people celebrate and protest at a pride parade, there is a large rainbow flag being held up by attendees

Defying definition: why “biological sex” laws are all about enforcing gender roles 

by Dr Tof Eklund (Senior Lecturer – School of Social Sciences) and Dr Eunice Gaerlan (Senior Lecturer – School of Education), Auckland University of Technology.

Part of the run up to GEA Conference 2026 blog series.

Across a growing number of countries, governments, courts and political movements are asking a deceptively simple question: what is a woman? 

In the United Kingdom, a 2025 Supreme Court judgment held that the terms “woman” and “sex” in the Equality Act 2010 refer to biological sex, and declared that “biological sex” meant that trans women are really “biological men” and trans men are really “biological women.” In the United States, the Trump administration has directed federal agencies to recognise only two sexes, male and female, defined by the gender marked on one’s birth certificate and immutable thereafter. 

While intended to exclude trans people, this policy has already led to problems for cisgender Americans whose birth certificates are simply incorrect. This idea that biological sex is binary and “real,” and that gender is false or made-up are increasingly finding their way into debates about schools, sport, bathrooms, healthcare, identification documents and the language governments use to describe their citizens. 

Now, the Parliament of Aotearoa New Zealand, is considering the Legislation (Definitions of Woman and Man) Amendment Bill. The Bill proposes defining a woman as an “adult human biological female” and a man as an “adult human biological male”, and these definitions are to be applied to all existing and new law, precluding any consideration of gender identity. 

Developments in the US, UK, Aotearoa and elsewhere each have their own legal, political and cultural contexts and can’t be collapsed into a single story. Simultaneously, they are connected and interdependent, not merely inspired by one another, but following from chains of political power, social influence, and money, in both gross and subtle ways. Without dismissing the outsized impact of a handful of key players, there is also a certain zeitgeist at work, a a renewed political investment in defining and enforcing gender identities and norms by calling them biological realities based on binary sex. 

The question is not whether governments can produce legally workable definitions of “woman” and “man.” The real question is what happens when a government decides to enforce a rigid classification that denies the complexity of bodies, identities, cultures and lives, and why a government would reject both self-identification and modern medicine in order to do so. It’s hard to believe that this is actually about a tiny number of trans athletes or how people pee. We have to ask why government control of gender has become so politically desirable right now. 

The problem with “biological reality” 

x chromosomes

Arguments for legally defining women and men often appeal to “biological reality,” a phrase that suggests an underlying indisputable truth, something objective, observable, a trump card that renders all claims about gender moot. “Let them identify their genders,” it says “we will make law based on the binary of biological sex.”  

Biology, however, would beg to differ

Chromosomes, hormones, reproductive anatomy, secondary sex characteristics and other features associated with sex do not always align neatly. Intersex variations alone make it difficult to sustain the idea that all human bodies can straightforwardly be divided into two internally consistent biological categories, whether one counts wombs or testicles, testosterone or oestrogen, facial hair or cup size. The assumption of an obvious, objective binary necessitates that all these things align into two mutually-exclusive categories with no overlap in a way that not many people could identify with. 

Terms such as “biological woman” create the appearance of scientific precision where it does not exist. Even “biological female” fails to resolve the question of which biological characteristics determine membership of what category. 

Bodies, and biology, are real. They are also individual and mutable. Menopause is an obvious example, but as someone on feminising HRT, my risk of breast cancer is lower than that of an average cisgender woman, but 46 times that of a cis man. Even genitals are more varied and more affected by hormone levels than we’ve been led to believe. The problem is not biology, the problem is the assumption that biology produces two simple, universal and uncontested social categories called women and men. 

The “natural order” of things 

The response to evidence that human biology is complex is often an appeal to “all of nature.” The idea of a binary “natural order” has been used to police women and persecute queer and gender-nonconforming people for centuries. Once again, biology is not compliant: the natural world is fascinating and strange, often divisible into male and female, but profoundly not limited to two absolute categories. Variation in sex characteristics, reproductive strategies, sexual behaviour and social organisation exists throughout nature, both between and within species.

Even if we exclude the hermaphroditic snails, sex-changing clownfish, and self-fertilising lizards, there’s same-sex mating pairs in many avians, including waterfowl such as penguins, swans, ducks, and geese, peahens changing their plumage to look like peacocks, habitual homosexual behaviour in mammals from dolphins and sheep to primates, and female spotted hyenas, who are larger, stronger, and dominant relative to males, have an erectile “pseudophallus,” and engage in a lot of what we might call “straight and gay oral sex.”

Our closest primate relatives, chimpanzees, engage in a lot of the kind of behaviour the “manosphere” describes as “natural,” including polygyny (“harems”), violence, and rape, but our next-closest relatives, bonobos, are matriarchal, peaceful, pansexual, and exhibit cooperative behaviour more similar to humans than chimps. Deep anthropological study shows few signs of harem/polygynous behaviour and relatively little human-on-human violence among hunter-gatherer groups, but with considerable contextual variation.

In short, any political use of “nature” and the “natural” to support male dominance, heterosexuality, or normative gender roles and identities is rhetoric. The “natural man” is by no means straight, dominant, or any of the traits we presently associate with masculinity: likewise for the “natural woman” with femininity and the “natural none-of-the-above” with it all.

So, if neither human biology nor nature provide an inherent basis for a binary division into two exclusive sexes, what do “adult human biological man” and “adult human biological woman” refer to? They refer to gender norms. All this talk about “biological sex” is actually a pseudo-scientific rationalisation of the patriarchal politics of cisgender heterosexuality. It’s extremely dangerous as the lie it tells about trans people can easily be turned against other queer people and used to undermine women’s rights. The Bill before the NZ Parliament smuggles restrictive gender roles into the law in the guise of “obvious, natural” distinctions between two biological sexes. There’s a bitter irony inherent in the passing of  a law that could used to reinstate discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation (as “unnatural,” an old slur) on the 40th anniversary of homosexual law reform in Aotearoa.

A politics travelling across borders

A photograph of an all gender and disabled restroom

We see the patriarchal order of things in what “bathroom bills” say about cisgender women: the claim is that women are vulnerable, weak, and subject to predation any time they are less than fully dressed around “men,” even in spaces full of other women. Why isn’t there a panic about what trans men will do in men’s toilets? It’s because these bills don’t just define trans women as “really men,” they define men as powerful and dangerous, and women as weak and vulnerable in a way that suffragists, let alone feminists since, would have found offensive. 

The only way to ignore the statistically nominal incidence of allegations and complete absence of convictions (documented in much of the US) of trans women for offending in bathrooms or changing rooms is to start with the assumption that trans women as “really men” and that men are dangerous. This is what I mean when I say that the Bill seeks to smuggle gender roles into the law. 

We know this because Aotearoa is not encountering these arguments in isolation. 

Across different national contexts, we are seeing attempts to re-assert gender norms by defining sex as a fixed binary category, and setting it in law as the category that matters, dismissing gender identity as irrelevant. The legal mechanisms differ. In the United Kingdom, this has occurred through judicial interpretation of equality legislation. In the United States, it has been pursued through executive action and federal policy. In Aotearoa, the Definitions of Woman and Man Bill would revise all existing law to accomplish its ends. 

These events are not identical. Their histories and consequences are shaped by different political, legal and cultural contexts in different nations and regions, even as the tactics, motives, and key personalities overlap to variable degrees. Nowhere is the overlap stronger than in the language used. 

“Biological reality.” “Natural order.” “Common sense.” “Protecting women.” “Protecting children.” “Sex is binary.” 

Such phrases present themselves as neutral descriptions of a world that already exists, when they are political claims about how the world should be organised, which forms of knowledge should be authoritative and whose lives should be recognised within it. They serve to foreclose discussion and exclude evidence through a deluded or hypocritical gesture toward the “obvious.” 

This has significant impact on society. Once the state establishes a correct relationship between body, sex and gender, it must also determine who fits within those categories, who does not, and how the boundaries between them will be maintained. Compare that with the simplicity of self-identification and making law and policy based on behaviour, not a gender (“sex”) marker. 

Gender categories have histories 

There is a particular irony when colonial states present binary gender as timeless and universal. 

Colonialism did not simply seize land and resources. Everywhere European colonial powers went they brought their social hierarchies and systems of knowing with them. Indigenous cultures were a blight to be eradicated, whether that was through the conversion or extinction of indigenous peoples. “Progressive” colonial politics propagated variations on the slogan “kill the savage to save the man.” That salvation was explicitly Christian, and came with a strictly defined set of definitions: of gender, sexuality, marriage, family and social organisation. 

Indigenous cultures were and are diverse: some had more than two genders, some did not. Some accepted homosexuality to a greater or lesser degree, and some had egalitarian gender roles while other did not. What they all faced was immense pressure to adopt the coloniser’s definitions and to live by his rules, with violence or the threat of violence never far away. 

Here in Aotearoa, attempts to legislate supposedly universal definitions of womanhood and manhood take place on whenua (land) where Māori understandings of gender and sexuality, including takatāpui identities and histories, will never fully align with the English words “woman” and “man” and cannot be contained within European colonial binaries. Understanding of gender in different iwi (tribes) and hapu (family groups) varies, but Parliament imposing a definition of gender on tangata whenua (Māori) is unambiguously a violation of Te Tiriti o Waitangi (Aotearoa NZ’s founding document). 

Internationally, gender systems across Indigenous cultures remind us that contemporary Western understandings of sex and gender are anything but universal human truths. Instead, they are ways of organising bodies and social relationships that have acquired enormous institutional power. I’ve make the case that defining legal gender as biological sex is incoherent without a definition of biological sex, and that it is pseudoscience to claim that  “biological sex” is binary. So when a government attempts to set the meaning of woman and man through law, we have to look beyond claims to the natural and biological. 

We must ask whose definition is being universalised. 

Trans people are not the endpoint of gender essentialism 

Transgender, non-binary, intersex and gender-diverse people face the starkest and most immediate consequences when governments insist that gender must follow a state-defined “biological” binary. Gender non-conforming people, here defined as everyone impacted by such a law, do not have to justify their existence by demonstrating that restrictions placed upon them will eventually harm somebody else.

At the same time, it is naïve at best to assume that the politics of gender essentialism end with the exclusion of trans people. Far from it, there is every reason to see these laws as the tip of the spear in an assault on women’s rights and an attempt to re-inscribe the authority of a crumbling patriarchy.

It’s not merely possible that these laws will create social expectations for men and women, it’s inevitable. We’ve already seen cases of cisgender women being harassed for being in the “right” restroom, the police being called on trans men when they comply with the new law, and one notable instance where a trans woman and a nonbinary person were assaulted by a mob and then arrested by police in Bossier Parish, Louisiana.

It all makes sense for the “natural” and “obvious” definition of “biological sex” replacing gender in these laws. It seems to me that the definition is “women are weak and vulnerable by nature, so dangerous men must protect women from other dangerous men; biological sex is obvious, so we know who’s who, and if we’re wrong, it’s because someone is attempting to trick us. There’s no need to or even possibility of questioning this, it’s just nature.”

In the end, who suffers if we accept this definition? Women who appear too masculine. Men who appear too feminine. Intersex people (the moment they fail to meet binary expectations). People whose appearance, mannerisms, relationships, interests and/or ideas disrupt heterosexual norms (whether they’re “queer” or not). Children who in any way colour outside the lines of “obvious, natural” gender performance for girls and boys. Ultimately, everyone, but not at all equally.

We can already see this logic operating in debates about bathrooms, sport, healthcare and schools. When access to spaces, opportunities or rights depends upon establishing who is a “real” woman or man, what counts as proof of identity? Who establishes the functional criteria, who performs the tests, who decided which people pass and who fails? And what happens to people who “fail” to perform their gender (“biological sex”) correctly?

Trans, intersex, indigenous gender, and other gender-nonconforming people need and deserve all our support right now. The fight for trans lives, rights, and inclusion cannot be separated from wider feminist struggles for equality and freedom. We are the canaries in the coal mine, the easy targets, the “communists” the brownshirts came for first. If we fall, someone else will be next. If  we continue down this path, at some point we’ll see “household voting” (repeal of women’s suffrage) mainstreamed in the same way “protect girls’ sports” and “no men in women’s toilets” has been.

This is is an education issue

I’ve seen some trans people conclude that feminism has been successfully claimed by transphobes and that there’s no point in trying to convince cisgender people of our worth, or that our destruction would endanger them. I believe they’re wrong, but I also know their despair is the product of experience. The problem is political, systemic, and socioeconomic, but the solution is education.

Schools and universities are, after the home, some of the most important places where gender is taught, and often the only place where it is discussed. Gender is communicated through curricula, uniforms, toilets, sports teams, literature, classroom interactions, administrative systems, school balls, relationships education, policies and countless mundane moments through which young people learn who they are permitted to become.

Education can reproduce narrow gender norms or it can interrupt and question them. It can demand conformity or demonstrate acceptance. Schools set the boundaries on acceptable speech and behaviour in their halls in ways that reverberate throughout society.

The international resurgence of gender essentialism presents particular challenges for educators and researchers. Political arguments about sex and gender do not remain inside parliaments and courts. They enter classrooms, staffrooms, teacher education programmes and educational policy.

They influence whether a child can safely explore who they are. They affect what teachers believe they are permitted to say and teach. They shape institutional decisions about names, pronouns, uniforms, toilets, sport and relationships education. And they influence whether trans and gender-nonconforming students and educators experience educational spaces as places in which their lives are recognised as possible.

But something greater is also at stake.

Education should be about expanding the possibilities through which young people can understand themselves and the worlds they inhabit. Gender essentialism narrows those possibilities by and prescribes how bodies should be understood. It depends on a notion that  free thought is contagious, that accepting trans people undermines everyone who isn’t trans, and the twisted logic that teaching about gender diversity is “teaching kids to be trans.”

Defending gender diversity is consequently not a specialist concern belonging only to trans communities. It is about educational and personal freedom of thought and choice, allowing for diversity of experience, understanding, and values. Accepting the sleight of hand that mandates gender essentialism by calling it “biological sex” forces everyone through a cookie-cutter into a shape that inevitably won’t fit. It undermines the trust required for education, opens the door to other politically-mandated “truths” and requires that every teacher become a propagandist. If that sounds like what demagogues have claimed inclusive education does, you just have to look at what they were arguing for instead.

Gathering in Aotearoa 

A photo of AUT in Auckland

When the Gender and Education Association gathers in Aotearoa New Zealand for its 2026 conference, we will do so at a moment when the meanings of sex and gender are being fiercely contested across borders.

Having these conversations in Aotearoa invites us to consider global movements towards gender essentialism from a place shaped by Te Tiriti o Waitangi, mātauranga Māori (Māori knowledge) and takatāpui histories, presents and futures, rather than simply importing political debates produced elsewhere.

It also invites dialogue across borders. What can we learn from what is happening globally? How are anti-trans and gender-essentialist politics moving between national contexts? How are they being translated into education policy and practice? What forms of resistance, solidarity and possibility are emerging alongside them?

The freedom of trans, non-binary, intersex, takatāpui, and all other gender-nonconforming people is bound up with a larger feminist project: the freedom of everyone to live beyond prescribed gender norms.

Denying others that freedom is ultimately denying everyone that freedom.

Images:

Pride gathering flag photo from Pxhere
X chromosome Photo by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND
Photo of And Tango Makes Three is author’s own
All gender restroom photo
School children with flag by Copyright ©University of Cambridge
This Photo by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY-SA-NC

the letters ADHD spelled out in fridge magnet letters

Love, Actually?: What We Know (and Don’t Know) About ADHD Women’s Experiences in Romantic Relationships 

Emma NormanLearning and Pilots Manager. University of Exeter.  

Introduction: Understanding ‘romantic relationships’ and the diversity of lived experience 

The course of true love never does run smooth. Romantic relationships are deeply personal, with everyone who seeks them experiencing them differently.  

Where successful and healthy, romantic relationships can have strong positive personal impacts, contributing to mental and physical health and well-being (Gómez-López et al., 2019Apostolou et al., 2023).  

However, not all relationships are healthy: 

  • In the year ending March 2025, 3.8 million people aged 16 and over in England and Wales experienced domestic abuse, with over half that figure being women (ONS, 2025a).  
  • 1 in 4 women in England and Wales experience domestic abuse with some women disproportionately affected, including those with disabilities (Refuge, n.d.).  

Although all neurodivergent women face increased risks of relationship difficulties or abuse (Pearson et al., 2024), research to date focuses on autistic women’s romantic experiences (e.g. Sedgewick and Douglas, 2023), leaving those of ADHD women underexplored. We are therefore potentially depriving many individuals with ADHD – and their future partners – of the chance to understand what a healthy relationship looks like for them, particularly as Relationship and Sex Education (RSE) has yet to catch up with the growing numbers of children seeking a diagnosis (DfE. 2025a).  

graphic of a teach in a classroom and the students are engaged. A heart surrounds them.

This blog begins to examine – in a non-exhaustive way – what current research reveals. It also identifies potential gaps in this developing area of study that might help us in educating students about what healthy, inclusive romantic relationships look like. It is inspired and driven by my own personal experience navigating a late AuDHD diagnosis whilst in a long-term relationship.  

It does, I am afraid, include a lot of links in case you want to check out any of this research for yourself – or share with a loved one.  

Firstly, what is ADHD, and what do we currently understand about women and diagnosis? 

Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is a neurobehavioral disorder characterised by symptoms of inattentiveness, distractibility, hyperactivity, and impulsivity which interfere with day-to-day functioning (Psychology Today, 2026ADHD UK, n.d.). Symptoms can present differently depending on age and gender but must have been present before the age of 12 for someone to receive a diagnosis, which will be based on one of 3 presentations (APA, 2022): 

  • Predominantly Inattentive 
  • Predominantly Hyperactive-Impulsive  
  • Combined Presentation: where symptoms of both the above criteria were present.  

Increased awareness and visibility have led to increased demand for ADHD support (Martin et al., 2025Glyn Jones and Hoskin, 2023).  

Much of this demand comes from women (Topping, 2023Wise, 2026), reflecting greater recognition of gender differences in ADHD presentation (Wilson, 2026NHS SLaM, 2025): 

  • Girls and women’s symptoms are more likely to involve inattentiveness and may be masked in response to social expectations; 
  • Boys and men are more likely to exhibit overt hyperactive and impulsive behaviours, which are aligned more closely with traditional diagnostic criteria. 

Because their symptoms present differently, women remain frequently diagnosed later than men (Baig and Kahya, 2025; Hinshaw et al., 2022). With most women over 16 in or having been in a relationship (ONS, 2025b), an adulthood diagnosis increases their likelihood of receiving a diagnosis after experiencing romantic relationships – as I did. The growing number of women receiving ADHD diagnoses highlights the importance of understanding how ADHD can shape women’s experiences of the world, including romantic relationships, which remain a significant life experience for many. 

So, what do (and don’t) we know about ADHD women’s romantic relationship experiences? 

Adults with ADHD can experience poor quality romantic relationships.  

This will obviously not be true of everyone who has ADHD. But relationship challenges often form part of the diagnostic process since criteria includes impairment in personal settings caused by ADHD symptoms (APA, 2022). Inattention, impulsivity, and mood instability can negatively impact mental, emotional and behavioural elements of sexuality and thereby sexual relationships. For example: 

  • Impulsivity symptoms can hinder use of protective methods against sexually transmitted infections and lead to unwanted pregnancies (Young and Cocallis, 2023).  
  • Some excessively prioritise their partner’s needs to try and maintain relational security – but their deep need for validation, driven by rejection sensitivity, often leads to relational overinvestment, a lack of boundaries, and emotional burnout (O’Brien et al., 2025). 
  • Individuals with ADHD have a greater risk of perpetrating and of suffering sexual or intimate partner violence, a risk potentially linked to struggles with emotional self-regulation (Arrondo et al., 2023).  

None of these examples have broken results down by the 3 ADHD symptom presentations, which may impact how and if individuals with ADHD experience difficulties in romantic relationships.  

While writing this blog, I largely encountered studies taking a ‘deficit model approach’ (see Lai et al, 2025), focusing on the impairments experienced by those with ADHD. Only one piece alluded to how some traits associated with ADHD – such as creativity and ‘hyperfocusing’ on romance – may strengthen relational bonds; but even then, the authors acknowledged that the small amount of literature on romantic relationships of adults with ADHD demonstrated clear negative comparisons against non-affected peers (Wymbs et al, 2021).  

One recent study (Desille and Alba, 2026) showed that through their dysregulation, some individuals with ADHD experienced increased over-compensatory response mechanisms to either withdraw and avoid or move more intensely toward their partners, impacting sexual satisfaction. What was noticeable here, but not discussed by the authors, was that most of their participants were female.  

And so, what of women’s experiences? 

Some studies suggest that women with ADHD experience greater interpersonal social and relational difficulties than men with ADHD, and speculate that ADHD symptoms may be more distressing for young women, as men may be less likely to perceive these difficulties as impairing (Wymbs et al, 2021). 

two hands holding each other, one has a tattoo of a heartbeat with a heart integrated into the design

However, other research found that women with ADHD were more impaired in their romantic relationships than women without ADHD – but that women with ADHD did not have more romantic relationship impairment than men with ADHD (Babinski et al., 2011a). Notably this study was about women diagnosed with ADHD in childhood (we’ll come back to late-diagnosed women).  

ADHD can be associated with riskier sexual behaviour in women (Hosain et al., 2012). Another study (Wallin et al., 2022) highlighted several themes from feelings expressed by young, diagnosed women: 

  • Wanting partners to understand their emotions and behaviours, and accept them for who they are 
  • Living with intense emotions, which could influence the type of relationship they entered (e.g. one-night stands) and the stigma they felt for engaging openly in sexual activities 
  • Self-acknowledgement of their symptoms made it easier to develop strategies to improve sexual encounters.   

What would be interesting to know – and is hinted at above – is whether the stereotypes that hinder in women receiving early ADHD diagnoses (e.g. stigma attached to being different) also impact women who are in relationships while receiving a diagnosis.  

In fact, it remains unclear what romantic relationship experiences can be like for late-diagnosed ADHD women.  

Most women receiving an ADHD diagnosis are aged 25-40 (European College of Neuropsychopharmacology, 2025Marsh and Aguilar, 2024) – ages where many are in a romantic relationship (Schaeffer, 2024), or seeking one (Tinder, 2024).  

The diagnosis itself is a deeply personal experience that is different for everyone. In one study, women diagnosed with ADHD during either adolescence or adulthood tended to evolve a more positive self-perception, as their diagnosis provided an explanation for their differences (Keys et al., 2025). For some, the diagnosis comes as a relief and allows them a language by which to foster improved relationships with loved ones; for others, it can be traumatic knowing their lives could be different had they received treatment earlier; and for some, it led to initial denial (Morgan, 2023).  

Emerging research shows late diagnosis can harm women’s romantic relationships. For example: 

  • Late-diagnosed ADHD women can feel like “the odd one out” in relationships. Many describe the confusion and pain of giving a lot of themselves in relationships but receiving little in return, alongside feeling misunderstood when they react strongly to their emotions without feeling in control of them and being therefore perceived as being angry. Heartbreakingly, all participants in this study believed that their lives could have been different if they had received their diagnosis earlier in life (Qvale and Piech, 2025).  
  • Some late-diagnosed ADHD women admitted to masking symptoms to meet social norms and gender-based expectations of behaviour in settings including romantic relationships – which in turn delayed them receiving a diagnosis and support (Holden and Kobayashi-Wood, 2025).  

But it remains unclear how couples experience one or both partners receiving an ADHD diagnosis, particularly for long-term relationships or families.  

lots of arrows coming out of a head (all drawn) with the text 'my adhd mind'

While everyone’s reactions are different, research shows that an ADHD diagnosis can change how individuals perceive themselves and how others perceive them. Given the tone of the research listed here is largely negative, it is perhaps unsurprising that adults with ADHD frequently experience stigma about their diagnoses, from ableist prejudices to assumptions that those with ADHD are violent and unreliable (Ginapp et al, 2023). So: 

  • How might this impact how a partner sees a loved one experiencing a diagnosis? Does their knowledge of that person change? Particularly if you through the assumptions that ADHD symptoms are inherently not feminine into the mix?  
  • How does being in a relationship with children impact the experience of diagnosis? After all, many women begin the process of getting a diagnosis after their child has been diagnosed with ADHD (Attoe and Climie, 2023).  
  • How might the menopause impact ADHD women’s relationships (Moseley et al., 2026), including if a diagnosis occurs in this period while in a relationship? 

A wealth of support exists for those diagnosed with ADHD – but much of it requires independent research and education, alongside knowing that you may have ADHD.  

One positive of increased awareness of ADHD is that it has become more prominent in popular culture, for example through ADHD Awareness Month, increased portrayal of characters with ADHD, and social media. As of May 2022, the hashtag #adhd had 11.4 billion views on TikTok (Abdelnour et al., 2022). Personal experience videos received the highest engagement (Yeung et al., 2022), reflecting desires for those undiagnosed to feel understood.   

What does this mean for education? 

As awareness of ADHD in women grows, efforts should focus on translating this knowledge into earlier support for younger generations, who also experience romantic relationships (Brar et al., 2023). Adolescents with ADHD experience many of the same issues highlighted in this blog (Rokeach and Weiner, 2014), with girls diagnosed with ADHD having fewer romantic relationships than neurotypical peers (Babinski et al., 2011b).  If the above illustrates nothing else, it is that earlier diagnosis and awareness may have helped many women with ADHD avoid some of the negative experiences they had.

However, current RSE guidance (DfE, 2025a) refers to neurodiversity only to emphasise accessibility and schools’ responsibility to tailor resources to students’ needs. Guidance ignores the increase in children receiving neurodiversity diagnoses (Sample, 2024), with RSE through a neurodivergent lens omitted from the DfE’s recent consultation (2025b). Moreover, girls with ADHD are disproportionately missed in schools (Shelford, 2025Lynch and Davison, 2022) contributing to delayed diagnosis in adulthood, with many teachers lacking confidence and training to adapt RSE effectively (Fox and Riley, 2025). RSE may therefore fail to equip students to navigate healthy relationships.  

hand holds a phone showing a social media page

The Instagram algorithm guessed that I had ADHD 2 years before I sought a diagnosis. Although I initially joked about it, it made me reflect on challenges I was experiencing that others didn’t seem to share. If that happens, you now only need type something akin to ‘ADHD support’ or ‘ADHD and relationships’ into Google to find more guidance on understanding and navigating life with ADHD than a person could ever hope to read. Those around you, including a partner, need only do the same, which can help curate a shared language for you both to explore life with ADHD together.  

However, 52% of ADHD-related TikTok videos have been found to be inaccurate (BBC, 2026). If online spaces continue to be the main avenue that we – and particularly young people – use to find out more about themselves, how do we know they are being accurately and adequately supported? Particularly if young people are to be removed from online spaces (DSIT, 2026), we need to ensure their education makes room for them to discuss these topics in a safe, informed way.   

It isn’t just about neurodivergent girls and women recognising what this means for them.  

Women’s Aid’s definition of a healthy relationship places support at the centre. While adults with ADHD struggle with interpersonal relationships, social support can increase functioning: for example, a supportive spouse has been described as helping adults with ADHD stay organized and keep up with life tasks (Ginapp et al., 2023).  

Wallin et al. (2022) show the importance both of partners understanding their ADHD partner’s emotions and behaviours, and accepting them for who they are, and of the individual knowing themselves to recognise the influence their symptoms may have over their romantic experiences. The role of RSE in schools is to help individuals understand what a healthy relationship looks like for them and how to perpetuate healthy relationships. If we aren’t discussing this in classrooms, how else do we address the issues of intolerance, misunderstanding, and exclusivity that contribute to some of the unhealthy experiences those with ADHD face, as outlined above?  

Much remains unknown, which could also inform neuro-affirmative RSE.  

For example:  

  • How might intersectionality of neurodiversity impact how you experience a diagnosis while in a romantic relationship? ADHD often co-occurs with other psychiatric diagnoses, particularly those with autism spectrum disorder, bipolar disorder and tic disorders (Johnson et al., 2026). 
  • How might this vary by age?  
  • How do impacts on other areas of life – career, success – affect relationships? Inattention, hyperactivity, and impulsivity associated with ADHD may impair completing school, securing employment, living independently, relationships with substances, as well as negotiating romantic relationships (Johnson et al., 2026Babinski et al., 2011b). 
  • Recent research on strength-based approaches showed that a greater use of personal strengths was more strongly associated with better wellbeing, higher physical, psychological, and social quality of life and lower levels of depression for those with ADHD (Hargitai et al., 2025). Does this transpire into romantic settings where partners and individuals acknowledge their strengths? 

We haven’t even yet begun to explore the impact of negative press on ‘overdiagnosis’ (e.g. O’Sullivan, 2025) in how seriously partners might take a disclosure. Some researchers have already warned medical providers that focusing on ‘overdiagnosis’ may cause harm, create additional barriers to care, and add to the stigma towards individuals’ requests for help (Cortese et al., 2026Abdelnour et al., 2022).  

Moreover, only around 1 in 9 of all adults with ADHD receive a formal diagnosis (O’Nions et al., 2025).  This has resulted in long waiting lists, varying across the UK from 12 weeks to 10 years for adults (ADHD UK, 2023). There will therefore be many women still struggling without being sure why, or without access to support.  

Reflections  

Some questions to ask ourselves might include: 

  • do we appropriately support neurodivergent women in domestic abuse support and RSE, knowing they may be more vulnerable? 
  • do we appropriately educate all age groups to recognise what a healthy relationship looks like for you, and how to foster this with a partner – including through diagnosis? 
  • do we yet appropriately challenge stereotypes of ADHD in the classroom, and how might this be woven into initiatives to address violence against women and girls (Phelan et al., 2025)? 

For my part, I never expected to receive a late AuDHD diagnosis (having assumed my struggles were normal) and was grateful to have my partner’s support throughout the process. However, I often wonder how different that experience might have been without it. As research advances, I hope we can ensure all women have access to the knowledge and support they need—not just those fortunate enough to find it. 

References: 

Abdelnour, E., Jansen, M.O., and Gold, J.A. (2022) ‘ADHD Diagnostic Trends: Increased Recognition or Overdiagnosis?’, The Journal of the Missouri State Medical Association, 119 (5), pp.467-473. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9616454/  

ADHD UK (n.d.) What is ADHD. https://adhduk.co.uk/about-adhd/  

ADHD UK (2023) ADHD UK’S report into NHS ADHD assessment waiting lists October 2023https://adhduk.co.uk/nhs-adhd-assessments-waiting-lists-report/  

American Psychiatric Association (APA) (2022) Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders: DSM-5-TR. 5th edn. American Psychiatric Association. https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.books.9780890425787  

Apostolou M., Christoforou C., and Lajunen, TJ. (2023) ‘What are Romantic Relationships Good for? An Explorative Analysis of the Perceived Benefits of Being in a Relationship’, Evolutionary Psychology, 21 (4). https://doi.org/10.1177/14747049231210245  

Arrondo, G., Osorio, A., Magallón, S., Lopez-del-Burgo, C., and Cortese, S. (2023) ‘Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder as a risk factor for being involved in intimate partner violence and sexual violence: a systematic review and meta-analysis’, Psychological Medicine, 53 (16), pp. 7883-7892. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10755239/  

Attoe, D. E., and Climie, E. A. (2023). ‘Miss. Diagnosis: A Systematic Review of ADHD in Adult Women’. Journal of Attention Disorders, 27 (7), pp.645-657. https://doi.org/10.1177/10870547231161533   

Baig, S. K., and Kahya, H. H. (2025) ‘‘I felt like a broken person’: the experiences of women navigating a late ADHD diagnosis in the UK’, Advances in Mental Health, pp. 1–25. https://doi.org/10.1080/18387357.2025.2524513  

Babinski, D.E., Pelham, W.E. Jr., Molina, B.S., Waschbusch, D.A., Gnagy, E.M., Yu, J., Sibley, M.H., and Biswas, A. (2011a) ‘Women with Childhood ADHD: Comparisons by Diagnostic Group and Gender’, Journal of Psychopathology and Behavioral Assessment, 33 (4), pp.420-429. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10862-011-9247-4  

Babinski, D.E., Pelham, W.E. Jr., Molina, B.S., Gnagy, E.M., Waschbusch, D.A., Yu, J., Maclean, M.G., Wymbs, B.T., Sibley, M.H., Biswas, A., Robb, J.A., Karch, K.M. (2011b) ‘Late adolescent and young adult outcomes of girls diagnosed with ADHD in childhood: an exploratory investigation’,  Journal of Attention Disorders, 15 (3), pp.204–214. doi:10.1177/1087054710361586

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Hosain, G.M.M., Berenson, A.B., Tennen, H., Bauer, L.O., and Wu, Z.H. (2012) ‘Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Symptoms and Risky Sexual Behavior in Young Adult Women’, Journal of Women’s Health, 21 (4), pp.463-468. doi:10.1089/jwh.2011.2825 

Johnson, S., Lim, E., Jacoby, P. (2026) ‘Prevalence of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder/hyperkinetic disorder of pediatric and adult populations in clinical settings: a systematic review, meta-analysis and meta-regression’, Molecular Psychiatry, 31, pp.576–586. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41380-025-03178-8 

Keys, Z., Kieran, A., and Burns, S. (2025) ‘“You are all on motorbikes and I’m on a bicycle”: exploring the retrospective school experiences of females with ADHD through a systemic lens’, Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties, pp. 1–19. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/13632752.2025.2505829  

Klein, R. G., Mannuzza, S., Olazagasti, M. A. R., Roizen, E., Hutchison, J. A., Lashua, E. C., and Castellanos, F. X. (2012). ‘Clinical and functional outcome of childhood attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder 33 years later’, Archives of General Psychiatry, 69 (12), 1295. doi:10.1001/archgenpsychiatry.2012.271 

Lai, E.C.L., Aoki, A., Seera, G. (2025) ‘Embracing neurodiversity: shifting from deficit-based model to strength-based model’, East Asian Archives of Psychiatry, 35 (2), pp.123-127. https://doi.org/10.12809/eaap2518  

Lynch, A., and Davison, K. (2022). ‘Gendered expectations on the recognition of ADHD in young women and educational implications’. Irish Educational Studies, 43 (1), pp.61–81. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/03323315.2022.2032264  

Margherio, S.M., Capps, E. R., Monopoli, J. W., Evans, S. W., Hernandez-Rodriguez, M., Owens, J. S., and DuPaul, G. J. (2021). ‘Romantic relationships and sexual behavior among adolescents with ADHD’, Journal of Attention Disorders, 25 (10), pp.1466–1478. doi: 10.1177/1087054720914371 

Marsh, S., and Aguilar García., C. (2024) ‘Record numbers in England taking ADHD medication, NHS data shows’, The Guardian, 26 July. https://www.theguardian.com/society/article/2024/jul/26/record-numbers-in-england-taking-adhd-medication-nhs-data-shows  

Martin, A.F., Rubin, G.J., Rogers, M.B., Wessely, S., Greenberg, N., Hall, C.E., Pitt, A., Logan, P.E., Lucas, R., and Brooks, S.K. (2025) ‘The changing prevalence of ADHD? A systematic review’, Journal of Affective Disorders, 388, article no. 119427. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jad.2025.119427  

Molenaar, M., Santos Laanan, F., and Burrow-Sanchez, J. (2025) ‘The intersection of disabilities and the risk of sexual assault victimization among female college students’, Journal of American College Health, pp. 1–29. https://doi.org/10.1080/07448481.2025.2577661  

Morgan, J. (2023). Exploring women’s experiences of diagnosis of ADHD in adulthood: a qualitative study. Advances in Mental Health, 22 (3), pp.575–589. https://doi.org/10.1080/18387357.2023.2268756  

Moseley, R. L., Gamble-Turner, J. M., Kim, E., and Spencer, C. (2026). ‘Autism, ADHD and the menopause’, Post Reproductive Health, pp.1–11. https://doi.org/10.1080/20533691.2026.2631222 

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O’Brien, M., Kini-Seery. C., Kelly, C., Kilbride, K., Wrigley, M., Nearchou, F., Bramham, J. (2025) ‘”I Felt Like a Burden”: An Exploration Into the Experience of Romantic Relationships for People With ADHD’, Journal of Marital and Family Therapy, 52 (1). https://doi.org/10.1111/jmft.70097  

O’Nions, E., El Baou, C., John, A., Lewer, D., Mandy, W., McKechnie, D.G.J., Petersen, I., and Stott, J. (2025) ‘Life expectancy and years of life lost for adults with diagnosed ADHD in the UK: matched cohort study’, The British Journal of Psychiatry, 226 (5), pp.261-268. doi:10.1192/bjp.2024.199 

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Images

ADHD Letters: www.amenclinics.com https://www.flickr.com/photos/125892716@N05/14419482990
Sex Education: Nick Shepherd / Ikon Images / NTB
Holding hands: Tifeclicks
My ADHD Mind: Tara Winstead 
Classroom: Pavel Danilyuk 
Phone: by Swello on Unsplash

handwritten 'once upon a time' on paper with pen

How to Teach Fairy Tales as a Feminist 

By Sara Turnbull – Doctoral Researcher at Lancaster University 

“Fairy tales”. Scanning the curriculum for my first teaching job, those two words triggered immediate dread and despair. As a fierce feminist, my inner siren was screeching. Did I really abandon a career in economics to reinforce outdated, heteronormative gender roles? I did not want to teach stories where a woman’s sole talent is being beautiful, consent is non-existent, and young boys are taught that emotional suppression equals bravery. 

However, as I was contractually bound to the curriculum, I had to find a way forward. That was over a decade ago. Today, I’ve come to the realisation that fairy tales aren’t a feminist educator’s worst nightmare but rather a tool for encouraging early activism.  

When we give young learners permission to fully engage with these stories, they instinctively question what is fair and unfair. When I ask why the princess had no choice, twenty hands go up in the air.  If you want to use a problematic curriculum to your advantage, here are three practical steps to bring traditional tales up to date. 

1. Don’t ban the book, change the questions 

paper princess (white, blonde hair, femme) on a horse

Instead of banning traditional stories, we as educators can use them as a starting point for critical thinking. Young children love the magic behind fairy tales and that engagement serves as our hook. Once students are fully engaged  introduce targeted questions that challenge societal norms. You can ask questions such as “Why does the prince get to make all the decisions?”, “Is beauty a requirement for being a good person?” or “What if the princess saves herself, or does the prince need rescuing?”. You will find that children are just as outraged as you are, often instantly spotting  structural unfairness. 

2. Validate Students’ Concerns 

During a breakthrough moment in my classroom, I realised that children were naturally questioning these scenarios. We were reading Sleeping Beauty, and the moment the prince kissed her without asking, a little boy shouted out, “That’s a stranger! You’re not supposed to touch people when they are asleep!”. It completely stopped the reading. Whenever we read stories, they routinely asked questions such as “Why don’t they have jobs? Is she crazy marrying a man she doesn’t know?”. When students ask questions and voice concerns, don’t brush them off to finish the book or keep up with the timings of the curriculum. Instead, pause and let them lead the discussion. When we allow our students to steer the conversation, we show them that their instincts about justice are correct and they shift from passive listeners to agents of change. 

a classroom of engaged young learners

In my own classroom, I have introduced further activities whereby students have a bell and when we are reading a traditional tale, they ring the bell whenever they notice something unjust. We pause throughout the story to unpack our thoughts, feelings, and the wider systems that make these situations seem normal. Overall, we can use their scepticism  to initiate open discussions on real-world issues such as consent, racism and rigid gender conformity.

3. Introduce Counter-Narratives 

Pair traditional tales with unconventional, modern adaptations to show students that narratives can be rewritten. Use classic feminist texts such as Robert Munsch’s The Paper Bag Princess, where Princess Elizabeth rescues an ungrateful and judgmental prince and then promptly ditches him to flee with the dragon, to dismantle female submission. To support boys, introduce stories such as The Story of Ferdinand, the gentle bull who prefers to smell flowers rather than fighting, to explicitly validate that boys do not have to be aggressive or tough to be the hero.  

children in classroom share work

Students can take a traditional story and rewrite the ending, giving them a chance to go from passive listeners to agents of change.  

Thirteen years ago, I thought teaching fairy tales would be a professional life sentence. Today, I see them completely differently. They provide a safe space where young children can explore the vital skills of challenging societal norms. As feminist educators, we will always encounter lessons and materials that conflict with our personal morals, but this is where the real work begins. By being open and inviting our students to question, speak up, and flip the script, we can help ensure their own happily ever after is one of their own choice and making. 

Images:

Image by Fathromi Ramdlon from Pixabay
Picture by Chris F from Pexels
Photo by CDC on Unsplash
Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels

Want to write for us? Find out more here!

Three women smile at a camera with the text Solidarity and Beyond Symposium

Solidarity, Sisterhood, and the Emotional Labour in Academia

by Reshmi Lahiri-Roy, Rachel Daniel & Kelly Hart

Some stories need sharing. And sometimes we must be our sisters’ keepers. As three women working in the same regional Australian university, our sisterhood and solidarity grew as we shared the vicissitudes of our lives, conversing in corridors, online, and occasionally, sharing meals. These interactions, interwoven with our passions, interests, and emotions offered an unusual academic freedom. We shared on parenting, life events, cultural responsibilities, and the emotional labour of being mothers in academia.

a person speaks at the front of a seminar room that is full of people looking at the speaker

Working as collaborative autoethnographers, our conversations became a journal paper. Encouraged by reviewer responses to our now accepted paper and a faculty conference grant, we hosted a symposium based on solidarity, sisterhood, and allyship around academic motherhood. It was gratifying to be joined by enthusiastic scholars, on-campus and online, who proactively queried “what happens when we stop pretending these experiences sit outside academia and instead recognise them as central to it”? Instead of a single narrative of “academic motherhood,” all voices asserted that gender, care, and education are deeply entangled. And to be meaningful, solidarity must extend beyond tokenistic celebrations of diversity, perfunctory policy changes, or advocacy of endurance.

From the symposium’s presentations and collaborative discussions, strong themes emerged:

Stories beyond “work–life balance”

a classroom of people interacting with each other, some are seated at tables, others are standing

Women academics are conditioned that balancing academic work and care responsibilities is a personal responsibility. Our presenters (of all genders) resisted this idea, contending that the issue is not women, mothers, carers, or marginalised academics failing to manage competing demands. It stems from neoliberal academia’s fossilised academic stereotype of the heterosexual male, preferably single, or supported by the ubiquitous wife, ready to meet academic demands (Anderson et al., 2020). Overlooked narratives ranged from academics based in regional universities, struggling with travel, to the penalties paid by others who cannot relocate or attend conferences; illuminating that care responsibilities are not incidental. Given the institutional preference for rewarding staff visibility, research productivity, and traditionally linear careers, those encumbered with care responsibilities remain behind.

Whose motherhood counts?

Running like a silken ripple through the symposium was the refusal to treat academic motherhood as a single, universal experience. Indigenous, migrant, working class, adoptive motherhood, and first in family academics convivially intertwined different realities.

For Australian First Nations scholars, caregiving is interwoven with kinship, community, and Country (Minthorn et. al 2018). Motherhood is imbricated in their lives as a knowledge source rooted in accountability, not viewed as a distraction from intellectual life. Institutional systems mostly devalue these ways of being and knowing, designating care as an individual rather than a collective responsibility.

For migrant academics, motherhood comes layered with stresses of visa insecurity, fractured professional networks, and the task of caring across borders based on cultural expectations. Some navigate “third space” roles, straddling academic and professional spaces, as a flexible compromise, which raises questions around academic legitimacy, recognition, and authenticity. We heard from those struggling to achieve parenthood, for whom conversations centred on motherhood become exclusionary. Reflections on topics usually avoided in academia, including infertility and miscarriage were shared, highlighting the profound impact on wellbeing, identity, and participation. Solidarity based on preconceptions that everyone’s reproductive journey is similar risks silencing many.

Invisible labour and audible bias

A person speaks in front of a lecture room of people seated and watching. On a screen we see an online speaker and community also joining.

With a smattering of international scholars, an emergent global theme was the lack of recognition and reward for that which academics deem as essential work (Reid 2021), encompassing emotional and individual labour including mentoring students, fostering collegiality, organising workloads, defusing conflicts, and professional and domestic care work, essentially ‘women’s work’, often racialised and ignored. Workplace microaggressions (Blithe & Elliott, 2020) were mentioned: being interrupted, spoken over, dubbed unproductive and excluded from decision-making spaces post motherhood.

The exhaustion from this marginalisation through motherhood was a palpable presence. The need to constantly prove credibility, mask grief, fatigue, or vulnerability to be perceived as professional, and the painful knowledge that stepping back, even briefly, has long-term consequences remains omnipresent.

We learned that:

Solidarity needs expanding beyond support in stressful times to be designated as genuine sisterhood; capturing elements of resistance, advocacy, and collective action. Several contributors argued for solidarity as a clearly developed collective practice. This includes challenging visible bias, advancing transparent workload models, planning meetings and events acknowledging care responsibilities, refuting longstanding narratives of inevitable, and recognising diverse allyship outside gender groups. A core feature of solidarity is listening, especially to those traditionally suppressed in universities, the ‘invisibles’, ranging from BIPOC scholars to those with disabilities.

Why gender and education matter right now!

We rethought Epictetus’s assertion that only the educated are truly free. Positioned as a pathway to equality, education systems can reproduce inequality if we don’t interrogate embedded intersectional inequalities and question whose knowledge counts. Universities are under pressure, leading to normalising burnout and stress. But gendered and intersecting inequalities are exacerbated by austerity. As redundancies become commonplace, losing experienced women, carers, and marginalised scholars narrows knowledge production, students support, and ultimately, creative futures.

Progressing Together

While no perfect solutions crystallised at the symposium, hope emerged that naming these realities together is a form of change (Sum et al. 2025). Connecting across institutions, disciplines, and borders transforms isolation into collective understanding. The presenters asserted that gender equity is intertwined with access, participation, knowledge, and care. These conversations reiterated that academia needs more institutional responsibility not individual resilience. We recognised that solidarity is not about struggling alone but about imagining, insisting upon, and progressing to something better, together.

References

Anderson, L., Gatwiri, K., & Townsend-Cross, M. (2020). Battling the “headwinds”: the experiences of minoritised academics in the neoliberal Australian university. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education33(9), 939–953. https://doi.org/10.1080/09518398.2019.1693068  

Blithe, S. J., & Elliott, M. (2020). Gender inequality in the academy: microaggressions, work-life conflict, and academic rank. Journal of Gender Studies29(7), 751–764. https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2019.1657004

Minthorn, R. Z., Nelson, C. A., Shotton, H. J., Lee, T. S., Tsinnajinnie-Paquin, L., Faircloth, S., Reyes, N., Chow-Garcia, N., Johnson-Jennings, M., & Johnson-Jennings, A. (2022). Indigenous Motherhood in the Academy. Rutgers University Press. https://books.google.com.au/books?id=fLx9EQAAQBAJ  

Reid, R. A. (2021). Retaining Women Faculty: The Problem of Invisible Labor. PS: Political Science & Politics54(3), 504–506. doi:10.1017/S1049096521000056

Lahiri-Roy, R., Daniel, R., & Hart, K. (2026, accepted, in press). Arduously reconciling the ‘good mother’ with the ‘academic worker’: A collaborative autoethnography on academic motherhood and sisterhood in Australian higher education. Journal of Women and Gender in Higher Education.

Sum, N., Lahiri-Roy, R., & Belford, N. (2025). Hope theory as resistance: narratives of South Asian scholars in Australian academia. Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal, 44(1), 26–40. https://doi.org/10.1108/EDI-03-2023-0085  

All images are author’s own

The image shows a sketch 'addressing the lack of diversity in STEM: Academics, policy makers and change makers' which was created by a colleague, Dr Nic Dickson, to visually capture discussions from a STEM roundtable

Are We Moving the Needle? Women Academics of Colour and the Politics of Representation in STEM 

Dr Abimbola Abodunrin, Post-doc Researcher in Education. University of Glasgow.

Walk into many STEM faculties across the UK, and you might notice something right away: the posters/decor speak of diversity, the strategies promise inclusion, and the websites proudly showcase progress or perhaps more accurately, incremental progress. Yet, look a little closer at who is leading labs, shaping research agendas, and influencing decision-making, and a different story often emerges. As a male academic of colour researching within STEM education spaces, I often find myself asking a simple but ‘uncomfortable’ question: Are we really moving the needle? And perhaps more importantly, who is still being left behind? The experiences of women academics of colour continue to reveal a persistent gap between representational gains and promising agendas to pursue equ(al)ity. Their stories speak not just about numbers, but about belonging, voice, and power. They also echo wider concerns raised in Danny Clegg’s WonkHE blog, where he suggests that universities are often better at documenting inequalities than preventing or addressing them. These reflections challenge all of us, including men and men of colour such as myself, to think more introspectively about what it means to actively contribute to decolonising STEM and academia more broadly. 

Vibrant test tubes filled with liquids in a modern lab setting, showcasing scientific exploration.

For many institutions, progress is measured through the politics of enumeration, even when agendas are well-intentioned: how many women are recruited, how many minoritised academics are appointed, how many diversity initiatives are launched. These numbers matter, of course. But numbers alone do not tell the whole story. Being the only one in the room or, worse still, being present to ‘authenticate’ spaces and projects without necessarily shaping them remains a familiar trope of experience for many women academics of colour. Alongside this is the invisible and often unremunerated labour of mentoring students seeking role models, sitting on diversity committees, and balancing expectations both at home and in the workplace that weighs on her body and career. Do I also speak of the tensions of performing particular forms of scientific legitimacy – marked by her ability to speak science, do science, and embody science in ways that mirror dominant cultural practices?  

A Black woman scientist in a lab coat using a microscope in a modern laboratory setting

I have witnessed, and through my research, had the privilege to listen to, brilliant women academics of colour whose ideas (re)shape conversations, yet whose contributions are sometimes framed as “niche” rather than central to STEM innovation. These experiences speak to representational politics, signalling symbolic inclusion and progress without disrupting the epistemic centre. As  Kalwant Bhopal’s article discusses, even equ(al)ity and diversity staff within universities often find themselves constrained; able to “talk the talk” but not always permitted to “walk the walk” when it comes to implementing equitable changes. Representation, in this sense, becomes visible but precarious; present, yet positioned at the margins of institutional power, even when occupying a leadership position. 

As a male academic of colour, I am also conscious of the spaces I occupy and the privileges I may hold, even within marginalised identities. Decolonising STEM is not simply about increasing diversity; it is more about questioning whose knowledge counts, whose voices are heard, and whose experiences shape institutional change. This means listening more carefully to women academics of colour, amplifying their contributions, and reflecting on how we, as colleagues, mentors, and collaborators, can challenge systems that continue to (re)produce inequ(al)ities. It also means recognising that decolonisation is neither a metaphor, as Tuck and Yang, put it, nor a destination but an ongoing practice. Sometimes this work involves small but subversive everyday actions: citing their work, recommending them for leadership roles, or challenging assumptions about their credibility and expertise in meetings. These may seem like small steps, but they contribute to shifting cultures and redistributing voice and influence. 

Three colleagues working together on a project, focusing on a laptop screen.

Encouragingly, there are growing conversations and initiatives seeking to address these issues. From mentorship networks and collaborative research communities to institutional commitments around equity and inclusion, there are signs of movement in the right direction. Yet, the question remains: are these efforts reshaping structures, or simply reshaping appearances? The stories of women academics of colour offer a powerful reminder that equitable and lasting changes require more than good intentions. It requires sustained commitment, uncomfortable conversations, and shared responsibility. As we continue to trouble the question of whether we are moving the needle, perhaps the most important step is to keep listening, keep reflecting, and keep working together toward a STEM academy where representation is not only visible but fundamentally equitable. 

Dr Abimbola Abodunrin 
Post-doc Researcher in Education 
University of Glasgow 
a.abodunrin.1@research.gla.ac.uk 

https://www.linkedin.com/in/abimbola-abodunrin

Images:
Featured image: Photo of a live sketch by Dr Nic Dickson, Visual  Inquiry (2023)
Photo by Artem Podrez: https://www.pexels.com/photo/vials-with-liquids-in-holder-8533087/
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A white woman looks stressed with a cash note on the table in front of her

Working-class women’s transitions to doctoral education: The enduring role of economic capital  

By Dr Carli-Ria Rowell, University of Sussex and current GEA Co-Chair.

In this short blog post based upon my recently published article in British Journal Sociology of Education (Rowell 2026) I cast light on the enduring role of economic capital and access to knowledge in shaping educational pathways and decision making. I reflect on the economic insecurity that class inequality casts over educational opportunities, even in the lives of those considered to have succeed in education. In doing so I argue for greater systematic support pertaining to inclusion of working-class students at the doctoral level if we are to diversify higher education knowledge production and to take seriously historical epistemological injustices with regards to the classed politics of knowledge production and inequalities of representation. 

Reproduction in education thrives off of one’s (in)ability to access knowledge. Knowing what counts as valid and worthy, having a feel for the unwritten rules that open doors for some and lock out others. At the highest level of educational attainment then, one would be shocked and surprised perhaps then to learn that access to doctoral funding (and subsequent doctoral study per se, for working-class students) is seldom based on one’s academic accolades but rather who they happened to be taught by. Afterall, education is a meritocracy, right? It’s not who you know but what you know? Wrong, as my research illustrates.  In the case of being working-class and accessing doctoral funding then, having access to a ‘significant academic other’ (Rowell 2026) opens the possibility and probability of doctoral study as I discuss below.  

Within the UK, and elsewhere higher education has moved from an elite to mass system of enrolment, it nonetheless remains a deeply classed sphere. As Walkerdine reminds us, higher education continues to operate as a classed pathway and bastion of classed knowledge (Walkerdine 2021) especially so given academia’s classed ceiling (Friedman and Laurison 2019). Whilst there exists a plethora of research illuminating the experiences of working-class students at the undergraduate level and to a lesser extent the postgraduate researcher level, working-class access to, experiences of and outcomes pertaining to doctoral education remain largely absent. This was thus the imperative and motivating factor shaping my research exploring working-class women’s experience of navigating access to and through (and out of) doctoral study. Funded by the Society for Research in Higher Education (Rowell 2026) the research sought to explore the way(s) in which a working-class background shaped experiences of doctoral study, in doing so the research revealed the enduring nature of economic inequality upon access to higher education at the doctoral level.  

woman holding cash looking serious and writing

Whilst unpacking the experiences of thirteen working-class cis women’s journeys to doctoral education within the discipline of Sociology it became apparent that access (or not) to economic and social capital deeply structured their progression to and entry into doctoral study. All of the working-class women I interviewed had received funding – and – without exception would not have been able to afford to pursue doctoral study otherwise. The working-class women’s arrival at securing funding was by no means seamless nor linear, but often the outcomes of starts, stops and circling back round as they attempted to navigate the unfamiliar journey of navigating doctoral fundings.  

For many of the participants, the inability to pay straight up for doctoral study was exactly what precluded them from embarking on a seamless academic trajectory and not having access to economic capital resulted in fractured academic journeys. More profoundly however, access to economic capital through securing research funding (what I refer to as ‘accrued economic capital’) was foundational in equipping participants with the necessary economic capital allowing them to embark on doctoral study possible. 

people using digital device while meeting

A common theme and thread throughout participants narratives was the role that academics, who were also from working-class background played in supporting students accessing doctoral funding. Such academics, I refer to as ‘significant academic others’, a conceptual tool to theorise a specific form of academic social capital that, within the field of UKHE, provides access to hot knowledge (Ball and Vincent 1998), in this case: doctoral funding opportunities. ‘Significant academic others’ were drawn upon as a source of capital facilitating working-class students’ entry to doctoral study; it is through their ‘significant academic others’ that the working-class women were equipped with the right knowledge (cultural capital) of how to navigate the postgraduate doctoral fundings landscape. Most of the working-class women (all but one) were made aware of doctoral funding opportunities through their ‘significant academic other’ as opposed to more systematic practices, such as university or funder information dissemination outlets. It demonstrates how, for the working-class participants of this research acquiring the economic capital required for doctoral study was not a straightforward process or the results of structural widening participation initiatives but the result of lucky encounters with their ‘significant academic others’ (often too from working-class backgrounds).  

I call on universities and funders to deliver targeted and systematic support aimed at making known, to working-class student communities the opportunities for doctoral funding and to make clear the unwritten rules of game that enable some to secure such funding over others. If we are serious about the inclusion of working-class students at the doctoral level, then we must take seriously inequalities in access.  

References: 

Ball, S.J. and Vincent, C., 1998. ’I Heard It on the Grapevine’: ‘hot’ knowledge and school choice. British journal of Sociology of Education, 19(3), pp.377-400. 

Friedman, S. and Laurison, D., 2019. The class ceiling: Why it pays to be privileged. Policy Press.  

Rowell, C.R., 2025. Fighting for funding, working-class women’s transitions to sociology doctoral education: ‘Significant academic others’, economic and social capital. British Journal of Sociology of Education, pp.1-22. 

Walkerdine, V., 2021. What’s class got to do with it? Discourse: Studies in the cultural politics of education, 42(1), pp.60-74. 

Images:
Photo by www.kaboompics.com: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-long-sleeve-blouse-near-the-money-on-table-7680366/
Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-woman-sitting-on-the-couch-while-counting-money-6694900/
Freepik: https://www.freepik.com/free-photo/people-using-digital-device-while-meeting_17873494.htm#fromView=search&page=1&position=4&uuid=f923630c-bc57-4c66-a5ee-b1585ddb5090&query=mentor

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two smiling young Black girls smiling at each other

Black Girlhood in Europe Symposium 2026 – Are you Down? 

By Dr Silhouette Bushay

A young Black girl in a red top

It is astonishing that a conference on Black British Girlhood Studies was convened for the first time in Britain in 2025, and we support and applaud this shift and look forward to many more – nonetheless, this truth is telling of the intellectual and political space that we are in. It also reflects a wider issue of epistemic whiteness and neocolonial violence which permeates and bolsters academic and wider institutional practices and agendas. For Black girls, their communities/families, and Black girlhood orientated scholars, researchers, practitioners, and professionals, the field is unsupported and requires research, funding, and more coordination and movement to build momentum, and consequently, drive progress. 

a young Black girl typing on a laptop

In recognition of the work that is required to contribute towards building the field of Black Girlhood Studies in Britain and other countries in Europe, Black Girl Streams C.I.C. is launching the Black European Girlhood Studies Association (BEGSA) which is also convening/co-hosting Black Girlhood in Europe Symposium 2026 – Black Girlhood at the Intersections: Health, Disability and Neurodivergence, and it’s first Special Interest Stream (SIS), the Black British Girlhood – Health, Disability and Neurodivergence SIS.   

Co-hosted by the Centre for Social Change and Justice (CSCJ), and funded by the School of Childhood and Social Care, CSCJ, and Student Life at the University of East London, the main objective of the symposium is to delve into some of the complexities involved in Black British Girlhood as a site for understanding a range of ideas around race, ethnicity, culture, gender, health, community, dis/ability and neurodivergence.  It will grapple with Black girl experiences with consideration community, embodiment, and institutions such as school, social care, and technology – to name a few. 

This is an interdisciplinary discussion where Black girls (18 and over) and women, academic, practitioner, students, policy and other professionals and stakeholders are welcome to contribute and collaborate in moving the agenda forward. 

The symposium takes place on the 11th March 2026 at the University of East London, UK. 

Come join us – see our online platform for more information and to reserve your free spothttps://blackgirlstreams.com/symposium  


Follow us on social media: 
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/black-girl-streams/  
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/blackgirlstreams/  
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCY_e9pIyMXYC_EGNZziZ3QA (launches on the 2nd March 2026)

 

If you have any enquiries regarding Black Girl Streams or more specifically BEGSA including the Special Interest Stream, email: info@blackgirlstreams.com  

I am Dr Silhouette Bushay, Senior Lecturer and Course Leader at the University of East London, and Founder, Executive Director and Lead Scholar at Black Girl Streams C.I.C.  

https://uk.linkedin.com/in/dr-silhouette-bushay-81419838  

Image credits:
@eyeforebony https://src.nappy.co/photo/oWGwCNU7llU-MQ4x_SjG4 
Photographer: 5DMedia https://picnoi.com/people/6566/ 
Photographer: Monstera https://picnoi.com/people/6443/

a cluster of pegs and one peg alone

From Silence to Voice: Reclaiming the Curriculum for the Working-Class Feminist  

By Michaela Hall  

The intersectionality of class and gender is at the forefront of my experience and research as a PhD student exploring curriculum justice. In this blog post, I reflect on my higher education journey as a white, working-class, British woman and I touch upon how structural inequalities are embedded in curriculum design and delivery. I explore how neoliberal ideologies commodify education, marginalise working-class women, and erase diverse ways of knowing. My experience and reflections have shaped my commitment to advocating for curriculum reform that promotes epistemological justice, which has the potential to lead to broader social transformation.  

A Moment To Reflect  

Very recently, I attended a conference where one of the presenters mentioned that personal social injustices they face motivate them to change things for others. This resonated deeply with me and prompted me to reflect on my own intellectual journey through higher education, particularly my undergraduate studies. I reflected on how my experiences as a working-class white British woman not only shaped my path but also my research into gender and curriculum justice.  

I vividly remember the look in my dad’s eyes when I told him I was intending to go to university after completing my A Levels. I caught a glimpse of the heart-stopping, stomach-dropping panic.  

‘Are you sure?’ 

‘Have you thought about getting a job?’  

‘You don’t have to because your friends are, you know?’  

I knew I didn’t have to. I wanted to. Even in those self-absorbed teenage years, I did feel for my dad. I was asking for the equivalent of 2 years’ worth of food shopping for our working-class family of four, to be paid over the course of the next 3 years. Yet, with the most pained smile I will probably ever witness, he agreed.  

I studied Music, and it wasn’t until my third year that I came across my first female lecturer, a guest lecturer from the Music Therapy Master’s course. It was then that I realised there were no female lecturers in the department. We did not learn about any female composers and anything aside from Western music was crammed into a one-semester elective module in the first year – ethnomusicology – taught by a very charming, but very white, middle-class male. 

I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I truly understand how teaching cannot be viewed as a matter outside of social class. Teaching is an overt genderised profession with evident historical roots within the capitalist system (Anyon, 1997; Arnot, 2002; hooks, 1994; Darder, 1991). I now question myself: Was it worth it? Is it worth it for working-class women now, after 20 years? What knowledge, or rather whose knowledge, are you paying for? These are just some of the questions I hope to answer through my research.  

Working-Class Realities and the Cost of Aspiration  

a white woman sits at a desk looking stressed

Class matters are deeply intertwined with gender and, needless to say, racial categories. (Davies, 2019; hooks, 1987; Darder, 1991) I have found that women are disproportionately affected by precarious work conditions, unpaid carer roles and responsibilities, as well as exclusion due to disability. Also, it is interesting to notice whose women one is referring to? In recent research, the UK Trades Union Congress (2025) revealed that women are 34% more likely to be on exploitative zero-hour contracts than men, BME women are 103% more likely than white men, and disabled women are 49% more likely.  

When I started my undergraduate studies in 2005, university tuition fees in England were set at £1,500 a year. At that time, the National Minimum Wage was £5.05 per hour for those aged 22 and over, and £4.25 per hour for those aged 18 to 21. Fees were the equivalent of 297 hours’ and 353 hours’ worth of work, respectively. Have things got better? Unfortunately, no. The National Living Wage, as it is now known, is set at £12.21, and a year’s fees can be charged at a maximum of £9,535 in England and Wales: an equivalent of 781 hours. So, what kind of curriculum are you paying all this money for? What will you learn? Who benefits from ‘such learning’?  Importantly, is it worth the mounting debt for the working class in particular? Alarmingly, if one pays attention to studies promoted by conservative psychologists, such as Jordan Peterson, equality policies, particularly in Scandinavian nations, have aggravated gender equality. 

It is essential to recognise that prevailing societal ideologies influence the dominant forms of curriculum theory, design, and development. At present, as research documents, neoliberalism has been capable of imposing itself as a public pedagogy aiming for educational outcomes that are directed by primary market drivers. Students are treated as a commodity, like any other commodity, a captive mass of customers, and knowledge is viewed as a commodity as well (Apple, 2000; Giroux, 2011). There is an emphasis on ‘marketable skills,’ which reinforces capitalist values, namely, individualism, competition, and instrumental views of reason and existence. Since the market dictates education, pedagogy is compartmentalized and individualized to be in tune with those markets. In the course of my research so far, I have observed that the majority of online prospectuses foreground workplace skills that can be acquired during the course, before describing the degree content.  For some, this isn’t very meaningful. The curriculum is designed to serve the labour market, not the students. It promotes skills for employability, assuming everyone is a potential worker, and adds little value for women who cannot work or are in insecure jobs, creating a sense of economic disempowerment. Notably, education is closely tied to a new emerging gendered class: the precariat. Distinct from the traditional working-class, the ‘precariat’ (a term originally coined in 2011 by British economist, Guy Standing (2014)) are characterised by their precarious employment, unstable living conditions and lack of rights both within and outside of the workplace.  

From a progressive feminist perspective, this assumption overlooks structural inequalities (such as access to employment, leadership roles, and equal pay, to name but a few) that disproportionately affect women—particularly those in caregiving roles, precarious employment, or excluded from formal work altogether. It adds little value for the women who cannot work or are in insecure jobs, creating a sense of economic disempowerment. By prioritising individualised success and employability, neoliberal curriculum design erases collective struggles and reinforces gendered marginalisation within education. 

Intersecting Inequalities: Who Is Left Behind?  

series of figures of similar colours grouped together while another of a different colour sits apart

Neoliberal framing also builds the curriculum as a site of power. Bernstein (1971) claims, “how a society selects, classifies, distributes, transmits and evaluates the educational knowledge it considers to be public reflects both the distribution of power and the principles of social control”.  The curriculum, therefore, is a selective tradition (Williams, 1983): when you select, you make choices of what is ‘in’ and ‘out.’…and in so doing, you murder countless knowledge platforms. ‘Educated knowledge’ is often defined by dominant Western, patriarchal, and capitalist ideologies, and higher education is no exception. The curriculum has an epistemicidal nerve (Paraskeva, 2011). The general curriculum engages in epistemological looting (Paraskeva, 2016), privileging Western Eurocentric narratives while silencing indigenous, feminist, and non-Western epistemologies. ‘Objective’ knowledge is masculinised, whilst socially constructed ways of knowing and emotional experiences are feminised and devalued. Actually, in many aspects, they have been produced as non-existent (Santos, 2014). Epistemological violence (Paraskeva 2016) against working-class women and other disenfranchised individuals and communities has historically been rampant -not just in the West – and this rode upon the wave of colonisation to the South. Hence, women from indigenous communities face double the marginalisation and oppression from both patriarchal and colonial powers 

How do the politics of the curriculum impact working-class women? They are systematically neglected: the curriculum rarely reflects the lived experiences of the working-class, as their knowledge is often rooted in survival, care, and community, and is not considered ‘academic’ or ‘valuable’. This invisibility also means that others, outside of their community, do not understand their realities. Women’s invisibility in the curriculum matters has been consolidated through men’s visibility. 

Additionally, the current curriculum perpetuates social hierarchies. As a result of the white, patriarchal Western Eurocentric norms embedded in the curriculum, working-class women are assumed to be uneducated and unskilled despite their different ways of knowing, reinforcing classism, ableism, racism, and sexism in both education and society. Constant exclusion from educational narratives and opportunities can lead to disempowerment and alienation, also limiting their ability to advocate for themselves or their communities. 

Towards Epistemological Justice  

I was fortunate enough to secure a full-time job, albeit at minimum wage, while attending school. Working full-time hours and studying on a full-time course was intense, and sure, I would have attained better marks if it had not been for cramming coursework in work breaks, but I managed to see myself through and come out with a piece of paper on the other side to show the world I had a degree. Looking back, however, it cost a lot more than money. My identity – my working-class ontology, my epistemology, and even my accent, which set me apart – all had to be shed for me to fit in with my peers and absorb white Western male knowledge. I am not ashamed to admit that, if it were not for employers covering the costs of my Master’s and PhD studies, nor for the fantastic support I receive from my supervisors, I would not be where I am today.  

someone holds a sign that says 'education for all'

I was, and still am, lucky — and it is not fair. As a society, we need to strive for something better, and I hope this is where my research will lead me. I cannot see how we can change society without changing education and teacher education. Although I am not naïve, as education alone cannot transform society, the truth is that the social transformation we so desperately need requires a radical shift in the way we think about and approach education. I am making it my mission to explore curriculum theories that promote epistemological justice, embrace diverse and plural ways of knowing, and break away from a territorialised curriculum that is fixed, canonised, and built on colonial and patriarchal frameworks.  

REFERENCES 

Anyon, J. (1997). Ghetto Schooling. New York: Teachers College Press. 

Apple, M. (2000). Official Knowledge. New York Routledge 

Arnot, M. (2002) Reproducing Gender. New York: Routledge 

Bernstein, B. (1971) ‘On the Classification and Framing of Educational Knowledge’. In M. F. D. Young (ed), Knowledge and Control. New Directions for the Sociology of Education (pp. 47- 69). London: Collier-Macmillan 

Darder, A. (1991). Culture and Power in the Classroom. New York: Routledge 

Davies, A. (2019) Woman, Race and Class. New York: Penguin. 

Giroux, H. (2011) Education and the Crisis of Public Values. New York: Peter Lang 

hooks, b. (1987) Ain’t I A Woman: Black Women and Feminism. London: Pluto Press. 

hooks, b. (1994) Teaching to Transgress. New York: Routledge 

Paraskeva, J. M. (2011) Conflicts in Curriculum Theory. New York: Palgrave 

Paraskeva, J. M. (2016) Curriculum Epistemicides. New York: Routledge 

Santos, B. (2014) Epistemologies from the South. Boulder: Paradigm 

Standing, G. (2014) The Precariat: The new dangerous class. London: Bloomsbury 

TUC (2025). Women are “bearing the brunt” of exploitative zero-hours contracts. 06 March 2025. Available at https://www.tuc.org.uk/news/women-are-bearing-brunt-exploitative-zero-hours-contracts (Accessed 2 June 2025) 

Williams, R. (1983) Culture and Society: 1780-1950. New York: Columbia University Press 

Free to use images sourced from Unsplash, and Pexels 

Chilean children in school

Citizen education and gender in Chile: An analysis from the perspective of school leadership

Camila Jara Ibarra

What is the objective of our research?

Understanding the process of socialization and the learning of politics and citizenship during the formative period of adolescence is crucial for comprehending the origin of the gender gap in political and civic participation later in adulthood, including experiences within the school environment. Schools, whether through explicit or implicit content, can contribute to the conceptualization of politics and citizenship as a male domain if their practices and interactions among students perpetuate gender biases and stereotypes (the tendency to attribute specific characteristics and traits to men and women (Jost & Kay, 2005)).

Schools possess formative potential that extends beyond the classroom, involving the institution as a whole. As Kerr (2015) emphasizes, citizenship education encompasses the classroom through the curriculum and teaching practices; the institution as a whole through spaces for deliberation and school participation; and the school’s relationship with the community through service activities and educational outings, among other aspects. While there is extensive literature and empirical evidence focused on the classroom and the influence of teachers on the development of students’ citizenship competences (Gainous & Martens, 2012; Schulz et al., 2018; Torney-Purta, 2002), less attention has been given to the role of school leaders in citizenship education, considering the formative potential of the entire school.

This project focus on school leadership (principals, management teams and teachers in leadership positions within the school) to observe their role in the process and experience of political socialization and citizenship education of Chilean students. In doing so, we aimed to identify their approach to gender issues and the existence of gender biases that could contribute to the construction and (re)production of a citizenship associated with the masculine or feminine roles in political life.

What have we done?

During the months of project execution, we gathered essential data to address the research objectives. Case studies were conducted to observe and analyse gender biases in learning and teaching processes within the school environment, with a specific focus on the role of educational leadership.

We collaborated with a sample of four secondary public schools in Santiago, Chile, including two exclusively female schools. To ensure gender balance in school leadership, we selected two schools led by female principals and two by male principals. In line with our initial proposal, we conducted in-depth interviews with educational leaders and citizenship education teachers. The objective was to gain insights into their perspectives on citizenship learning and teaching from a gender-oriented standpoint.

We interviewed a total of seven citizenship education teachers and six members of management teams. The analysis of these four school cases focused on the discourses and practices of leaders (political and citizenship beliefs and attitudes) and the opportunities for teaching and learning (spaces for deliberation and participation, as well as the school’s relationship with the community) offered by the school as a whole. The interviews, conducted between May and October 2023, lasted approximately one hour each.

What are our main findings so far?

The four schools analyzed exhibit differences in their school culture, yet they also share some characteristics in many of the examined issues.

From the cases examined, citizenship training plans have been developed, as mandated by the Ministry of Education (outlining citizenship education actions and learning opportunities for primary and secondary education students). In a couple of schools, units have been established to address gender issues. However, in the case of citizenship education plans, in general, these are not known by the school community and have a limited impact, as there has been no collective reflection on the type of citizenship the school community seeks to emphasize or the actions this will entail. It is suggested that the formulation of these plans has been primarily for regulatory compliance rather than constructing an educational plan for the community.

A noteworthy aspect in three of the schools is the recent establishment, within the last two years, of an internal department addressing gender issues. However, these departments or units are still in their early stages, and like the citizenship plans, their scope is not yet known or shared by the educational communities. While these units represent progress in addressing the visibility of gender issues, their focus has been oriented toward addressing gender diversity, coexistence problems, and non-discrimination rather than promoting formative or educational strategies from a non-sexist approach.

In all four cases, diverse citizenship conceptualizations are observed, which even differ within each school. Views range from critical positions regarding what has traditionally been understood as citizenship, related to civic duties and rights, to others where a broader and more active conception of citizenship linked to common good and democratic coexistence is observed. Regarding feminism, a common discourse is observed in all four schools around its relevance. While its importance is declared, the concept is not used institutionally, and instead, similar concepts such as gender equality or equity are mentioned.

Concerning forms of organisation and student participation, three parallel phenomena are observed in all cases: 

1. A growing weakening of traditional forms of student participation such as Student Unions, which generally have low attendance and often do not garner validation among students.

2. Minority groups of students with higher levels of politicisation, participation, and mobilisation capacity, who often drive actions such as school occupations.

3. School administrators and teachers report a growing lack of interest and disenchantment among students with topics related to traditional and electoral politics, even due to causes such as feminism during the post-pandemic period (2021-2023). However, there is a reported increase in interest in other types of issues such as animal rights.

These realities have a correlation in the discourses of school leadership, where there is a lack of problematization in relation to the type of citizenship that the school privileges, as well as to possible gender gaps or an education that produces or reproduces gender biases. These discourses, rather, focus on reducing gender issues only to the promotion of non-discrimination and the promotion of sexual diversity, from a focus on reparation rather than prevention, instead of thinking about the development of strategies in the formative or educational field for a non-sexist approach (from pedagogical practices, contents, work materials).

What can we conclude at this point?

All in all, it can be said that there is progress in schools in relation to citizenship education and gender issues, which contributes to the recognition and visibility of both topics. However, these advances are limited and the school leadership rather lacks of a critical or reflective vision on citizenship and the challenges, gaps and biases that citizenship education faces in terms of gender.

Finally, we did not encounter any ethical issues in the fieldwork. Before the fieldwork this study was revised and approved by Diego Portales University ethical committee. Participants were required to read and sign a written informed consent prior to their interview. We also tried to be mostly transparent with our research purposes and the future use that any information will have.

school toilets

Toilet Talk: Empowering young people in schools to research and talk about toilet issues

A GEA Funded project

By Alice Little, Josh, Oscar, Elliot, Charlotte Haines-Lyon, & Nathalie Noret

Pupil toilets are a problematic space in school. Pupils often report feeling unsafe and being concerned about the cleanliness and hygiene of school toilets. As such are often reluctant to use the toilets in school time. We aimed to work with young people to explore and challenge common toilet narratives to develop healthier, more equitable toilet practice.  

Working with young people, we developed a participatory research project to examine: how can young people work with schools to develop toilet policy and practice that is safe, healthy, and socially just? We successfully recruited a secondary school in South Yorkshire to participate in the project. The school had recently conducted a student voice survey and identified a problem with the school toilets. Our student as researchers group decided to investigate this further.

Consistent with our participatory approach to the project, our blog post is co-authored with members of our young people research team, Josh, Oscar, and Elliot. This approach was approved by our institutional ethics board. We highlight why the young people decided to get in the project, what they have done so far in the project, and why they feel Toilet Talk is important.

Why get involved?

JoshMy motivations for joining Toilet Talk was to gain an insight into the processes and factors considered during a research project at University standard. I joined Toilet Talk with these intentions in mind and soon became invested into the opinions and attitudes towards toilets and their usage from the answers given by students at my school and sixth form.

OscarI joined Toilet Talk because I have always felt that the quality of school toilets is below adequacy – I believed that through Toilet Talk, we would be able to make meaningful change to our Sixth Form, lower school, and schools across the country. I also felt that the research aspect would be quite interesting, i.e., looking at statistics from peers etc. I was interested in seeing if my opinions on the toilets in and around Sixth Form were shared among peers.

What we have done so far

Alice, Josh & OscarInitially we set out to work in a participatory way where the young people could lead the direction of the project. The young researchers chose a method for collecting data about school toilets. We began collaborating on choosing questions that could be asked to other pupils within the sixth form. We discussed ethical considerations such as confidentiality and safeguarding. An aim was to provide reassurance to pupils that we would respect their anonymity when answering the questionnaire. The team of pupil researchers wanted to make sure that respondents felt comfortable and could answer truthfully without any worry of any repercussions. The sessions were held in 25-minute form time slots, which fitted into the school day and were flexible to accommodate those who wanted to take part.  

Some of our findings so far

Josh & Oscar – Initially we believed that social space and toilets were connected; our finding concurred that our predictions and estimations were closely matching to the outcome of the Student Voice Survey. 62% of respondents stating that the toilets in Sixth Form were being used as a social space, with 23% specifying that the toilets do not address all needs of pupils. It would be interesting to see if these findings and statistics are generally found across the country in all genders and age brackets – it would be helpful to research further into school toilets to confirm this belief. It was insightful to discover that many of our views on the toilets were shared with our peers as well.

Why these findings are important and our next steps

Josh & Oscar – Collectively, we agreed that sharing our findings with the head of our Sixth Form would be helpful in working towards a solution with the Student Voice Surveys in mind. An intention was to specifically address the findings on social space and accessibility, as we believe these are the key elements that are contributary towards achieving a more comfortable environment for students using the toilets. We believed that through our research being conducted alongside York St John University researchers, our student voice was elevated, and responses would be better received by our Sixth Form and its management. Therefore, hopefully the findings will result in a higher chance of action being taken towards the facilities, better improving the overall conditions for ourselves and our peers. We believe a higher quality environment is deserved for pupils within our sixth form, especially with equitable toilets being a basic human right.

The young researchers facilitated a meeting with senior leadership, and it became clear that no toilet policy existed within the sixth form. An action plan was created that included the co-creation of a toilet policy, and clear expectations to be set out in whole year group assemblies. The young researchers have opened dialogue with the leadership team about expectations and conditions of the sixth form toilets and they wanted to continue this discussion moving forward.

The Toilet Talk project has highlighted the benefits of employing a participatory approach when undertaking research in schools on sensitive and challenging topics. The young researchers in this project have highlighted how important it was to feel listened to and contribute to a meaningful discussion with their school leadership on their research findings. This has led to a change in school policy and practice related to school toilets.

This research secured ethical approval from the York St John University, School of Education, Language and Linguistics, Ethics Committee in January 2022. Written consent was received from the young people to take part in the Toilet Talk project and those involved in writing the blog attended a workshop session on authorship and anonymity within academia, and verbally consented to being named co-authors.

This blog post explores the Gender and Education Association 2021 funded research project titled Toilet Talk: Empowering young people in schools to research and talk about toilet issues, led by Dr Charlotte Haines Lyon.