Disability History Month: staff stories

This Disability History Month, we’re reflecting on this year’s theme, Disability: Life and Death, through the voices of our colleagues.  

We’ve gathered personal stories from staff across our trust, offering anonymous but deeply authentic reflections. These accounts give a glimpse into how our employees navigate life’s extremes while feeling supported, valued, and included in our workplace. 

You can read all their blogs below: 

Life between extremes 

Living with bipolar isn’t just about mood swings or feeling a bit up and down. It’s about experiencing life and its intensity in ways that can feel extreme: moments of incredible energy and joy, and moments that are deeply challenging. 

When mania arrives, it feels like being vibrantly alive for the first time. Everything feels sharper, brighter, more meaningful. Colours seem more vivid, conversations more profound, possibilities endless. Ideas spark and flow in rapid succession, and energy feels limitless. The world isn’t just good, it’s spectacular. In these moments, I feel confident, productive, and fully alive. 

But these highs are only part of the journey. Eventually, they can shift into a state that feels overwhelming and exhausting. What once felt like inspiration can become agitation or paranoia, and the contrast between extremes can be intense. 

Living with bipolar is learning to navigate these fluctuations while continuing to work, contribute, and care for yourself. It’s about recognising these highs and lows, and valuing the quiet victories, showing up each day, connecting with colleagues, and leaning on support when needed. 

The theme of life and death resonates deeply here. For those of us living with bipolar, it’s not abstract; it’s lived. Survival, balance, and being supported are themselves achievements worth celebrating. 

Pros and cons of being me 

For a long time, I questioned whether my neurodivergent condition was a defining part of me, or even if I should think of myself as having a disability. Over the years, I’ve come to see that it shapes my experience in profound ways, sometimes central to my character, sometimes barely noticeable. 

I’ve reflected on this in terms of strengths and challenges. I am authentic, empathetic, joyful in everyday things, energetic and enthusiastic, optimistic, resilient, curious, adventurous, hyper-focused at times, and I deeply value friendships, connection, and fairness. Yet I also face challenges: masking my true self, struggling with poorly regulated emotions, experiencing moments of despair, being susceptible to burnout, feeling a sense of futility, having difficulty with self-care, sometimes being disorganised or distracted, dealing with social anxiety and loneliness, being absent or preoccupied, deprioritising myself, or taking things too seriously. 

Living with neurodivergence means embracing both sides of this balance, the joys, energy, and curiosity alongside the challenges. Feeling supported at work, being understood, having flexibility, and knowing it’s okay to ask for help makes all the difference. It allows me to thrive, focus on my strengths, and not just survive my challenges. 

Navigating life between worlds: living with an invisible disability 

Living with an invisible disability sometimes feels like walking a tightrope between two worlds. On one side, I feel “too healthy” to be considered part of the disabled community: on the other, “not healthy enough” to fully belong in the able-bodied world. This tension is constant, subtle, and often exhausting. 

The stigma of invisible illnesses shapes much of daily life. There’s a careful balance between wanting to be understood and validated, and resisting being put into a box or defined solely by my condition. I want to be seen as capable, thriving, and contributing but I also want my challenges to be recognised, without judgement. It can feel like living two realities at once: the full life I lead, and the illness that quietly exists in the background. 

I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome / Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (CFS/ME) at 19, following a period of trauma. Even now, the condition remains with me. I live an incredibly full life, filled with work, connection, creativity and joy, but I know it’s always there, lurking, shaping how I pace myself and make choices. I am immensely grateful to be leading a life that many others with my condition cannot. This gratitude makes every achievement, every connection, and every small victory at work feel even more meaningful. 

Despite these complexities, I’ve learned to celebrate my strengths and achievements. Every project completed, every collaboration, every meaningful conversation at work is a triumph. Supportive colleagues, understanding managers, and an environment that values wellbeing allow me to thrive even when energy is limited. Feeling seen, accommodated, and respected makes it possible to live fully without letting the illness define me. 

Living with an invisible disability doesn’t mean I’m less capable, it means I navigate life differently. The key is balance: acknowledging the presence of illness while celebrating the life I lead, cherishing the quiet victories along the way, and recognising the immense privilege of being able to live the life I do. 

Understanding ADHD at work: small changes, big impact 

For Disability History Month, I wanted to share what ADHD looks like for me at work. 

People often see the creativity, the quick ideas, the lively energy. What they don’t always see is the effort behind it: the mental juggling, the masking, and the exhaustion of trying to keep pace in a world that isn’t built for my brain. 

For me, ADHD brings tiny moments of “life and death” throughout the school day, confidence rising, confidence dipping, and the constant rebuilding in between. 

But here’s the important part: I thrive when our workplace is accessible. Clear systems, written instructions, and support offered without judgement make a world of difference. 

This is what inclusion looks like in real life. Not in grand gestures, but in everyday practices that help disabled staff contribute fully to our school community. 

Disability History Month is a time to recognise those contributions, value every voice, and make sure our culture supports all kinds of minds. I don’t need ADHD to be seen as a superpower. I just need it to be understood. 

Behind the mask

This week, I was reminded how much effort goes into navigating social interactions as an autistic person. A simple “Good morning” can set off a cascade of internal scripts I’ve practiced for years to respond in ways that feel socially appropriate. “How are you?” can feel equally complex, am I expected to share, return the question, or just acknowledge it? Over time, I’ve learned to read these moments as opportunities to practice connection, even if they feel challenging.

Masking, adapting our behaviours to fit social expectations, is something many disabled and neurodivergent people do daily. For some, it’s managing fatigue or chronic pain while keeping up with work; for others, it’s hiding natural responses to avoid misunderstanding or judgement. I’ve spent years masking to fit in, not because I’m complicated, but because my brain simply works differently.

Yet here’s the celebration: unmasking is possible, and when we do, it opens space for authenticity, creativity, and thriving. Every moment I spend expressing myself honestly at work, every time a colleague understands rather than judges, is a quiet triumph. 

Masking may have been necessary, but it’s also energy I can now redirect into teaching, connecting, and contributing fully.

Inclusion isn’t about grand gestures, it’s about small, everyday practices. Clear communication, curiosity about lived experiences, supportive adjustments, and celebrating differences all create a culture where disabled and neurodivergent colleagues can flourish. 

Embracing our uniqueness doesn’t just benefit the individual; it strengthens teams, sparks creativity, and builds trust.

Unmasking is more than a relief, it’s a gift. It’s the freedom to bring our full selves to work, to collaborate without fear, and to celebrate the very qualities that make us who we are. Supporting this journey is how workplaces can be inclusive, vibrant, and stronger for everyone.