Maslow’s Hierarchy Was Never Just a Pyramid

Written by Hannah Wilson
Founder and Director of the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators).
Every educator has seen it. The pyramid – at the bottom sit physiological needs: food, water, shelter, sleep. Above that come safety, belonging, esteem, and finally – at the peak – self-actualisation.
For decades, Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs has shaped educational thinking. It appears in teacher training, wellbeing frameworks, behaviour support models, and school leadership presentations around the world. The message is straightforward: children cannot learn effectively if their basic needs are unmet.
And that insight matters;
- Hungry children struggle to concentrate,
- Unsafe children struggle to trust,
- Disconnected children struggle to engage.
But there is a part of the story many educators have never been told.
Maslow’s ideas were influenced by time spent with the Blackfoot Confederacy in 1938, where he observed a society deeply grounded in community, belonging, collective responsibility, and cultural continuity. In later years, scholars and Indigenous educators have pointed to the similarities between Maslow’s developing ideas and Blackfoot understandings of human wellbeing.
What is especially interesting is that Maslow himself never actually drew the famous pyramid we all recognise today. The pyramid – with its upward climb toward individual success – became a Western interpretation of his theory. And perhaps in that interpretation, something important was lost because many Indigenous worldviews do not see human flourishing as an individual journey upward. They see it as relational.
The Problem With the Pyramid
The modern version of Maslow’s hierarchy is often presented as a ladder:
- First survival…
- Then safety…
- Then belonging…
- Then achievement.
Eventually, if all goes well, a person reaches self-actualisation – becoming the fullest version of themselves. But schools have absorbed this framework in ways that often reinforce individualism rather than connection.
Once students’ basic needs are acknowledged, education systems quickly shift focus toward:
- academic performance,
- achievement,
- productivity,
- competition,
- outcomes.
The underlying message becomes: Now that your needs are met, it is time to succeed.
Yet human wellbeing is not linear:
- Children can experience creativity while carrying trauma,
- Students can achieve highly while feeling lonely,
- Young people can comply academically while feeling culturally unseen.
Many First Nations perspectives understand wellbeing not as a hierarchy, but as an interconnected system of relationships – between self, community, identity, spirit, land, and purpose. Belonging is not a stage to move through. It is foundational.
What Indigenous Wisdom Offers Education
One of the most powerful distinctions in Indigenous understandings of wellbeing is the shift from individual fulfilment to collective flourishing.
In many Western systems, the highest goal is personal achievement:
- reaching your potential,
- standing out,
- becoming successful.
But Indigenous perspectives often place greater emphasis on:
- contribution,
- responsibility,
- kinship,
- cultural continuity,
- community wellbeing.
The question changes from: “How do I become my best self?”
To: “How do I strengthen the wellbeing of the community around me?”
That difference has profound implications for schools because schools frequently reward independence while undervaluing interconnectedness.
We celebrate high achievers, but often overlook:
- kindness,
- emotional safety,
- cultural identity,
- collaboration,
- service,
- belonging.
And yet these are the very things that allow human beings to flourish.
What Would Schools Look Like If We Truly Understood This?
If schools genuinely embraced a more holistic understanding of human needs, education might begin to look very different.
We might prioritise:
- relationships before results,
- connection before compliance,
- identity before standardisation,
- wellbeing before performance.
Students would not simply be prepared for exams or careers – they would be prepared for life in community.
Teachers would spend less time asking: “How do we improve outcomes?”
And more time asking: “Do our students feel seen, safe, valued, and connected?”
Because children learn best when they experience belonging.
Not performative belonging…Not tokenistic inclusion…Real belonging.
The kind that says: “You matter here.”
Beyond Achievement
Many schools today are facing rising levels of anxiety, disengagement, loneliness, and behavioural complexity among young people.
We often respond with interventions, data tracking, wellbeing programs, and behaviour systems, but perhaps part of the deeper issue is that modern education has become disconnected from fundamental human needs.
Not just physical needs – but emotional, relational, cultural, and spiritual ones too. The Indigenous perspectives that influenced Maslow remind us that wellbeing cannot be separated from connection.
A child’s sense of identity matters…Community matters…Purpose matters…Relationship matters…And perhaps the greatest misunderstanding of the pyramid is that human flourishing was never meant to be a solo climb to the top.
A Different Vision for Education
What if success in schools was measured not only by grades, but by:
- empathy,
- contribution,
- resilience,
- belonging,
- cultural strength,
- and the ability to care for others?
What if education was not simply about producing successful individuals, but nurturing connected human beings?
Long before modern psychology attempted to define human motivation, First Nations peoples already understood something essential: people thrive through relationships and belonging to a community.
Perhaps schools have been looking at the pyramid for so long that we forgot to look around us. So perhaps the future of education depends not on climbing higher, but on reconnecting more deeply – to ourselves, to each other, and to community.
School is so gay

Written by Ian Timbrell
Ian has worked in education for 18 years, including as a teacher and deputy head teacher and now supports schools develop their provision for LGBTQ+ and adopted pupils. He is the author of 'It's More Than Flags and Rainbows', a guide to supporting schools become more LGBTQ+ inclusive.
I remember seeing bullying when I was at school. I remember the names, the laughter, and the way certain words landed harder than others. I also remember how normal it all felt at the time, not because it was harmless, but because nobody really stopped it.
Years later, when I became a teacher, I genuinely believed things would be different. Society had moved on, language had evolved, and schools were far more aware of safeguarding and wellbeing. But standing in classrooms and corridors, I found myself hearing the same phrases, watching the same patterns, and feeling the same familiar knot in my stomach.
What devastated me most was not just that bullying still existed. It was how often it was excused.
“That’s so gay.”
“They don’t mean it like that.”
“It’s just a saying.”
“There are bigger issues we need to focus on.”
I heard these comments repeatedly. Sometimes from pupils, but far more painfully from adults.
For LGBTQ+ people, language like this is never neutral. It carries weight, history, and memory. When a word connected to who you are is used as shorthand for something negative, it teaches you very early on that your identity is something to be laughed at, minimised, or ignored.
As a pupil, that message hurts deeply.
As a teacher, watching it be passed on to another generation is crushing.
Over time, I became increasingly frustrated by the idea that tackling homophobia was somehow an “extra”. Something to get to if there was time. Something that sat below academic outcomes, behaviour targets, or inspection priorities. I watched schools work tirelessly on countless tick-box initiatives, yet hesitate when it came to properly challenging harmful language, often out of fear of backlash or because it was seen as controversial.
But bullying linked to sexuality or gender identity is not less serious because it is verbal. It is not less damaging because it is common. And it is not less urgent because some people are uncomfortable talking about it.
I reached a point where I could no longer accept that this was just how things were. Leaving teaching was not an easy decision, but it became a necessary one. I set up More Than Flags and Rainbows because I wanted to challenge the idea that inclusion is optional and that addressing homophobia is somehow a distraction from “real” education. It is not. It is central to it.
I have worked with children who learned to make themselves smaller to feel safe. I have listened to young people who stayed silent because drawing attention to themselves felt dangerous. I have seen how unchecked language creates cultures where exclusion becomes normal and cruelty becomes background noise.
This work matters because words shape environments. When harmful language goes unchallenged, it sends a clear message about whose feelings matter and whose do not. When schools, and wider society, treat this as a low priority, LGBTQ+ young people pay the price.
This is not abstract to me. It is personal. I have lived it, witnessed it, and ultimately walked away from a career I loved in order to keep challenging it in a different way. And I believe deeply that when we stop making excuses for harm, we create spaces where young people do not just survive, but belong.
Empowering Young People to Change the World

Written by Nicola Wetherall
Nicola is an RE teacher by training, but a specialist and Lead Practitioner for Holocaust, genocide and human rights education at Royal Wootton Bassett Academy, she curates the Empowering Young People to Change the World teacher conference series. She combines her part time role at RWBA with her Associate Professor (Teaching) role at the UCL Centre for Holocaust Education, specialising in curriculum, pedagogy and school development by supporting the Quality Mark process and Beacon School alumni engagement. Nicola founded the Holocaust, their family, me and us schools project.
This year’s DEIB Showcase for #EYP2CtW26 session felt like an expansion – a widening of what we pay attention to in schools, and a reminder that belonging is not an optional extra but a foundation.
We began with Hannah Wilson, who was joined by, and introduced us to, colleagues from the Belonging Effect (formerly Diverse Educators) network, who each brought a richness of experience, context and lived insight that was both energising and deeply grounding. But before I turn to each contribution in turn, I want to say a special thankyou to Hannah, an ally and leader who has supported #EYP2CtW26 conference for many years now, and once again curated a session for us today that was compelling, generous and full of practical wisdom.
So first we welcomed Yassar Hussain – from the UAE – who talked us through GEMS Metropole’s DEIB journey, referring to a range of scholarship that had informed that process, the importance of intentionality, student voice and agency. Yassar’s section was a powerful reminder that belonging doesn’t happen by accident, it’s built through deliberate choices around staff awareness, curriculum representation and student voice. His ‘journey’ within this work, reminded me how small, consistent actions across a year can shift culture, confidence and connection. I think that Yassar’s story offered a practical challenge for all of us: What would it look like to map our own DEIB journey across a year (staff learning, curriculum audits, student voice, community engagement) and treat it as a cycle of listening, acting and refining? For me, his contribution offered #EYP2CtW26 delegates (and me) us a template for intentional, sustainable progress, a next step be it short, medium or long term.
Next, it was a privilege to invite Monia Sahar Zahid and Claire Shooter – from HABS Elstree – who rather beautifully reminded us that belonging isn’t something you switch on in a crisis, it’s the product of the culture you’ve built long before tensions surface. Their emphasis on intellectual humility, visible inclusion and shared experiences offered a powerful blueprint for how schools can create the conditions for safety, trust and connection, even when global events hit the school gates, with a focus on the pastoral and safeguarding rather than the politics or teaching. I was struck by their noticing – their check-ins with staff and students, the human connections and deep rooted respect that revealed. I know several of the anecdotes shared, resonated powerfully with the 460+ educators accessing the session live – and the sense of thanks and gratitude for highlighting those moments was palpable in the chat forum spaces. My takeaway was need to reflect on our own readiness: Do we have the frameworks, shared language and staff confidence to hold difficult conversations before they arrive at our door? The SAFE framework they shared with us and emphasis on defensible decision‑making offer practical starting points for schools wanting to strengthen their approach to belonging, identity and conflict‑sensitive practice. So this was great to share.
Last but not least we were pleased to host Azuraye Williams from the Transform Trust, her contribution brought us back to something deceptively simple but deeply important: belonging starts with people, not paperwork. Her trust‑wide work showed how culture, connection and relationships must come before policies if we want DEIB to be lived rather than laminated, a reminder that systems only shift when humans do. Colleagues were taken with the meaningful and purposeful work undertaken to engage governors, but for me Azuraye left us a practical challenge: How well do we really know the belonging story of our own school? Her trust‑wide approach (surveying every child, engaging DEIB leads, and focusing on each school’s unique context) offered a clear starting point for any setting wanting to move from intention to impact.
It was that intentionality across the session was noticeable and built upon Hannah’s introductory remarks and concluding framing of belonging as a human need. Each contribution built on the last: from GEMS Metropole’s DEEI journey, to navigating global conflict at HABS Elstree, to trust‑wide belonging work at Transform Trust, and throughout, the examples shared (curriculum audits, microaggressions training, belonging surveys, pupil‑led research, ‘people before policies’) reminding us that belonging is not a slogan. It is a practice. A culture. A way of showing up for one another in schools.
In a climate where DEIB work is sometimes misrepresented or politicised, today was a powerful reminder that this work is not about ideology. It is rights‑respecting, dignity‑affirming, and safeguarding‑aligned. It is about ensuring that every child (and every adult) feels safe, seen, valued and able to bring their whole self into a school community. Nothing more complicated, nothing more controversial than that – and yet, the work can feel lonely, induce anxiety and expose vulnerability. I am deeply grateful to Hannah, Yassar, Claire, Monia and Azuraye, for their time, expertise and generosity of sharing, and this thread and spirit continues across the rest of the week.
If you missed this year’s DEIB Showcase for #EYP2CtW26 you can catch up here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5Qv_qeF-NpWPGep25cYsrp0zuYDEPH9c
I’m reminded again that when educators gather with honesty, courage and care, we don’t just learn, we widen our circle of belonging, and in doing so, we create the conditions for empowered young people to do the same.
Supporting refugee students in UK schools displaced by war and conflict zones

Written by Muna Mitchell
Muna has held Senior Leadership positions in Pastoral, SEND and Safeguarding along with teaching Science in secondary schools across Botswana, Oman and the UK. She Studied for an M.Ed. in Inclusion and Diversity with a focus on supporting Refugees in Education.
As described by the UNHCR “A refugee is a person who has been forced to flee their country due to war, violence, or serious threats to their life, and who requires international protection.”
A total of 117 million people at the end of 2025 were displaced from their homes due to conflict and violence and of those 42 million people became refugees of which approximately 20 million are children. The UNCRC (2000) clearly states that “Every child has a right to an education” however, UNICEF research has shown that children and their subsequent educational chances pay a heavy price during conflict. Education suffers through damage to school buildings by bombing and gunfire, the death or injury of teachers and support staff and the use of school buildings by soldiers. In a war zone, the education system is not the priority as families struggle to find food, shelter, and safety. This means that the education pathway of refugee children may have been interrupted for many years prior to them seeking asylum.
Continued global humanitarian crises force people into countries that are often very dissimilar from their home cultures. Sheikh and Anderson (2018) describe how refugees suffer from profound culture shock on arrival in the UK and must undergo a period of acculturation. Sometimes as a refugee this acculturation occurs more than once depending on the individual person’s journey and the countries they have travelled through. Fuller and Hayes (2020) describe how the experiences a refugee encounters on first arrival are often just as traumatising as those experiences that were left behind. This interweaves the themes of past and present and suggests strongly that in education, for example the voices of child refugees need to be regularly consulted. It seems essential that we ensure that we are not making assumptions around which life experiences are causing distress and where our support needs to be focussed.
The UNHCR has acknowledged that young refugees often have high academic aspirations with education seen as a reliable way to escape less than ideal current circumstances and tertiary education particularly held in high esteem. It also states that higher education and skills are a critical link between learning and earning which allows for sustainable futures and enhanced social cohesion. Stevenson and Willott (2007) suggest that one of the main barriers to education is the initial struggle with academic language and refugees who are given multiple opportunities of English language training with an academic focus are much more likely to attend school. Lack of English language skills make it difficult not only for students to progress in their learning but to make emotional connections with other pupils and staff. The Bristol Refugee Rights impact report (2020/21) states that “There is a lack of strong English progression pathways and support into higher education. Much of the provision is unaccredited and the curriculum is not prescribed.” For schools, there are additional challenges to overcome to provide the right support and monitor student progress and attainment as there is often limited prior data for many refugee students. Education which had been completed in other countries is not always recognized. For example, refugee students may have English Language certificates from their home countries which in theory they could use to access university courses, but UK universities only accept a certificate of English language proficiency (IELTS) which can be expensive to complete.
Refugees who are aiming for Higher Education can sometimes be under tight time constraints to fit into a rigid school system in the UK. Bajwa et al (2017) concludes that refugees entering straight into the secondary school system have a lack of time to establish trust and can sometimes be mistrustful around public figures which impacts their ability to progress forward. As Gately (2018) concludes it is challenging in a short space of time to establish strong pupil staff relationships which could provide guidance for next steps and support refugee students in understanding the options available to them.
The Schools of Sanctuary (2021) network which includes stakeholders such as teachers, support staff, parents, governors, and community groups has as one of its central theme’s being pupil voice. Lawrence (2019) explains that “the voices of child refugees are forgotten, and young people are not regularly consulted about their needs or coping strategies” As mentioned above, the main difficulties of accessing education are language barriers, arrival point in terms of education, lack of informed choices and overcoming gaps in education created by conflict. The key turning point for these children and their subsequent entry to Higher Education seems to centre around their GCSE and A level choices. There are institutional barriers to higher education for students from ethnic minority groups, for students who are then also refugees these barriers are even higher.
Teaching Students to Read the Room: Communication, Consent, and Cultural Competence

Written by Tessa Dodson
Tessa Dodson is an education writer passionate about supporting teachers and fostering inclusive classroom environments. She specializes in covering classroom resources, educational trends, teacher wellness, and practical strategies to help educators succeed.
Educators can foster diversity, equity, inclusion and belonging (DEIB). They must teach young learners about the nuances of people from different backgrounds to help raise a population that recognises the distinct body language, tones and facial expressions, which vary from culture to culture. These teaching techniques are among the most effective at empowering everyone with the tools they need to self-advocate and consider diverse student communication skills.
Scenario-Based Learning and Role-Playing
The UK’s increasingly diverse population makes cultural competence and empathy essential lessons from an early age. Students are more likely to deepen their cultural competence if they experience it firsthand. An educator can start by telling learners about differences in nonverbal communication, including that eye contact is impolite in some regions, such as the Caribbean and East Asia.
To make lessons stick, create a situation in which students must interact to act out responses to different patterns, such as navigating personal space or using direct language to make a request. Educators can also create cards to prompt students to simulate a gathering. Transforming classic games, including charades or Pictionary, is another way to get students to interact with other cultural phrases, physical movements and ideas.
However, it is essential to clarify what is and is not appropriate in these contexts, drawing on insights from the cultures being studied to ensure accuracy and sensitivity.
This activity allows students to speak, hear and witness how others would react, especially for people in marginalised communities. Learners may not regularly interact with these individuals, so shaping the environment is crucial to prepare them for that experience. Cross-cultural exposure and communication can positively affect students’ cultural competence.
Film and Media Analysis
Exposing students to diverse media is one of the best ways to make the content entertaining, engaging and stimulating. There is a low barrier to entry in visual media, making the content accessible and safe to consume, which is important when these topics can be intimidating. Also, it stretches students beyond their cultural echo chambers and challenges their stereotypes.
Teachers can source TV shows, movies, news broadcasts and music videos to display narrative in different ways, all focused on considerate communication, teaching consent and overcoming bias. Ask students to make notes about patterns they see between characters, such as:
- Body language
- Amount of physical contact
- Facial expressions
- Amount of transparency and honesty in conversation
- Level of formality
- Vocal tone
Students can also note any reinforced stereotypes they see, and educators can take them through exercises to dispel and unpack them. It will push learners to unravel their opinions about harmful and inaccurate stereotypes or generalisations in the safe, low-stakes format of media commentary.
Develop a “Reading the Room” Log
Inspire students to think critically about their cross-cultural interactions by recording them in a journal. This is a safe, nonjudgmental place for them to reflect on classroom exercises and real-world conversations. They can ask questions, such as “Did I remember to ask consent before going in for a friendly hug?” or “Did my excited curiosity and frequent questions make them uncomfortable?”
These exercises compel students to practice self-awareness and also celebrate wins when they learn something about another culture and successfully implement those communication skills in real life. The journals are records of every student’s growth as they learn how to interpret nonverbal cues and find reasons to advocate for themselves.
Many educators have used the Curiosity, Attentiveness, Respect and Responsiveness, and Embodiment (CARE) model for authentic cultural lessons, and reflective journaling is one of the best ways to produce cultural humility and mindfulness about DEIB topics. If students are struggling to think about what to write, here are some prompts to get them started:
- Describe a time when someone’s tone did not match their body language.
- Write about a time you reacted to a surprise. If you surprised someone else with a different personality and culture with the same thing, do you think you would get the same reaction?
- Reflect on the cultural stereotypes we discussed in class today and why it is important to overcome them.
- Describe a behaviour that is normal to you and your family, such as giving handshakes to visitors. Research how other cultures would view this practise.
Cultivating Empathy and Agency in Student Communication Skills
Everyone can read the room, no matter who is in there. Teaching consent, cultural sensitivity and intersectional thinking is a nonnegotiable skill in the modern era. These techniques make nebulous concepts tangible for learners of all ages. Eventually, these intentional lessons will craft a respectful society where empathetic communication and consent always come first.
Allyship in Action: Finding and Growing Allies in Education, Work, and Everyday Life

Written by Marie Manley
Marie Manley works for SEE Change Happens. She is an advocate for families and friends of Transgender individuals. She loves talking to customers about their DEIB requirements, explaining how SEE Change Happen can enhance organisations with all things DEIB-related. She comes from an administration and compliance background, she has strong analytical thinking, a love of processes, and a strict attention to detail.
Allyship is something I used to think of as a value – something you believe in. But over time, and through personal experience, I’ve come to understand that allyship is really about what you do. It’s how you show up, how you listen, and how you stand alongside others, especially when it matters most.
For me, this became deeply personal when my husband became my wife. That journey shifted not only how I see the world, but how I experience it. It opened my eyes to the quiet, everyday moments where allyship is either present or absent – in conversations, in systems, and in relationships. It also helped me recognise just how powerful true allies can be.
What I’ve learned is that allyship isn’t confined to one space. It travels with us – through education, into our workplaces, and into our closest relationships. And in each of those spaces, we have the opportunity to both find allies and become one.
Allyship in Education: Where It Often Begins
Education is often where we first encounter difference – different identities, perspectives, and lived experiences. It’s also where many of our beliefs about fairness and belonging start to form.
I’ve seen how powerful it can be when educators create spaces where people feel safe to be themselves. Allyship in education isn’t just about policies or statements; it’s about the everyday behaviours. It’s the teacher who challenges exclusion. The student who speaks up when something doesn’t feel right. The environment that makes space for everyone to be heard.
Finding allies in education often starts with noticing those small but important actions. Who is curious rather than judgmental? Who is willing to challenge bias? Who makes room for others?
But we can’t leave allyship to chance. It needs to be nurtured intentionally. When inclusion is embedded into how education works – from curriculum to culture – allyship becomes part of the norm, not the exception.
Allyship at Work: Moving Beyond Good Intentions
In the workplace, allyship becomes even more visible – and, if I’m honest, sometimes more challenging.
Many organisations talk about diversity and inclusion, but without active allyship, those words can feel hollow. Allyship at work is about what happens in the moments that aren’t scripted – who gets heard in meetings, who is advocated for, who is challenged when something isn’t fair.
Through my own work, I’ve seen that allies are not always the loudest voices. Often, they are the most consistent. They are the people who quietly but firmly stand for fairness, who follow through, and who are willing to learn and adapt.
When my own family experience changed, I noticed these allies more clearly. The colleague who checked in. The leader who made space. The friend who didn’t assume but asked. Those moments mattered more than any formal policy ever could.
That said, organisations do have a responsibility. Allyship shouldn’t rely on individuals alone. It needs to be supported by leadership, embedded into systems, and reinforced through accountability. When that happens, allyship becomes part of how work gets done – not an extra.
Allyship in Family and Friendships: Where It Gets Real
If I’m honest, the most complex space for allyship is often our personal lives.
Family and friendships are where we feel safest – but they are also where bias can go unchallenged. When my husband became my wife, I saw this firsthand.
SEE Change Happen – Fireside chat is an example of finding Allyship:
https://seechangehappen.co.uk/speaking-library/the-making-of-me-joanne-maries-story/
Some people leaned in with openness, curiosity, and love. Others struggled, sometimes without realising the impact of their words or assumptions.
Allyship in these spaces isn’t about having all the right answers. It’s about being willing. Willing to listen. Willing to learn. Willing to say, “I might not fully understand, but I’m here.”
It’s also about courage. Speaking up when something doesn’t sit right. Gently challenging language or behaviour. Choosing connection over comfort.
Resources from organisations like Stonewall (https://www.stonewall.org.uk/) can be incredibly helpful in guiding those first steps, especially for people who want to be supportive but aren’t sure how.
What I’ve come to appreciate is that allies in our personal lives don’t need to be perfect. They just need to be present, open, and committed to growing.
Growing Allyship – Together
Across all these spaces, one thing stands out to me: allyship is deeply human. It’s built on trust, consistency, and care.
It’s not about getting everything right. It’s about being willing to try, to learn, and to keep showing up.
If we want to grow allyship, we need to create environments where people feel safe to ask questions, to reflect, and to be challenged. We need to recognise and value inclusive behaviours. And we need to hold ourselves – and each other – accountable.
This is something I’m incredibly passionate about in my work, and it’s why organisations like SEE Change Happen (https://seechangehappen.co.uk/) exist – to support people and organisations in turning intention into meaningful, lasting change.
A Final Reflection
Allyship has become something very real to me. It’s not theoretical. It’s not abstract. It’s personal, and it’s ongoing.
It shows up in the colleague who creates space. The friend who listens. The family member who is willing to learn. And sometimes, it starts with us – choosing to be that person for someone else.
So, I often come back to a simple question: How am I showing up for others today?
Because when we ask that – and act on it – allyship stops being something we talk about and becomes something we live.
Adoption Doesn’t End the Trauma

Written by Ian Timbrell
Ian has worked in education for 18 years, including as a teacher and deputy head teacher and now supports schools develop their provision for LGBTQ+ and adopted pupils. He is the author of 'It's More Than Flags and Rainbows', a guide to supporting schools become more LGBTQ+ inclusive.
When we adopted, I think I expected a sense of arrival. A feeling that we had reached the end of a long and intense process and could finally breathe. In reality, adoption was not an ending at all. It was the beginning of a very different journey, one that far fewer people truly understand.
There is a widespread belief that trauma ends at adoption. That once a child is safe and loved, the hardest part is behind you. Our experience, and the experience of many families I have spoken to, tells a very different story. Trauma does not disappear because circumstances change. It stays with children as they grow, shaping how they see themselves, their families, and the world around them.
What shocked me most was how quickly support fell away once adoption was finalised. During the assessment process, you are surrounded by professionals, advice, and scrutiny. Afterwards, it can feel as though the scaffolding is suddenly removed. Families are expected to cope, to manage complex behaviours and emotions, and to do so quietly, often while being told how “lucky” everyone is.
Adoption touches every part of family life. As children grow older, particularly during the teenage years, questions about identity and belonging resurface with force. Life stories are revisited. Feelings of loss, anger, and confusion come to the surface. These are not abstract emotions. They show up in daily life, in school, at home, and in relationships.
One of the least understood aspects of adoption is contact with birth families. For those outside the adoption world, this is often difficult to grasp. Contact is not simple or tidy. It carries hope and heartbreak in equal measure. For children, it can reopen wounds they do not yet have the words to describe. For parents, it can be painful to watch your child carry feelings you cannot fix or protect them from.
Schools and wider family networks often struggle to understand this reality. Behaviours are framed as poor choices rather than expressions of distress. Parenting is judged without recognising the context. There is an unspoken expectation that adopted children should be settled, grateful, or resilient. When they are not, families can feel blamed and deeply isolated.
As an LGBTQ+ adoptive parent, there are additional layers. Our families are often more visible, and that visibility can bring both connection and silence. Sometimes it feels as though acknowledging the challenges of adoption is seen as too complicated, or as though we are already asking enough of people simply by existing as a queer family.
Things are slowly changing, but more education, connection and understanding are still needed around the realities many adopted families experience. Adoption can be an incredible thing, but it does not exist in a Disney daydream.
I am writing this as an individual, shaped by my own experience as an adoptive parent. I am also the founder of More Than Flags and Rainbows, and these two parts of my life are inseparable. This reflection comes from moments of joy and pride, and from moments of exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty. It comes from recognising how many families are quietly navigating similar paths without enough understanding or long-term support.
That is why, through More Than Flags and Rainbows, we are working to build networks for adoptive families and LGBTQ+ parents that centre lived experience and community support. Our aim is to create spaces where families can connect, share experiences and feel less alone in the challenges they face.
If this resonates with you, you are not alone. And struggling does not mean you are failing.
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).
