Higher education misunderstands neurodivergence

The term “resilience” is everywhere in higher education.

It shows up in strategic plans, wellbeing frameworks and graduate attribute profiles.

Universities want students who cope well with pressure, bounce back from problems, and adapt quickly to change.

But this obsession with using resilience as the cure all is quietly doing damage – particularly to neurodivergent students, and risks perpetuating a culture that conflates survival with success.

Resilience, as it is often used in policy or wellbeing guidance, makes assumptions about a universal baseline.

All students (and staff) are under pressure to “cope” with the demands of higher education, including anything from deadlines, group work, feedback, through to accommodation moves. It is as though everyone is starting from the same place, with the same resources.

But neurodivergent students often come into higher education already managing complex internal landscapes – sensory overwhelm, executive dysfunction, rigid routines (or lack of), social anxiety, rejection sensitivity dysphoria, and demand avoidance, to name but a few.

These are not just barriers to learning in an abstract sense but are, in fact, daily realities.

And when we talk about resilience without consideration of this as a baseline for some, we begin to measure students by how well they endure suffering, not how well they are supported.

A lack of adaptation becomes lack of success.

Surviving is not thriving

Neurodivergent students often go to extraordinary lengths to meet the expectations of higher education.

They may appear to be coping, attending lectures, submitting assignments, and even achieving high grades.

But this superficial success can be very misleading. What is often interpreted as resilience is, in many cases, a form of masking, a conscious or unconscious effort to suppress traits, needs, or behaviours to fit in.

This is not a sign of thriving – it is a survival strategy.

Masking is emotionally and physically exhausting. It can manifest as mimicked social behaviours, hiding sensory issues, or continuing despite major executive dysfunction. Over time, this leads to chronic stress, anxiety, and burnout.

The student may be praised for their work, but inside they are struggling to maintain the illusion. The cost of appearing resilient is often invisible to staff and friends, yet it can be devastating.

This is where the resilience narrative becomes dangerous. It rewards students for enduring environments that are not designed for them, rather than prompting institutions to question why those environments are so difficult to navigate in the first place.

A student who seems to be “doing well” may be on the brink of collapse. Without understanding the hidden labour behind this apparent success, we risk reinforcing a system that values endurance over wellbeing.

Support as self-blame

While the rhetoric of resilience is often framed as empowerment, in practice it can move responsibility away from universities and onto students, especially neurodivergent students.

Support services may focus on coping strategies, stress management, or time management techniques. These can be helpful, but when offered in isolation, they imply the problem is that the student cannot adapt satisfactorily, rather than with the system’s failure to accommodate.

This framing can lead to a harmful cycle of self-blame. When students struggle, with rigid timetables, inaccessible assessments, or overstimulating environments, they are told to be more resilient. But resilience, in this context, becomes a term for tolerance of unsuitable conditions.

When students inevitably reach their limits, they may internalise this as personal failure, that they didn’t try hard enough or put enough effort in.

The reality is that the burden of adaptation is not equally shared. Institutional structures can be inflexible, and staff may lack the training or resources to provide robust accommodations.

This creates a scenario where neurodivergent students are expected to conform to a model of academic success that was never designed with them in mind. When they can’t, they disengage, not because they lack resilience, but because the system has failed to support them.

This creates a vicious cycle. The student struggles. They perseverate on that as personal failure. And yet, ultimately, they are encouraged to be more resilient. And when that doesn’t work, as masking and self-management have reached their limit, this is when neurodivergent students disengage or drop out.

Whilst national statistics are not readily available due to underreporting and also confusion around definitions, research does point to these issues. The British Psychological Society (2022) reports that due to an over-reliance on self-disclosure, as well as inconsistent support systems,

ND students face a disproportionate amount of challenges in higher education. Furthermore, the Office for National Statistics (2021) report that only 21.7 per cent of autistic adults were employed in 2020, demonstrating systemic barriers which students may face when transitioning to work.

They will blame themselves.

Rethinking resilience

That is not to say resilience is inherently bad. The ability to manage setbacks and adapt to change is fundamental but, for neurodivergents, that can only be when it is coupled with appropriate support, inclusive systems and compassionate pedagogy.

In its current format, the discussion around resilience become a deflection. It reframes structural exclusion, such as inaccessible or rigid assessment methods, inflexible teaching patterns, and overstimulating spaces, as personal challenges that they must overcome.

An example of this may be that many universities still require in-person attendance for some assessments. For a student with sensory or processing issues, this could effectively provoke masking, which could lead to overwhelm and/or burn-out. Despite us having the power to change it, we instead expect students to improve at surviving the experience.

A solid example of where this has been integrated, in terms of flexibility, is the University of Oxford’s (2024) NESTL toolkit, which demonstrates how applications of moving adaptations throughout the programme can, in the first instance, support ND students, but actually could have implications for all students in terms of authentic assessment and individualised learning.

From resilience to responsibility

If universities are serious about supporting neurodivergent students, they must start by reframing resilience not as an individual concept but as a systemic responsibility. Rather than asking students to become more resilient, the more important question is how institutions can reduce the need for resilience in the first place.

This begins with designing systems that are accessible from the outset. Instead of relying on individual adjustments, universities should embed flexibility into their base structures, with adaptable deadlines, varied assessment formats, and alternative ways for students to engage with learning. These changes not only support neurodivergent students but enhance the experience for all learners.

Creating a culture of safety is vital. Disclosure should not trigger a bureaucratic process but should be met with empathy, understanding, and timely support. It would be a bonus if staff training could go beyond basic awareness and involve critical reflection on how teaching practices can embody inclusion and empower educators to make meaningful changes.

Finally, institutions must place ND students in the centre throughout the design and review of policies, curricula, and spaces. Lived experience should not be treated as an optional perspective but as a foundation. Only by shifting from a format of individual endurance to one of collective responsibility can we begin to challenge the structural barriers that resilience discourse too often obscures.

The myth of the resilient student is appealing and offers a neat solution to complex challenges. But it also permits institutions to bypass important discussions about structural exclusion, academic tradition and the limitations of current support models. We have to rethink the system from the ground up, and not just ask students to endure it.