An anonymous guest blog.
Before You Read My Story…
I’m now thriving as an Early Career Teacher (ECT), with a fantastic mentor and students who are engaged and motivated. I’m finally in a place where I feel like I can do what I came into teaching to do. But the journey to get here was far from smooth; at times, it nearly broke me. I’m sharing my story because teacher training, especially SCITT (School Centred Initial Teacher Training) programmes, need to do more to support the wide range of people they recruit. The system is not currently set up for everyone to succeed, especially those who are neurodivergent or facing personal challenges.
Why I Retrained to Teach
Before training to teach in secondary schools, I worked in higher education, supporting students on a university course. I loved the subject and the students, but I noticed something worrying: many lacked creative confidence. They were hesitant and unsure of themselves; it felt like something had been lost along the way in their education. I wanted to intervene earlier, to help nurture that spark before it dimmed.
Then came Brexit, followed by COVID. The university closed, and my job disappeared. With no clear next step, I looked towards teaching in schools. It felt like a meaningful way to use my skills, with more financial stability than freelance work. Teachers in my subject were in short supply, so retraining seemed logical and hopeful, a way to make a difference earlier in students’ journeys.
I applied to both a university-led PGCE and a SCITT, ultimately choosing the SCITT route for its practical focus. I had no doubts about my ability to teach, but I knew behaviour management would be a steep learning curve. I’d only ever worked with adults who had chosen to be there. Teenagers, I suspected, would be an entirely different story.
The SCITT Setup and My State of Mind
The SCITT programme began with a large intake of both primary and secondary trainees. We all received the same general training, often in noisy, crowded rooms that felt overwhelming. I found it hard to concentrate, hard to settle, and hard to be present in that space.
On top of the sensory overload, I was grieving. The previous year, I’d lost family members and close friends. I’d hoped that throwing myself into something structured would help, but I underestimated how fragile I still was. I flagged to the SCITT team early on that I might need a bit of space sometimes, not major adjustments, just understanding. I explained that I was a self-directed learner, and that I’d be more focused if I could do some of the more general training independently at home. But I was told attendance was compulsory. Eventually, I was allowed to leave the room when overwhelmed, but even that felt like a small battle. Simply walking out past a large group felt exposing and stressful.
Around this time, someone gently suggested I might be autistic. I started reading, reflecting, and pursuing a referral. The signs were all there, the shutdowns, the sensory challenges, the exhaustion. It made sense of so many things I had never been able to explain.
A Lack of Agency and Support
The SCITT programme was well-meaning. They seemed genuinely caring and wanted to support trainees. However, that care often felt like it was coming from a place of good intentions, but not always from an understanding of what each individual trainee needed. They listened to my concerns, but only on a surface level, responding in ways that didn’t really address my needs or adjust to my specific situation.
When I explained that I needed space or that I worked best independently, the responses were more about “following the programme” than accommodating different learning styles or personal circumstances. There was little recognition that trainees might be juggling complex personal histories or neurodivergent traits that required a more tailored approach. I felt as though I was constantly battling to have my voice heard, but not really listened to.
It would have made all the difference if the SCITT had worked with me, rather than around me. Respecting trainees as adults, neurodivergent or not, should be the baseline. Only at the end of my training, when I had finally made clear how critical it was for my well-being, did the SCITT truly listen and adjust.
Two Very Different Placements
In my first long placement I had a mentor who trusted me, a quiet space to retreat to, and a school that believed in growth rather than perfection. I thrived. I was told I was nearly ready to qualify. My confidence began to rebuild.
Then came the second placement.
The atmosphere was completely different. Expectations were sky-high, support was minimal, and feedback felt never-ending. I was asked to write an entire curriculum from scratch, with no guidance and no scheme of work. Observations were constant. My self-esteem plummeted. When I raised concerns, they were dismissed. Eventually, the SCITT intervened and advised the school to focus on one target at a time. While that advice helped, the damage had already been done.
Recovery, Qualification, and Diagnosis
After a poor final observation, I finally saw the truth. I wasn’t failing; the system was failing me. I realised I was never going to pass the QTS in that school, so I returned to the first school, where I felt safe and supported. I completed my QTS there and passed with flying colours. The difference? I was trusted, and I was heard. Since then, I’ve been diagnosed with autism and advised to be screened for ADHD. That clarity has helped me embrace who I am, as a person and as a teacher. It’s made me stronger.
Looking Back: What Needs to Change in Teacher Training
Reflecting on my journey, I realize how much potential is lost when teacher training doesn’t truly understand or respect the diversity of its trainees. Well-meaning as they were, the SCITT team never truly listened until it was nearly too late. Too many barriers remained that could have been easily overcome with a more empathetic and flexible approach. SCITTs can improve by offering more flexible learning options, such as self-paced training and remote learning for those who need it. They should provide better awareness and understanding of neurodiversity, ensuring that mentors are trained to recognize and support individual needs. Communication should be clearer, with regular check-ins and a culture where trainees feel heard and supported.
Mentorship should be proactive, matching trainees with mentors who understand their unique challenges. SCITTs should also create inclusive environments where differences are celebrated, offering mental health resources and well-being check-ins. Post-training support and a more holistic approach to assessment, considering well-being alongside performance, would also help. Lastly, connecting trainees with external networks for additional support can provide crucial resources for those facing challenges.
These changes would ensure that SCITTs are better equipped to support all trainees, leading to a more inclusive and effective teacher training process.
I hope my experience serves as a reminder that teacher training programmes must create space for diversity, not just in students, but in the teachers who are being trained. Everyone has a story, and each story deserves to be heard.
All of this has made me a better teacher, one who advocates for students who don’t feel heard, who lack agency, and who may be struggling in ways that are often overlooked. I’m committed to ensuring that every voice is valued and every learner is supported in the way they need to thrive.
Takeaways and Advice for Trainees
- Advocate for yourself: Don’t be afraid to communicate your needs early on. Whether it’s sensory sensitivities, workload concerns, or needing extra support, speaking up can help ensure you get the help you need to succeed.
- Understand that it’s okay to struggle: Teacher training is tough, and it’s normal to face challenges. Recognize that struggles don’t mean you’re failing — they’re part of the learning process. Be kind to yourself when things don’t go as planned.
- Look for a supportive environment: Trust your instincts about the schools and mentors you work with. Seek out environments that make you feel safe, valued, and respected, and don’t hesitate to request a change if things don’t feel right.
- Set boundaries (even if it’s tough): During your PGCE or QTS, it’s hard to set boundaries, but remember it’s temporary. While it may not always be possible to take a step back, try to find small ways to recharge when you can. Burnout is real, so focus on manageable steps to reduce stress and prioritize self-care when possible. This phase will pass.
- Seek external support: If your training programme isn’t providing the support you need, don’t hesitate to reach out to external organizations, mentors, or networks. Asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. I highly recommend Now Teach, an organization that specializes in supporting career changers and those entering teaching later in life. Their guidance and support were invaluable to me.
- Trust your growth: You might not feel “ready” at every stage, and that’s okay. Trust that you’re developing as a teacher, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. Progress takes time, and you’re building a foundation that will serve you throughout your career.