Emotional Labour: Who Looks After the DEIB Leaders?
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
DEIB (Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, and Belonging) leaders are often positioned as the moral and emotional anchors of their organisations. They are asked to hold space for harm, advocate for systemic change, educate others, and respond to crises – frequently while navigating their own lived experiences of marginalisation.
Yet a critical question is often overlooked: who looks after them?
As organisations expand their DEIB commitments, many are failing to invest in the sustainability of the people doing this work. The result is a growing pattern of compassion fatigue, burnout, and attrition among DEIB leaders – costly not only to individuals, but to organisations themselves.
The Unique Load DEIB Leaders Carry
DEIB leadership is not just strategic or operational work – it is deeply relational and emotional. DEIB leaders are often:
- Exposed to repeated accounts of trauma and discrimination
- Expected to respond calmly to resistance, denial, or hostility
- Asked to educate while also advocating
- Share their lived-experience honestly, vulnerably and generously
- Positioned as both insiders and outsiders within organisations
- Hold responsibility without proportional authority or resourcing
This cumulative load is rarely acknowledged in job descriptions, performance metrics, or wellbeing strategies.
Compassion Fatigue Is Not a Personal Failing
Compassion fatigue occurs when sustained exposure to others’ distress depletes emotional and psychological resources. For DEIB leaders, this can show up as:
- Emotional exhaustion or numbness
- Reduced empathy or motivation
- Cynicism about organisational change
- Withdrawal from relationships or work
Importantly, compassion fatigue is not a lack of resilience or commitment. It is a predictable response to prolonged emotional labour without adequate support.
Burnout and the DEIB Attrition Problem
When compassion fatigue is left unaddressed, it often leads to burnout – characterised by exhaustion, detachment, and a sense of ineffectiveness. Many DEIB leaders respond by leaving their roles, shifting careers, or exiting organisations altogether.
This attrition creates a revolving door effect on the DEIB strategy:
- Knowledge and trust are lost
- Strategies stall or reset
- Work is redistributed to other leaders to carry even more load
Organisations then misdiagnose the issue as a “pipeline problem” rather than a care and support problem.
Coaching, Mentoring, and Supervision as Sources of Support
Supporting DEIB leaders requires intentional structures, not just wellness slogans.
Coaching: Provides a confidential space focused on leadership development, boundaries, decision-making, and navigating organisational complexity. Coaches can help DEIB leaders reconnect with agency and clarity.
Mentoring: Offers relational support and wisdom-sharing, particularly valuable when mentors have lived experience or have navigated similar organisational terrain. Mentoring reduces isolation and normalises challenges.
Supervision: Creates structured reflective space to process emotional impact, ethical dilemmas, and role strain. For DEIB leaders, supervision can be critical in preventing compassion fatigue and burnout.
These supports are not interchangeable – and ideally, DEIB leaders should have access to more than one.
What Organisations Need to Do Differently
If organisations are serious about DEIB, they must be equally serious about caring for the people leading it. This includes:
- Funding coaching, mentoring, and supervision as core role supports
- Normalising emotional labour as part of DEIB work
- Building realistic expectations and boundaries into roles
- Sharing responsibility for DEIB across leadership – not isolating it
- Measuring sustainability, not just activity
Care is not a “nice to have.” It is a strategic necessity.
Looking After the People Who Hold the Work
DEIB leaders are often asked to model empathy, courage, and humanity in systems that do not always return those qualities. If we want DEIB work to endure – rather than burn people out – we must shift from extraction to care, containment, and collective responsibility.
Looking after DEIB leaders is not separate from DEIB work. It is DEIB work.
Holding Space Without Burning Out: Understanding Compassion Fatigue and How We Safeguard Ourselves
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
In caring professions – and in deeply relational roles – holding space for others is sacred work. Whether you are a therapist, coach, nurse, social worker, teacher, spiritual leader, or simply the person everyone turns to in crisis, you are entrusted with stories that carry pain, trauma, grief, and vulnerability. But holding space comes at a cost if we do not tend to ourselves. Compassion fatigue is not a failure of resilience. It is often the natural consequence of caring deeply in the presence of trauma. And safeguarding ourselves is not selfish – it is ethical.
What Is Compassion Fatigue?
Compassion fatigue is the emotional and physical exhaustion that can develop when we are repeatedly exposed to others’ suffering. It is sometimes described as the “cost of caring.” Unlike burnout, which develops from chronic workplace stress and systemic pressures, compassion fatigue is closely tied to exposure to trauma – directly or indirectly. Over time, witnessing others’ pain can begin to shift our nervous system, our worldview, and even our sense of safety.
You may notice:
- Emotional numbness or irritability
- Difficulty concentrating
- A reduced sense of empathy
- Sleep disturbances
- Feeling overwhelmed or depleted
- Intrusive thoughts about clients or stories you have heard
For those working with trauma survivors, there is also the risk of vicarious trauma – a cumulative shift in our internal world as we absorb repeated accounts of trauma. This does not mean we are weak. It means we are human.
Trauma Exposure Changes the Nervous System
When we hold space for trauma, our nervous system is activated. Even if the trauma did not happen to us, our body often responds as if it were present. We may feel tightness in the chest, shallow breathing, or a subtle hypervigilance. Without intentional processing, these responses accumulate. Over time, the body may stay in a low-level stress response.
If we are not aware of this, we may:
- Over-identify with others’ pain
- Carry stories home with us
- Lose perspective
- Begin to feel helpless or hopeless
The more attuned we are, the more we are affected. This is why safeguarding ourselves must be woven into our professional practice – not treated as an afterthought.
Safeguard 1: Supervision Is Not Optional
Clinical supervision, reflective practice, or professional consultation is one of the most protective factors against compassion fatigue.
Supervision provides:
- A space to process emotional responses
- Containment for complex trauma material
- Ethical guidance and accountability
- Perspective when we feel stuck
- A reminder that we are not alone
Without supervision, helpers can become isolated in their internal processing. Isolation amplifies stress. Supervision is not a sign that we cannot cope. It is a commitment to sustainability and ethical care.
Safeguard 2: Structured Decompression
We cannot repeatedly hold intense emotional material and then immediately switch into “normal life” without impact. Decompression is the intentional act of transitioning your nervous system from holding space to rest and regulation.
This might include:
- A short walk after sessions
- Breathwork or grounding exercises
- Journaling to externalize what you are carrying
- Washing your hands as a symbolic reset
- Listening to music during the commute home
- Physical movement to release stored tension
Decompression rituals matter because they signal to the body: the work is done for now. Without this signal, the body continues to hold.
Safeguard 3: Trauma-Informed Self-Awareness
When we support others through trauma, our own unresolved experiences can be activated. This is not a flaw – it is part of being relational beings. But awareness is essential.
Ask yourself:
- What stories trigger me most strongly?
- Where do I feel this work in my body?
- Am I rescuing, over-functioning, or overextending?
- What feels harder lately?
Personal therapy, peer support, and reflective practice are powerful forms of safeguarding. We cannot ethically hold others’ trauma if we refuse to tend to our own.
Safeguard 4: Boundaries as Compassion
Boundaries are often misunderstood as distancing. In reality, they are what allow us to remain compassionate.
Healthy boundaries include:
- Clear session limits
- Defined availability
- Emotional differentiation (“This is not mine to carry”)
- Saying no when capacity is exceeded
Boundaries protect empathy from erosion. When we overextend, resentment follows. When resentment builds, compassion shrinks. Boundaries preserve our ability to care.
Safeguard 5: Rest Is Clinical
Rest is not indulgent. It is restorative. Sleep, play, connection, creativity, nature, laughter – these are not luxuries. They are protective factors against trauma exposure.
When we normalise exhaustion as “part of the job,” we risk normalising harm to ourselves. The quality of care we offer is directly linked to the state of our nervous system.
Sustainable Compassion
Holding space is courageous work. It requires presence, empathy, and the willingness to sit in discomfort without turning away. But sustainable compassion requires something equally important: self-protection.
We safeguard ourselves from compassion fatigue through five commitments:
- Supervision
- Decompression rituals
- Trauma-informed self-awareness
- Boundaries
- Rest
When we protect our nervous systems, we protect our ability to continue showing up. Compassion fatigue does not mean you are incapable. It means you care. And caring, when supported, can remain a powerful and sustainable force.
Pregnancy Loss in Education: Breaking the Silence, Structures and Support
Written by Morgan Whitfield
Morgan Whitfield is an experienced senior leader and professional development consultant who advocates high-challenge learning. Morgan hails from Canada and has taken on such roles as Director of Teaching and Learning, Head of Sixth Form, Head of Humanities and Head of Scholars. Her book Gifted? The Shift to Enrichment, Challenge and Equity, reframed “gifted” education as a mandate to provide enrichment and challenge for all students. She is a passionate advocate for equity in education, a BSO inspector, radio show host and mother of three brilliant little ones. Morgan has worked with schools across the Middle East, Asia and the UK and currently lives in Vietnam.
I remember the day I had to tell senior leadership that I needed to leave lessons and go to the doctor because I was bleeding. I sent out cover work in the hospital waiting room. Later, I had to tell the same colleagues that I would no longer need maternity leave. The conversations were devastating. The classroom kept moving forward, yet I was stalled. I am not alone in this.
Pregnancy loss is often described as a silent grief. For women in education, the silence is compounded by the relentless rhythm of school life. Our jobs involve performance, we must be the support for our students, and this demands our complete mental and emotional presence. Teachers are expected to stand in front of classes, to smile and be steady, even when their personal lives are marked by loss. With women making up three-quarters of the education workforce in the UK (DfE, 2022), the absence of open conversation about pregnancy loss is striking.
I have been there with colleagues through the heartbreak of miscarriage, and through the long, uncertain path of fertility treatments. One colleague once asked for a mental health day on what would have been her due date, a vivid reminder that grief is not linear and anniversaries bring waves of pain. Another shared the exhausting cycle of appointments, medications, and pregnancy tests that defined her attempts to conceive. These stories are part of school life, but they are rarely spoken aloud or formally recognised in policy.
Why Pregnancy Loss Matters in Education
Most schools have no specific structures or training in place to guide leaders or support staff. Teachers can feel forced to suppress grief in order to keep lessons going. When this happens, schools risk not only the wellbeing of staff but also the culture of care that should define education.
Pregnancy loss is both a medical event and a profound emotional rupture. Physically, it can involve surgery, recovery, and the exhaustion that follows. Emotionally, it brings grief for a future imagined but never lived. The disconnect between the devastation inside and the professionalism demanded outside can be unbearable. Without recognition or space, teachers risk feeling invisible in their grief.
Supporting staff through pregnancy loss and fertility journeys requires compassion and clarity. Three areas stand out:
- Policy and Procedure
Schools should establish clear leave policies that explicitly cover pregnancy loss at every stage and ensure staff understand their entitlements. Leadership need practical guidance on responding with sensitivity so that no member of staff feels dismissed. It is equally important that counselling and wider wellbeing services are easy to access and signposted without stigma.
- Culture and Conversation
A supportive culture begins with openly acknowledging pregnancy loss within staff wellbeing policies rather than treating it as a taboo subject. Leaders should be trained to respond with empathy and avoid minimising comments such as “at least you were not far along” or “at least you can try again”. Schools can recognise that grief can resurface around anniversaries of loss and offer staff the flexibility they need at these times.
- Practical Wellbeing Support
Staff deserve practical arrangements that help them re-enter work at a pace that feels manageable, such as phased timetables or temporary workload adjustments. Schools should protect time for medical appointments and mental health recovery. Peer networks or mentoring can provide a valuable source of connection and understanding for those navigating pregnancy loss or fertility treatment.
Workplace pledges, such as those promoted by the Miscarriage Association, provide clear frameworks that schools can adapt. These signal that loss will be handled with dignity and consistency, rather than silence and improvisation.
Schools often pride themselves on teaching empathy to children. We must apply the same principle to one another. Pregnancy loss and fertility journeys should not be taboo in education. When schools speak about them openly, they dismantle stigma. When institutions act with compassion, they protect not only the colleague in pain but also the integrity of the profession. Looking back, what made the difference for me were tangible acts. A colleague who offered to cover a lesson when I needed space. A quiet word that acknowledged my grief as real. These should be built into the school’s structures through purposeful policy and sensitive implementation.
References
Department for Education (DfE) (2022) School workforce in England: Reporting year 2022. Available at: https://explore-education-statistics.service.gov.uk (Accessed: 26 September 2025).
Education Support (2022) Teacher wellbeing index 2022. London: Education Support.
Miscarriage Association (n.d.) Pregnancy loss in the workplace: Guidance and charter. Available at: https://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/miscarriage-and-the-workplace/the-pregnancy-loss-pledge/ (Accessed: 26 September 2025).
The Sandwich Generation: Hidden Needs in the Workplace
Written by Zahara Chowdhury
Zahara leads on equality, diversity and inclusive education in higher education. She has over a decade of experience in middle and senior positions in secondary education. Zahara is author of Creating Belonging in the Classroom: a Practical Guide to Having Brave and Difficult Conversations. She is founder of the School Should Be blog and podcast, a platform that amplifies diverse and current topics that impact secondary school classrooms, students and teachers.
Ageism in the workplace is often an under-acknowledged and yet deeply felt influence on career progression, belonging, development and wellbeing. Early in my career, I was often met with phrases like “age before stage” when I applied for promotions, “have your babies first” when balancing career plans, and most recently the flattering-yet-deflating, “you just look so young.” These comments project assumptions about capability and life stage, often rooted in (un)conscious bias.
But recently I have found myself close to a very particular phase of life, I’ve recognised an aspect of ageism and workplace invisibility that doesn’t get enough attention: the experience of the sandwich generation.
Who Are the Sandwich Generation?
I only recently became familiar with this term. The sandwich generation refers to adults who are caring for ageing parents or relatives and dependent children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews. It is a role and phase that people find themselves in and to me, a role and phase that we are unprepared for and do not necessarily imagine ourselves in as we age. According to recent UK research, there were an estimated 1.4 million “sandwich carers” aged 16-64 between 2021 and 2023—people juggling dual caring responsibilities. Around half of these were aged between 45 and 64.
When we look at the workforce more broadly, about one in three workers in the UK is aged 50 or over, a figure that reflects changing demographics and longer working lives.
Caring for Ageing Parents: Nuances Often Missed
Caring for a parent with declining health, or simply through the aging process, is not just about practical tasks. It’s emotional and exhausting work. In my experience, unlike caring for a toddler (who grows and develops with you), looking after a parent often means mourning the loss of who they were, even as you help them with the fundamentals of daily life:
- Helping them eat, walk, or bathe.
- Navigating digital systems—especially healthcare—when “online” is an alien concept for them.
- Managing the emotional shift from being cared for, to being the carer.
- Coping with the mental, physical and emotional health decline that often accompanies ageing and illness.
These aren’t small tasks—they are intensely personal, triggering, time-consuming and emotionally draining responsibilities that are often invisible and unacknowledged at work.
What Sandwich Caregiving Looks Like Day-to-Day
Right now, I do not find myself in this generation, however from my observations and conversations, this caregiving reality doesn’t exist in isolation—it intertwines with modern work expectations:
- High-demand jobs that leave little room for care breaks.
- The tug-of-war between career aspirations and care commitments.
- The current confusion and blur between working from home, hybrid working, working in the office, emails in the evenings, ‘managing your own workload’, which doesn’t often take into account the ‘homeload’
- Guilt over saying “no” — whether to extra hours at work, social outings, or even rest.
- Juggling care for children, grandchildren, nephews or nieces and ageing relatives.
- Being interpreters of technology, healthcare systems and cultural norms for older relatives.
And unlike the standardised support often afforded to new parents (paid parental leave, flexible hours, visibility of care needs), care for older dependents tends to be less recognised, less supported, and much more assumed to be “just part of life.”*
*I am fully aware that support for new parents has a long way to go, however relative to the support for carers and the topic of this article, it is miles ahead.
Cultural Layers: A Personal Reflection
Being South Asian, I’ve been acutely aware of the cultural dynamics of caregiving:
- Bilingualism has been a strength—flipping between English and Punjabi while navigating health systems, care plans and cultural expectations.
- Convincing elders (and wider family) that healthcare systems aren’t to be feared—especially in the face of longstanding racial inequities—adds an extra cognitive and emotional burden.
- Explaining to friends from other backgrounds why care homes aren’t just “a solution”, but often conflict with deeply held values about family, faith and community.
For many in my community, caregiving is not simply a logistics challenge—it’s a moral and familial duty. Saying older adults “need family, not outsiders” is not just cultural pride—it’s a lived priority and a core feature of love, respect and duty.
Why This Matters in the Workplace
We talk about supporting new parents in the workplace, which is vital. But we rarely talk about supporting carers of older adults, even though their needs are equally pressing:
- Longer working hours are being expected while caregiving demands rise.
- Compassionate leave policies typically offer 3–5 days—but that barely scratches the surface of extended medical appointments, hospital stays, or full-time care needs.
- Older carers may not ask for help—they were raised to keep their heads down and get on with life.
- The toll—loneliness, stress, overwhelm—can become normalised, unspoken, and unseen.
These are professionals who are burning the candle at four ends: their careers, their children, their parents, and often their grandchildren too.
What Employers Can Do
As we reimagine talent strategies, cultures of belonging, and retention plans, we must:
- Expand caregiving support beyond newborn and ‘early years’ parental leave.
- Offer accessible flexible working, without stigma, for all lived experiences, particularly those of care givers.
- Recognise caregiving as a legitimate and diverse need—not a personal burden to be hidden.
- Support wellbeing programmes through a lens of multiculturalism, cultural intelligence and multi-generational stress.
The sandwich generation is a caring generation, too—often unseen and rarely discussed. I am guilty of the latter too, ironically, until it has impacted my own lived experiences. Creating cultures of belonging means seeing these employees, understanding their lives outside of work, and acting with policies that genuinely meet the full spectrum of caregiving realities.
“Because it makes us feel more comfortable” – Gender, Bodies, and Elephants in PE Swimming Lessons
Written by Justus Schwenzer
Justus Schwenzer (he/him) is a secondary teacher for PE, music, and English. Dedicated to fostering safe and inclusive learning spaces built on openness, belonging, and acceptance, he is passionate about research on equity, diversity, and inclusion in education.
The new school term has begun, and swimming is the new topic in PE. As a new member of staff, I am surprised to learn that our normally mixed-sex lessons are now split into separate “boys” and “girls” classes for swimming. This immediately raises questions for me, and I am curious to hear how my Year 10 students make sense of it.
“Why do you think our school chooses single-sex swimming lessons over the usual mixed-sex PE lessons?”
One of the students is bold enough to share: “Because it makes us feel more comfortable”. Such an honest response, perhaps hesitant, self-conscious, or even a little presumptuous in speaking for everyone.
But this raises the central question of this blog: Does separating students by sex really create comfort for everyone, or does it mask the deeper issues and avoid the tough questions that make PE feel uncomfortable in the first place?
This blog argues that single-sex swimming lessons are not automatically a solution for creating a truly welcoming and supportive learning environment. Instead, creating comfort, trust, and inclusion requires reflective practice that addresses the underlying issues of visibility, vulnerability, and equity in PE.
Is single-sex swimming more “comfortable” because it caters to innate abilities?
PE is, and probably always will be, a particularly gendered space. In this educational setting, bodies are in the spotlight and the centre of attention. A student saying “comfortable” might be pointing to culturally entrenched ideas about gender, such as the expectation that “strong boys” and “delicate girls” engage in activities thought to match their innate abilities. Historical debris of traditional gendered expectations still echoes through PE curricula and teaching practices, even though such narrow ideas of ‘ideal’ bodies are being critically challenged and perceived as outdated.
Is single-sex swimming more “comfortable” because it makes students feel less exposed and vulnerable?
Swimming differs from other curriculum topics due to heightened visibility of the body and a different dress code. The swimming pool represents a space where questions of respectable dress, visibility, and decency are grounded in the historic development of the sport. Interpreting “comfortable” as feeling protected and less vulnerable is therefore not far-fetched. “Girls” may want to feel protected from unwanted looks and the cisgender, heterosexual, sexualised (“male”) gaze. Additionally, mixed-sex PE may create religious distress for students with religious beliefs that emphasise modesty, making single-sex PE feel more “comfortable” for them. But can a safe and non-judgemental atmosphere not be created in mixed-sex swimming through reflective teaching practices?
When underlying beliefs and struggles that contribute to shame and anxiety in the pool are not addressed, opting for single-sex swimming lessons is more of a band-aid solution. Single-sex PE does not replace the work that has to be done to make this setting a safe, body-positive environment without judgement. Students are still together in a group with other people, tempted to compare and contrast their bodies, still trying to navigate puberty, hormones, and bodily changes. The work to support our students and help them feel “comfortable” in their own bodies does not go away.
Who is “us” in single-sex swimming lessons?
The “us” is still often defined as “boys” and “girls”. Single-sex PE creates binary groupings and potentially confines PE into “traditional” forms that reproduce inequitable sets of gendered power relations. What happens to students who cannot or do not want to say whether they should join the “boys” or the “girls”? Landi (2025) gives an example of how queer and trans students (that is how the youth in this study referred to themselves collectively) are marginalised in these moments, their bodies made to sit at a fault line of the system, creating barriers that leave them feeling erased. Students whose bodies fit neatly into the categories of “male” and “female” are privileged by the system. Heteronormativity is encouraged in those moments, creating a shield of invisibility around other sexual and gender identities. Others are left with the burden of accepting an option that does not represent them, potentially leaving them exposed, unprotected, and threatened.
Towards inclusive and welcoming swimming lessons in PE
I am aware that single-sex PE and mixed-sex PE are highly complex issues deeply entrenched in politics, (sporting) culture, religion, and society. The swimming pool tends to amplify particular issues. Despite these challenges, even long-standing practices in PE can benefit from reflection. Supporting all students means creating space for open, critical dialogue across perspectives. So, ask yourself what life lessons we want to teach our students, the type of world we envision for young people to move through, and who is allowed to move freely within it. Addressing the elephant in the pool might just make everybody feel a little bit more “comfortable”.
Belonging, Empathy, and a Curriculum that Sees Every Child
Written by Chloe Watterston
Chloe is an educator, athlete, and advocate for inclusive, curiosity-driven learning, dedicated to creating spaces where every young person feels safe, valued, and empowered. Her work across mainstream and SEND education, community projects, and curriculum reform is driven by a passion for amplifying marginalised voices and breaking down barriers to learning.
Belonging is not a bonus; it is a basic human need. Students who feel unseen, misunderstood, or undervalued will never thrive, no matter how carefully a curriculum looks on paper. Too often, belonging is treated as an afterthought- diversity weeks, a handful of posters in corridors, or the occasional themed assembly. These gestures may be well-meaning, but they fall short. True belonging requires more than decoration. It demands integration, empathy, and truth-telling.
Empathy has been stripped from education by a Eurocentric curriculum. When children encounter only one narrative, their own reflected back endlessly, or someone else’s never shown, they are denied the chance to be curious about differences. This absence breeds prejudice, isolation, and a narrow sense of the world. Representation matters, but not as an add-on or a gesture. It matters because it reflects humanity in its full breadth.
Learning outcomes are directly shaped by belonging. Research shows that students who feel they belong are more likely to achieve academically, develop social intelligence, and build resilience. A school that makes children feel like outsiders, whether because of race, culture, gender identity, or ability, unintentionally closes doors. Belonging must be woven into the fabric of school life from the start, not treated as an optional extra. When it is cultivated intentionally, young people gain the freedom to be curious, to trust, and to empathise. Without it, they turn elsewhere for meaning- often online, where they encounter narrow and sometimes toxic narratives about themselves and others.
Our most powerful tool for building empathy is storytelling. Stories act as mirrors, windows, and sliding doors: mirrors so children see themselves reflected; windows so they can look into other lives; and doors so they can step into perspectives far from their own. When children never see themselves in a story, they are told- silently but forcefully- that they are invisible. When they never encounter differences, they are denied the chance to develop empathy. Books, films, oral histories, and local community stories should not be treated as extras outside the ‘real curriculum.’ They are the curriculum.
Narratives that exclude Black contributions to science, art, geography, and literature are not neutral; they are erasure. Inclusive education cannot be about “adding diversity” on top of a whitewashed foundation. It must be about truth-telling. Black histories should be present in every subject, in every classroom, and in everyday conversations. Integration often provokes discomfort, but discomfort is not failure. It is learning. A curriculum rooted in truth will not always feel comfortable, but it will always be necessary.
Grades, too, can be barriers to belonging. Exams reward memorisation under pressure, punishing those who do not thrive in such conditions. For many learners, especially those from marginalised groups, this reinforces inequity rather than reducing it. Success needs to be redefined. Coursework and project-based assessment can value creativity, local histories, and lived experiences. A ‘D grade’ (which, in modern terms, equates to a Grade 3) may reflect extraordinary resilience and achievement in context. True equity means measuring children not against a singular rubric, but against their own journeys.
In classrooms, empathy cannot be demanded without exposure to difference. Curiosity grows when children encounter diverse stories and have safe spaces to talk about identity, race, gender, and belonging. Teachers play a vital role here. Students learn not only from what is said, but from what is modelled. When teachers show curiosity, challenge harmful narratives, and treat difference as opportunity rather than threat, they teach children to do the same.
Next come the practical shifts. Local heroes and community changemakers can be celebrated so that children encounter role models on their own doorstep. Equity, diversity, and inclusion must be reviewed with the same seriousness as safeguarding or attainment. Schools can use existing frameworks, such as the Equality Act and the Gatsby Benchmarks, to embed equity into daily structures rather than treating it as an extra burden. Above all, as discussed, storytelling should sit at the heart of the curriculum across all subjects.
Generations of young people are growing up in a world of polarisation, online radicalisation, and systemic inequality. After years of austerity, many are absorbing harmful narratives from the sources they trust most. They deserve better. They deserve an education that reflects them rather than erases them, and teachers willing to model curiosity and courage. As an Anti-Racism in the Curriculum panellist put it: young people are themselves an oppressed group- no one knows what it is like to be a child in 2025 except the children of 2025. Schools must listen to them, reflect them, and prepare them not only for exams, but for life lived with empathy and justice.
Inherited histories remind us that the curriculum is not abstract. It is rooted in the cultures and communities that shape who we are. My poem (see my article next week) – captures this truth:
“For the ones who carry the world in their veins – and make this island beat.”
This is Britain: a mosaic of footsteps, flavours, languages, and inventions, built by travellers, migrants, and dreamers. It is not a fantasy of purity, but a reality of mixture and connection. A curriculum that denies this truth denies the very heartbeat of the nation.
Now education must prioritise empathy with the same seriousness it gives to literacy and numeracy. Belonging should be woven into every subject, student voice must be valued, and leaders held accountable for equity. Success must be redefined so that growth, creativity, and resilience stand alongside grades. Every child should be able to look at the curriculum and find themselves reflected in it, while also seeing and stepping into the lives of others.
Going forward, if we want to raise a generation capable of compassion, critical thinking, and courage, education must be transformed into a tool for connection, not division.
Belonging is the root. Empathy is the bridge. Truth is the curriculum.
Empathy Week 2026: My Culture, Your Culture, Our Culture
Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
My Culture, Your Culture, Our Culture
Culture is more than traditions, food, language, or clothing. It is the story of who we are and where we come from. It shapes our values, our beliefs, the way we see the world, and how we connect with others. During Empathy Week, the theme “My culture, your culture, our culture” reminds us that understanding culture is not just about learning facts – it is about learning empathy.
Celebrating Your Own Culture
Celebrating your own culture is important because it helps you understand yourself. Your culture carries the experiences of your family, ancestors, and community. It gives you a sense of identity and belonging. When you recognise and value your culture, you gain confidence in who you are and where you come from.
For many people, culture is also a source of strength. Traditions, celebrations, and shared values can provide comfort during difficult times and joy during happy ones. They remind us that we are part of something bigger than ourselves. When we celebrate our culture, we honour the sacrifices, struggles, and achievements of those who came before us.
Celebrating your own culture also helps prevent it from being forgotten. In a fast-changing world, traditions and languages can easily fade away. By sharing stories, practising customs, and passing them on to younger generations, we keep culture alive. This is especially important for cultures that have been marginalised or misunderstood. Pride in one’s culture can be a powerful act of resilience.
Celebrating Other People’s Cultures
While celebrating your own culture helps you understand yourself, celebrating other people’s cultures helps you understand the world. Every culture has its own history, values, and ways of expressing meaning. When we take the time to learn about them, we broaden our perspectives.
Celebrating other cultures builds empathy. It allows us to step outside our own experiences and see life through someone else’s eyes. This understanding reduces stereotypes, fear, and prejudice. Instead of focusing on differences as barriers, we begin to see them as opportunities to learn.
Respecting and celebrating other cultures also creates more inclusive communities. When people feel that their culture is acknowledged and valued, they feel seen and accepted. This sense of belonging strengthens relationships and encourages cooperation. It reminds us that diversity is not a weakness but a strength.
Our Shared Culture
When we celebrate both our own culture and the cultures of others, we begin to create our culture – a shared space built on respect, curiosity, and understanding. This shared culture does not erase individual identities. Instead, it connects them.
“Our culture” is found in moments of listening, sharing, and standing up for one another. It is present when we celebrate cultural festivals together, learn new languages or traditions, and challenge discrimination. It is built when we choose kindness over judgement and curiosity over assumptions.
In a globalised world, our lives are increasingly connected. Schools, workplaces, and communities are made up of people from many different backgrounds. Learning to appreciate both our differences and our similarities helps us live together more peacefully and respectfully.
Why It Matters
Celebrating culture – your own and others’ – is important because it builds empathy. Empathy allows us to understand feelings, experiences, and perspectives that are different from our own. It encourages compassion and reminds us of our shared humanity.
When we value culture, we value people. And when we value people, we create a world that is more inclusive, respectful, and kind.
Empathy Week reminds us that while we may come from different cultures, we all share the same need to be understood, respected, and accepted. By celebrating my culture, your culture, and our culture, we take a step closer to a more empathetic world.
Find out more and register your school to be part of Empathy Week 2026 here.
Limitless Belief - An Inclusive and Diverse Experience
Written by Sarah Pengelly
Sarah has taught in London Primary schools for 12-years specialising in Literacy and PSHE, studied for an MA Educational Psychotherapy and previously worked at the BBC. For the past 5-years, she has been working with non-profit charity, Human Values Foundation, to develop a new values-led PSHE programme called The Big Think.
How can you make the work of DEI for organisations of all shapes and sizes itself feel inclusive and not a tick-box exercise?
That’s what I wanted to find out through Chickenshed’s 90-minute taster session for senior leaders, HR, DEI, and people-focused professionals.
I attended with my colleague Avanti from The Big Think, who facilitates life skills learning in schools in her other roles. We wanted to see how it applies to both our work at The Big Think as a values-based educational programme, and she wanted to examine her own facilitation practice.
Chickenshed? What’s that?
‘Chickenshed is a theatre company for absolutely everyone. For fifty years, we’ve created bold and beautiful work from our limitless belief in each other.’
With over 800 members of all ages and abilities, Chickenshed are able to invite to the table an unbelievable range of authentic voices, that most of us have never heard from, and that will deeply resonate with all of us.
As part of their outreach mission to help develop a genuine and active DEI journey for all workplaces, Chickenshed facilitate a bespoke package created for each setting or company. No mandatory one-size-fits-all diversity trainings.
‘The work of diversity and inclusion is never finished. It has to always be active and evolving to ensure shifting needs are being met and all voices are being heard.’ says Dave, the Senior Producer who is holding the space for this session.
This 90-minutes taster is described as a facilitated ‘experience’ to see how they approach DEI and how they could work with your organisation. This gently participatory and immersive session ensures that all participants are able to emotionally invest in the start of a personal journey to find belonging for all.
Our Purpose – to rediscover our humanity through joy and hope.
As a starting point, Dave shares this helpful re-framing of DEI. True inclusion is something that comes from ‘inside of us’, rather than something to be accommodated. Chickenshed use this framing, together with the power of the creative arts, to share personal stories that spark these hidden feelings inside all of us, so that everyone can begin to connect and belong.
Be accessible in all ways.
Another stand-out difference is their approach to accessibility. Strangely, this is often overlooked in many DEI sessions.
‘We aren’t just talking about practical accessibility like ramps, we are talking about emotional accessibility where everyone feels able to show their true selves all of the time,’ says Dave.
Slow down. Listen. I mean really hear.
We hear from Paul, who is introduced as having cerebral palsy that affects all movement, including his breathing. We are asked to give him the time he needs to speak, so he can pace his breathing with his speech. We are told his new wheelchair has extra squeaky foot-holds, so we will need to be patient and listen carefully to hear his words.
Paul performs his poem, Traffic Lights about what it feels like to be constantly held on red. His performance is rhythmic and powerful as he shows us the frustration of living in such a frenetic, fast paced world with little space for being really seen or heard. He is asking for a slowing of time, so that he has a chance of participating more fully or at least having the opportunity to move to amber, or maybe even green.
Get creative. Notice and nurture unique vision.
Interspersed between the powerful voices and perspective sharing, are short, fun, engaging tasks that involve image associations, and how we’ve felt included and/or excluded in physical spaces, and metaphorical ones. We aren’t required to get up and perform or overshare our views. It’s not a strategy session. It’s just the beginning of a journey of opening up to this important work, with some lightness and humour brought by Ashly, the lead facilitator and experienced actor.
We see a short film about Chickenshed Producer Maya highlighting intersectionality, using her walker whilst directing a large theatre company in a production.
‘I move differently and I see things differently. I get the actors to do the same.’
Keep it simple. Offer everyone a seat at the table.
Zack, a black actor and dancer with cerebral palsy, shares a free-form piece about the daily grind of being invisible via his travels on the London tube network. Days and days on repeat. It’s hard to hear. Then, the simplicity of a genuine offer of a seat, without any fuss.
‘Hey! You want a seat?’
He poses this question to all of us in the room, representing multiple roles and organisations: Would you give me a seat at the table?
A powerful question. An invitation. To all of us.
Chickenshed’s DEI work is done differently and it’s a joy to be a part of it. If you want your team to take part in a similar journey, then Chickenshed are the team to travel alongside you.
Course Information and Contact Details:
Designed for senior leaders, HR, DEI, and people-focused professionals, this session brings together individuals from a range of corporate organisations to explore how inclusive mindsets and empathetic communication can strengthen workplace culture.
Chickenshed have over 50 years of experience as an inclusive theatre company. Their training uses real stories, lived experiences, and reflective discussion to challenge assumptions and open up new perspectives.
This taster is an opportunity to experience the approach first-hand and consider how it might support wider conversations around inclusion in your organisation.
If you’re interested in finding out more, I’d be happy to connect with you:
Dave Carey: davec@chickenshed.org.uk
Mobile: 07846 097896
Disagreeing Well in The Age of Disconnect
Written by Dr Lalith Wijedoru
Dr Lalith Wijedoru loves stories with impact. He is a coach, public speaker, and facilitator who harnesses the connecting power of stories to improve social health and emotional wellbeing. In his former career as an NHS consultant paediatrician in emergency medicine, he was part of multiple national award-winning teams in staff engagement using this storytelling approach. Lalith's storytelling consultancy Behind Your Mask now supports employees across multiple work sectors including tech, law, finance, education, healthcare, and the arts.
It’s the interview question that every medical school applicant is expecting to be asked: “Why do you want to be a doctor?” All around the world, aspiring doctors like me somehow managed to say in one way or another: “I want to help people.” Thankfully, University College London (UCL) Medical School gave me the chance to prove it.
As a paediatrician, I played a crucial role in the health of children by providing treatment, preventing disease and injury, and advocating for them. My medical training made me well-versed in the interplay between mind (mental health) and body (physical health).
The coronavirus pandemic was a tsunami that swept disconnect across the planet. Restrictions on our movement outside the home with limited exercise affected all of our physical health. The seismic shift to online working and video conferencing affected our mental health. For me, the biggest impact was social distancing. That had a detrimental effect on our social health.
Social health is our ability to form and maintain positive relationships: those which are healthy and meaningful. Relationships can be with friends, neighbours, and our work colleagues. Our physical, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing depend on strong social bonds with others. Social distancing and remote working threatened our ability and need to deepen human connections.
When we say ‘find your tribe’, we are harking back to our animal ancestors who recognized there was great safety in surrounding ourselves with those who looked and acted like you. Things that were different represented danger, a potential threat. Xenophobia has clear evolutionary roots linked to survival. There is a sense of unity and belonging when you surround yourself with people who share facets of your identity. People who get you in some way. Others who understand you.
Our modern world has become far less segregated than the rest of the animal kingdom. The diversity that has always been there now, for the most part, co-exists in far closer proximity with far greater visibility than ever before. Social connectivity is far from homogenous, but for all the benefits of living in a diverse community, it comes with its challenges.
Diversity is not just in the more obvious visual protected characteristics of ethnicity, gender, or age. It also means diversity of thought, opinion, and belief. With that comes the potential for clash, conflict, and disconnect. So how can we cultivate meaningful relationships in a world that is disconnected ideologically and politically whilst connected digitally?
The vitriol that is not uncommonly seen on social media, the emotional and physical hostility that plays out in protests and counter-protests, and the division that is preached by certain political leaders all fan the flames of discontent, disagreement, and disconnect. People screaming their opinions at each other without consideration to what someone else has to say. Putting fingers in their ears while reciting ‘la-la-la-la’ to block out alternative views. We live in an age of not listening.
I love my alma mater for many things, but in the decades since graduating I am particularly proud of one of its recent initiatives. A campaign called Disagreeing Well. It includes a public panel discussion series, a podcast called The Bridge, and online courses on critical thinking for diverse communities where conflicting opinions and ideas exist and are expressed.
One of the things I learned from the campaign’s public series was the concept of epistemic humility. Being humble with your assumptions about your own knowledge. Recognizing that your understanding of the world is incomplete. Aware that as a consequence, you may not perceive things as clearly as you think you do.
One of the skills to promote disagreeing well is to listen carefully to each other. Listen with the intention to truly understand someone’s lived experience. Listen not with the intention to reply, fix, or criticize. My storytelling consultancy was born out of a time of great disconnect. I strive to create spaces and opportunities for us to truly listen to each other. To listen to our true, personal stories without interruption, without fear of judgment or reprimand or insult.
So what would my medical school interviewee-self think of the doctor I became? I may not be helping paediatric patients and their families with their physical and mental health anymore, but I am certainly helping people with their social health. Stories have the power to educate, engage, and inspire. One of the powers of stories that I like the most are their powers to connect. We can agree to disagree, but through stories we can kickstart respectful conversations that inevitably lead us to find the things that we do agree on. And that can only be a good thing for diversity.
Fostering Hope and Resilience through Third-Wave Positive Psychology in Schools
Written by Melanie Gentles
Melanie Gentles is a Positive Psychology Practitioner and School Leader with a Master’s degree in Applied Positive Psychology from Buckinghamshire New University, UK. Her work bridges research and practice, focusing on how psychological resources such as hope can foster resilience, wellbeing and personal growth—particularly within Black communities and culturally diverse contexts.
As a co-author of the recent study Exploring the Experiences of Hope among Young Black British Female Adult Racial Justice Activists, published in the European Journal of Applied Positive Psychology, I’m deeply passionate about how our findings can illuminate the path forward for educational spaces. Our research explores hope not as a vague ideal, but as a powerful mechanism for recovery, action and growth. It captures the emotional complexity of activism and the vital role education plays in nurturing and sustaining hope.
This work resonates strongly with the principles of Third-Wave Positive Psychology (TWPP), which brings a more holistic, socially aware perspective to understanding human wellbeing. In this framework, schools are not just places of academic instruction but can become incubators of resilience, justice and community. They can offer students the tools to navigate the realities of racial discrimination with strength and purpose.
Looking Beyond the Individual to Understand Hope
Our study centered on the lived experiences of young Black British female racial justice activists and reflects the core values of TWPP. Unlike earlier approaches in positive psychology that often emphasised individual traits or isolated wellbeing, this third wave emphasises complexity. It recognises that wellbeing exists within cultural contexts, social systems and historical structures.
The hope we examined in our research did not emerge in spite of adversity, nor was it separate from feelings of pain, anger or exhaustion. Instead, it existed alongside them. These activists demonstrated a hope that was deeply rooted in a collective struggle. It was practical, forward-looking and responsive to the realities of racial injustice. Rather than denying hardship, it acknowledged it and used it as fuel for action.
This orientation toward action is a hallmark of TWPP. It moves beyond personal optimism to ask how individuals and communities can create meaningful change. In this way, our findings challenge schools to see hope not as a soft or sentimental emotion, but as a powerful, transformative force—especially for students facing systemic adversity.
Supporting Students Through a TWPP-Informed Lens
The implications of this work for schools are profound. When educators understand hope through the TWPP perspective, they gain new tools for supporting pupils who are grappling with the effects of racial discrimination. This begins with the recognition that healing and empowerment are inseparable from justice and agency.
Creating Space for Real Emotions
Students need to feel that their experiences are seen and taken seriously. TWPP urges us to validate young people’s emotional responses to discrimination. This includes acknowledging anger, grief and frustration, as well as celebrating their strength and defiance. By offering safe, respectful spaces for students to express themselves, schools help lay the groundwork for hope to take root.
Empowering Students to Act
Hope is more than a feeling—it’s a belief that change is possible and that one has the tools to pursue it. Schools can foster this belief by helping pupils recognise their own agency and develop strategies to navigate challenges. Some ways to do this include:
- Giving students meaningful opportunities to share their experiences and advocate for change within the school
- Teaching practical problem-solving and self-advocacy skills, including how to report discrimination and seek support
- Introducing students to role models—past and present—who have confronted injustice and inspired progress
Supporting Growth After Trauma
Our study also showed that hope can be a pathway to resilience and post-traumatic growth. For students who have experienced racism, recovery is not about erasing the trauma but about transforming it. Schools can play a vital role in this process by offering support that is both culturally aware and trauma informed. This includes mental health resources, mentorship and community connections that affirm students’ identities and experiences.
Reimagining Education as a Catalyst for Hope
Education, when approached intentionally, can be a powerful vehicle for hope. This means going beyond curriculum reform and embedding justice, dignity and belonging into the entire educational environment.
Developing Anti-Racist Curricula
Schools must commit to challenging dominant narratives and offering diverse, inclusive content. This helps students make sense of systemic injustice and strengthens their understanding of the broader world. An anti-racist curriculum celebrates marginalised voices and equips students with critical tools for analysis and empathy.
Building Advocacy Skills
Equipping pupils with the skills to advocate for themselves and their communities reinforces their sense of agency. This includes communication, critical thinking, civic engagement and organising skills. These are not extracurricular—they are essential for meaningful citizenship and long-term wellbeing.
Fostering a Sense of Belonging
Perhaps most crucially, schools must create environments where all students feel seen, valued and safe. Belonging is not a luxury; it is foundational for learning and thriving. When students know they matter, they are more likely to believe in their future and to act with purpose and confidence.
Hope as a Pathway to Justice and Flourishing
Through the lens of Third-Wave Positive Psychology, hope emerges as a deeply grounded and pragmatic force. It helps students navigate real challenges—not by ignoring injustice but by actively responding to it. Our study highlights how hope can support pupils in reclaiming power, building community and imagining new possibilities, even in the face of adversity.
In today’s schools, cultivating hope is not optional. It is a necessary part of helping all young people—especially those confronting systemic racism—find their voice, resilience and capacity for change.
Reference
Gentles, M. J., & Sims, C. (2025). Exploring the Experiences of Hope among Young Black British Female Adult Racial Justice Activists. European Journal of Applied Positive Psychology, 9(4).