for who they worked with, whose voice was heard and opinions sought, to balance the demands of their role.  As this sabbatical officer reflected, this could leave the wider student body questioning their actions:

‘[Students] want to see the battle happening.  What they don’t want to see, is me sit for three hours and hash out the middle ground with some members of staff who probably aren’t going to change their mind.’ SO2

Finding their voice

Though given a seat at high level tables, respondents did not always feel at ease speaking up, the sentiments of this respondent were repeated many times in our data:

‘I think the hardest part is, we are sitting on committees with individuals who have worked here for years.  We’re never going to have that same knowledge, so that makes it quite a challenge um to be able to understand the ins and outs of the university and the institution, and the politics.’ SO3

We did question whether the expectation to engage in these spaces may further reinforce the inequalities in student leadership highlighted by Brooks et al (2015).  However, sabbatical officers were not working alone. Permanent officers played an important role, helping them, for example, to decode paperwork and plan their contributions. Leadership allies, who may, for example, provide early access to meeting paperwork to aide preparation, or coach sabbatical officers in advance of meetings, assisted sabbatical officers to find their voice:

‘I think the university has been really accommodating giving me the heads up on things that I could then have a bit more time to read up on things and to improve my knowledge.’ SO4

Developing effective support networks was essential; through these networks they gained the knowledge needed to contribute confidently in ‘university’ spaces. However, this took considerable time and resulted in many reprioritising their work. They focused on activities deemed essential (which were many!) with other areas of the work being streamlined to ensure promised commitments could be fulfilled (Turner & Winter, 2023). 

The time taken for sabbatical officers to get up to speed was discussed at length by those serving a second term, which as this respondent noted, was ‘when the real work got done.’   They had learnt the ropes, and as another Sabbatical Officer (SO) reflected:

‘There’s a lot of stuff [to learn] when you come into this role.  I think sabbatical officers do well if they are re-elected because they’ve had to learn a lot.’ SO2

‘Knowing the route to achieve my goals’

Our data captured the committed and driven nature of this (overlooked and overworked) constituent of the HE community. Though working in challenging circumstances, they embraced opportunities to influence policy and practice. Successes were based on the support they received and the strategies they developed to undertake their work. The value of an effective handover from their predecessor cannot be overlooked and permanent student union staff provided much needed continuity and support. Sabbatical officers drew on their student representatives to provide the eyes on the ground and engaged with senior leaders to develop their understanding of how universities work and through these individuals they grew in confidence to speak in front of diverse audiences.  As individuals, many respondents performed their roles with tenacity, approaching their work both pragmatically and innovatively. Yet the time limited nature of this role added pressure and delineated what could be achieved:

‘Knowing the route to achieve my goals was difficult because it requires knowing what exactly you want before you’ve even started the job [so that you can] achieve what you want in year.’

This prompted us to question the sustainability of the sabbatical officer role; realistically who can manage, at this early stage in their career, the breadth of demands placed on them for more than a short period of time?

Promoting the voice of sabbatical officers?

As pedagogic researchers, we have a final, curious observation to make regarding the dearth of systematic research into this field of HE. Student unions have a long history; reference is still made to the activism and uprise of the 1960s (Klemenčič 2014). As a community we lament how student voice activities have become the realm of quality assurance, and question whether students have become politically apathetic (Raaper, 2020). The re-positioning of student unions has increased accountability and encouraged partnership working with their affiliated university (Brooks et al, 2016; Squire 2020). This leads us to question how relevant it is to continue to look backwards and talk of how students’ unions used to operate in the past. As the sector becomes increasingly diverse and how students engage with HE becomes more fragmented, we need to play closer attention to students’ unions to ensure they are supported to function effectively and represent the interest of students. 

Dr Rebecca Turner is an Associate Professor in Educational Development at the University of Plymouth, UK.  Alongside her interest in student voice and representation, Rebecca’s research addresses themes relating to inclusivity, student success and widening participation. 

Professor Jennie Winter is Dean of Teaching and Learning and Professor of Academic Development at Plymouth Marjon University, a National Teaching Fellow, and a Principal Fellow of the UK Higher Education Academy. She holds numerous external roles, contributes to international pedagogic research, and her work has been utilised by the European Commission and presented globally.

Dr Nadine Schaefer is an Educational Developer at the University of Plymouth. Her research interests include student voice, student engagement and wider quality assurance issues in HE. Nadine is a Senior Advance HE Fellow (SFHEA).