Understanding Why Mattering Matters for Black Teachers: A Qualitative Approach to Understanding Black Teacher Mattering
Written by Tara Elie
Tara Elie teacher, psychologist, lecturer and coach. Tara has diverse experience in education and Learning and Development spanning over decades. She is renowned for her engaging training delivery, both face-to-face and virtually. Her performance background, alongside her passion for supporting individuals and organisations to flourish and thrive, characterise her delivery style. Tara has completed research on Black Teacher Mattering which she is delivering in keynotes. She is passionate about teacher wellbeing and uses the theories of Positive Psychology to inform her work with all clients with a proven record of success. Tara stands for social justice and social change. She appreciates and celebrates the individual, their differing backgrounds, cultures, experiences, perceptions, and values.
In my study, I set out to understand how Black teachers in London experience mattering in their professional lives. Because there is limited UK-based research in this area, I chose a qualitative methodology. My focus was not on measuring experience, but on understanding meaning, interpretation, and lived reality.
I was drawn to qualitative research because it allows for depth and nuance when exploring complex social and psychological experiences (Hill et al., 1997).
It quickly became clear to me that Black teachers’ experiences are not uniform. They are shaped by intersecting factors such as race, gender, school context, and role. A quantitative approach would not capture this complexity, particularly in relation to more subtle or systemic experiences such as microaggressions or colourism (Holt, 1976).
Key Themes
From the analysis, three overarching themes emerged: Representation, Racism, and Reinforcement, supported by ten sub-themes. What stood out most strongly for me throughout the data was a persistent tension between visibility and value.
Many participants described being highly visible as Black teachers, yet not always feeling equally valued or recognised within their professional environments.
Representation
One of the strongest themes for me was representation. Participants often linked their sense of mattering to their visibility as Black teachers in schools and wider society. Many expressed pride in their role and recognised the importance of representation for Black students’ identity, confidence, and aspirations.
Several participants described themselves as role models. This was not framed as symbolic, but as deeply meaningful. They saw their presence as shaping what Black students believed was possible for them, and this gave their work a strong sense of purpose.
Authenticity also came through strongly. Participants described feeling most valued when they could bring their “whole self” to work — including aspects of culture, identity, and communication style. When they felt able to do this, their sense of belonging and mattering increased. When they felt they had to suppress parts of themselves, that sense often diminished.
Voice was another key element. I was particularly struck by how powerful it was when participants felt genuinely heard by leadership. For some, this was a turning point after long periods of feeling overlooked. Being listened to — and seeing that listening lead to action — was often described as affirming their professional worth.
Racism
Racism emerged as the most dominant and consistently experienced theme across all interviews. Participants described a wide spectrum of experiences, from subtle microaggressions to overt racism involving both colleagues and students.
A recurring issue was racialised stereotyping, particularly being labelled “aggressive” when expressing themselves assertively. Many participants described this as “tone policing”, where their professional communication was questioned or reframed in racialised terms. This had a clear impact on confidence and professional freedom.
Workload and expectation also featured strongly. Several participants felt they were expected to work harder than white colleagues to achieve the same recognition. Some linked this directly to inequities in pay, progression, and informal responsibility within schools.
Access to leadership was another key issue. Participants often felt that promotion pathways were less accessible to them, shaped by informal networks and organisational culture rather than transparent processes.
I was also struck by how often participants described being expected to take responsibility for managing behavioural issues involving Black students. This created tension between professional role expectations and racialised assumptions about identity and expertise.
Overall, racism was consistently described as undermining mattering by reducing fairness, recognition, and belonging.
Reinforcement
Alongside these challenges, participants also described powerful sources of reinforcement that strengthened their sense of mattering.
Recognition from colleagues and senior leaders was highly valued, especially when it was specific, sincere, and linked to professional contribution. In some cases, formal recognition such as pay progression was experienced as particularly meaningful, especially when explicitly connected to expertise and impact. However, what stood out most for me was the strength of student relationships.
Nearly every participant described deeply affirming experiences with pupils, including gratitude, affection, admiration, and long-term appreciation. These moments were often emotionally significant and acted as a powerful reminder of purpose.
Parents and carers also contributed to this sense of reinforcement, particularly when they actively expressed appreciation or sought out individual teachers because of their impact.
What I found particularly striking was how reinforcement and racism often coexisted. Participants could feel deeply valued in one context (for example, by students) while simultaneously feeling devalued in another (for example, by institutional structures). This created a complex and sometimes contradictory experience of mattering.
Overall, what emerged for me from this research is that mattering for Black teachers in London is not stable or uniform. It is something constantly shaped through the interaction of representation, racism, and reinforcement.
While representation and relationships can strongly enhance feelings of value and purpose, these are often disrupted by systemic and interpersonal racism that undermines fairness, recognition, and belonging.
Mattering, in this sense, is not simply about being present in schools. It is about whether Black teachers feel seen, heard, valued, and able to exist authentically within the profession they serve.
Mental Health or Mental Illness? Why Silence Speaks in Teaching
Written by Katja Pavlona
Katja Pavlovna is a teacher in alternative provision and has previously taught in specialist SEMH and prison settings. She runs the lived experience mental illness project Lives Not Labels and is co-author of the book Sorry My Mental Illness Isn't Sexy Enough For You.
There is often – rightly – a lot of talk in education about teacher wellbeing and mental health. Burnout, stress, anxiety and depression are sadly commonplace within our profession. However, something we hear far less about is teacher mental illness.
I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD, or to give it its newer name, Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, or EUPD) in 2021. Whilst the diagnosis was both a blessing (I knew what was wrong with me) and a curse (it’s incurable, although it can go into remission and be managed), I knew deep down that there was something else going on that BPD couldn’t quite explain. That’s how I ended up with a second diagnosis in 2023 of Schizotypal Personality Disorder (STPD). Managing two different, yet serious, mental conditions is something of a challenge in itself, let alone with the added complication of working full time in a career known for the risks it poses to mental health. So, how on earth do I do it? Truth be told, it’s hard.
Whilst mental health might be a hot topic in education, mental illness certainly is not. Whilst colleagues might join in with me for a moan about how exhausted I am, I can’t imagine them having much to contribute were I to discuss my propensity towards magical thinking, odd interpretations of events, finding hidden meanings in everyday things and my visual, gustatory and olfactory illusions, which are all part of my STPD.
I am extremely fortunate to be able to manage my disorders independently, and am generally classed as low support needs- that is, I function in society as anyone ‘normal’ would, predominantly by masking my symptoms and mirroring those around me. Whilst this does have obvious advantages, it does come with some fairly significant drawbacks too.
As someone who has very high expectations of myself and prides myself on being resourceful, diligent and practically-minded, it’s fair to say that I’m seen as good- even great- at my job. How could that ever be a negative?
The problem is that because my illnesses are well managed, it’s very hard for people to conceptualise that I am actually unwell. I mask so much that my disorders are basically invisible, so it’s very easy to assume they’re not there at all. People assume I’m fine, so when things start to slip, I’m judged harshly for not being able to perform in the same way I could when I was ‘fine’.
A few years ago, I had to take some time off work. I’d been wrongly taken off all of my antipsychotic medication, which led to my psychotic-like STPD symptoms returning. Fairly obviously, I couldn’t teach in that time and was signed off. I was already stressed and anxious- work keeps me stable and grounded and I rarely take time off, so being stuck at home with no interaction or purpose was causing me to deteriorate, quickly. I was then accidentally copied into an email complaining about my absence, which only added to my feelings of guilt. I was having to plan cover lessons around psychotic episodes and hospital trips, but when I returned after two weeks when my medication was reinstated and I was cleared by Occupational Health to return, I was still subjected to snide comments about how much time I’d had off due to the culture of presenteeism. People knew I had a serious mental illness, but it was still hurtful to realise I was seen as a liability.
The thing about mental illness is that everyone claims to be fine with it, until you start showing symptoms. This is, I think, especially true for a personality disorder. I am covered under the Equality Act 2010 for both BPD and STPD, but these are often seen less as a disability and more as a conscious attempt to manipulate. I clearly recall once, whilst temping, being asked to leave the classroom after requesting time off for a psychiatric appointment. Management then interrogated the pupils as to whether they felt safe in the classroom with me. Luckily this incident was dealt with, but I’ll never forget how it made me feel to know they clearly thought I must be dangerous.
The practical side of managing a mental illness in teaching is also difficult. Attending appointments during the school day can be tricky. After I was diagnosed with an eating disorder which arose as a coping mechanism for my personality disorders, I was offered specific treatment (DBT therapy), but this was a two hour session every week for 20 weeks in a neighbouring city. At the time I was teaching in an SEMH school who were extremely understanding and rejigged my timetable to allow me to attend. I suspect many schools wouldn’t be able to be that generous.
Reasonable adjustments can be hard to navigate too. Because of my fears of contamination with food due to the STPD, one of my adjustments is to bring my own lunch to work rather than eat from the canteen. Whilst you wouldn’t think this was likely to be an issue, in one school I worked at, a senior member of staff continuously ‘reminded’ me that teachers had to eat the same food as the pupils as it set a bad example. They weren’t the kind of person I could confide in, so I ended up eating alone in my classroom.
The fact is, my mental illness is always in the back of my mind. I constantly fear another ‘episode’, although I know realistically as long as I’m looking after myself, it’s unlikely. But still I lie awake at night worrying. I am the main earner in my household. If I can’t work, we would stand to lose everything. That’s an enormous pressure to have on my shoulders. Over the course of my career, I have met several teachers with BPD in the schools I’ve worked at. As far as I am aware, I am the only one still in the profession. It’s tough.
It’s not all negative, though. My disorders have given me resilience, creativity and compassion towards others. Some of the more challenging aspects of my disorders- such as BPD impulsivity- I can channel in healthier ways through teaching. I am self-aware enough to pre-empt when symptoms may occur and manage them, and I draw on appropriate support as and when needed. Pattern recognition has been vital in helping me to be proactive in managing my disorders. I love my job, so I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to make sure I can remain in it.
It’s also been an unexpected asset in some of the settings I’ve worked in, most notably alternative provision, prison and PRUs. In recent years I’ve worked with pupils with personality disorder or conduct disorder diagnoses, and it has helped me to better understand their inner experience. I could never share my own diagnoses with them, though. The stigma around personality disorders is so intense that to do so could potentially jeopardise my career.
A few years ago I spoke to a national newspaper about my lived experience project, Lives Not Labels (www.livesnotlabels.com) and received some hateful messages from people who took issue with the fact the article mentioned my career. I was accused of being abusive, manipulative and too unstable to work with children, told I was probably only in education to make false allegations about parents to social services to have their children removed, and threatened that if they knew what school I worked at, they’d destroy my career as people like me are a danger to children, including my own. To see such attitudes on display so plainly was incredibly confronting.
In October of last year, my book Sorry My Mental Illness Isn’t Sexy Enough For You was published which detailed some of the challenges I’ve faced as a teacher with serious mental illness. Although I’ve become gradually more confident in speaking out about my experiences, for many working in education with mental illness, there is too much at stake for them to be able to do the same. It’s clear that strides forward have been made in the realms of teacher mental health, but for those of us with mental illness, resources and understanding are sorely lacking.
Here is the link to my book: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1805010670/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&dib_tag=se&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.eMN7CSJN8yAXZ5LF9EtaQQ.UXJCGah2s3DoEkFTDqRf2TfZOyzEcavIn2mhgstUTXI&qid=1781934392&sr=8-1
How do we Measure Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Belonging (DEIB) in Schools?
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
Creating a truly inclusive school community goes beyond celebrating differences – it requires intentional measurement, reflection, and action. Schools that commit to Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Belonging (DEIB) understand that “what gets measured, gets improved.” But how can educators and leaders effectively measure something as complex and human-centreed as belonging or equity?
- Define What DEIB Means in Your Context
Before measurement comes meaning. Every school community is unique, and so are its DEIB priorities. Start by engaging key stakeholders – students, families, teachers, and staff – to define what diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging mean in your context.
- Diversity: Who is represented in your community?
- Equity: Do all students have access to the resources they need to succeed?
- Inclusion: Do all voices feel heard and valued?
- Belonging: Do individuals feel safe, accepted, and connected to the community?
Establishing shared definitions ensures everyone understands what you’re trying to measure and why it matters.
- Use Quantitative Data to Identify Gaps
Numbers tell part of the story. Collect and analyse demographic and performance data to identify patterns of inequity or exclusion.
Consider tracking by identity group:
- Student admissions and retention
- Staff recruitment, progression and attrition demographics
- Student attendance, behaviour and engagement
- Staff development and leadership opportunities
- Student progression rates
- Staff community involvement
- Student extra-curricular involvement
Use data disaggregated by subgroups to uncover disparities that may not be visible in overall averages.
- Gather Qualitative Insights to Understand Lived Experiences
Numbers reveal patterns; stories reveal impact. Use surveys, interviews, and focus groups to explore how students and staff actually experience school life.
Example methods:
- Climate and belonging surveys: Ask how safe, respected, and supported individuals feel.
- Student voice circles: Provide structured opportunities for students to discuss inclusion and school culture.
- Teacher and family feedback sessions: Capture multiple perspectives on equity and access.
Look for patterns in experiences – especially among groups historically underrepresented or marginalised.
- Evaluate Curriculum and Practices
A key dimension of DEIB lies in what students learn and how they learn it.
Audit your:
- Curriculum materials: Are diverse identities, histories, and voices represented authentically?
- Disciplinary policies: Are they applied equitably across student groups?
- Teaching practices: Do pedagogical methods support multiple learning styles and perspectives?
- Professional development: Are staff supported in building cultural competence and equity awareness?
- Measure Belonging Intentionally
Belonging can be the hardest – and most crucial – aspect to measure. It is about emotional connection and psychological safety.
You can measure belonging through:
- Belonging scales in climate surveys
- Social network mapping (e.g. how connected students feel to peers and teachers)
- Observation protocols (e.g. participation patterns, classroom inclusion)
Ask questions such as:
- “Do you feel accepted for who you are at school?”
- “Do you have at least one safe adult you trust at school?”
- “Do you see yourself reflected in what you learn?”
- Turn Data Into Action
Measurement is only meaningful if it drives change. After analysing results, share findings transparently with your community and co-create improvement goals.
For example:
- If certain groups feel less belonging, launch an intervention like student mentoring.
- If data show disparities in discipline, review policies and provide staff training on restorative practices.
- If representation is lacking in the curriculum, form a review committee to expand perspectives.
Progress should be tracked over time, with regular opportunities to celebrate growth and identify new challenges.
- Commit to Continuous Improvement
DEIB measurement is not a one-time audit – it is a continuous process of listening, learning, and leading with empathy. As your community evolves, so will your understanding of what inclusion and belonging mean.
By pairing data with dialogue, schools can create environments where every student and educator feels seen, valued, and empowered to thrive.
Key Takeaway
Measuring DEIB in schools is not about checking a box – it is about cultivating awareness, accountability, and action. When schools combine data with authentic voices, they build the foundation for equity and belonging that benefits every learner.