Survivors in Higher Education: making up lost ground or meeting old patterns?
Teenage Relationship Abuse can badly disrupt education. Adult Abuse can stall careers, stand in the way of continued learning, and erode confidence. For many survivors of domestic or sexual abuse, entering higher or postgraduate education carries a powerful sense of possibility.
For those who quietly hankered for it, Higher Education can feel like finally stepping back into a journey that got broken and veered off elsewhere. Alongside, often comes determination to succeed, to make up for lost time.
But what is less often spoken about, is what can happen next.
When the past follows you forward
For many survivors, Higher Education offers personal growth, a chance to prove themselves, and opportunities for the future. But it also brings unexpected echoes of the past. Not that educational environments are abusive, it’s the conditions around them that can cause problems for some students.
The feeling of being assessed.
Of needing to get things right.
Of not quite knowing what is expected.
Of working twice as hard to feel “good enough.”
These are familiar feelings.
The drive to prove — and the cost
Survivors often arrive in Higher Education highly motivated, deeply committed, and prepared to push themselves hard. But that drive can be shaped by earlier experiences of:
Being undermined or controlled.
Having confidence eroded over time.
Being told they weren’t capable.
So, success becomes more than academic. It becomes personal. And with that comes pressure. They may overwork to compensate, find constructive feedback difficult to tolerate, have a constant fear of being “behind”, or a need for additional validation.
From the outside this can look like dedication. From the inside, it can feel like survival.
When systems mirror old dynamics
Higher Education doesn’t create these patterns, but aspects of it can unintentionally reinforce them. Or echo something deeper, like a fear of authority figures, or anxiety about "getting it wrong".
What makes this particularly complex is that it’s often invisible. Many survivors in higher education are viewed as high achieving, thoughtful and engaged, capable and resilient.
And they are all of those things. But alongside that, they may also be:
Managing anxiety that isn’t visible.
Interpreting feedback through a lens shaped by past harm.
Carrying a quiet fear of failure that feels disproportionate.
Navigating triggers that others don’t see.
Giving up at the first hurdle because they're "not good enough".
This isn’t about fragility. It’s about history. And when old patterns are activated, it can feel confusing, frustrating, and at times disheartening. Especially when this was meant to be the space where things finally changed.
The link to survivors and employment
In my work within the domestic abuse sector, I’ve seen these same patterns emerge among survivors working as professionals, particularly those in frontline roles. The same drive to prove, the same sensitivity to feedback, and the same tension between capability and self-doubt.
Different setting. Same underlying dynamics.
This is the subject of my PhD research, and when I’m finished, I’d love to look at how survivors are navigating Higher Education as a separate study.
What makes the difference
Supporting survivors in Higher Education isn’t about lowering standards or making assumptions. It’s about recognising that students don’t all arrive on equal footing. Tutors and lecturers have no way of knowing what might be lurking in the backgrounds of their students, but small shifts matter:
Clear expectations and consistent communication.
Feedback that is rigorous but not diminishing.
Spaces where uncertainty and questions feel safe.
An understanding that confidence and capability are not always aligned.
These aren’t special measures. They’re good practice. But for survivors, they can be transformative.
Holding truth and possibility
Many survivors in higher education are doing something quietly remarkable. Not only are they
pursuing learning but reclaiming parts of themselves they thought were lost. Not lost, taken from them.
But that journey isn’t always linear. And sometimes, in spaces meant for growth, they encounter reflections of the very dynamics they hoped to leave behind and growth risks becoming shrinking.
Recognising this doesn’t diminish higher education. It may have taken me years to get here, but I’m thriving in my PhD research. But along the way, I’ve met those who are feeling the strain and a couple who have given it up completely, despite being highly intelligent and committed.
It’s important to understand what survivors of domestic and sexual violence are carrying, both in employment and in education. When we understand this, whatever environments we are responsible for, we are better able to create spaces where they don’t just arrive, but truly thrive.