Visibility in engineering: Disabled representation and the impact it brings to the sector

ADM3 Vice Chair Animesh Anand MIMMM and ADM3 Secretary Dr Sarah Glanvill FIMMM discuss the importance of bringing disability conversations to the forefront.

Representations and education

Why is visibility important?

Disability being visible in engineering is crucial. Diversity fosters innovation, and change is driven by expansive thought. It encourages problem-solving by considering the needs and experiences of people with disabilities. This can lead to the development of accessible and user-friendly technology. To me though, most importantly, it challenges stereotypes and misconceptions, fostering an empathetic and understanding environment.

Visibility itself brings diversity, and diversity interlaced throughout a field, invites development. The more visible, disability is in a field, the more comfortable people feel to be a part of the environment. Shared experiences foster empathy and understanding. Without them, it’s easy to feel isolated, which leads to people feeling unsupported. As a result of this, evidence shows that disabled people are twice as likely to leave their jobs than non-disabled people.

Engineering and education

To aim towards a more inclusive engineering field, both education and industry must be addressed. Problem solving, communicating, creativity and confidence are all key skills that are involved in Engineering. Some of these skills are natural to people, others need to be nurtured. Without looking at the starting point, it’s hard to then look at the future.

While an ideal environment would be fully inclusive, current realities of the engineering field can often hinder the progress of people with disabilities. The main areas identified though, for this imbalance, usually comes back to the same areas; stigma, discrimination, clarity in obtaining reasonable adjustments, and visibility.

To overcome these challenges, we need to encourage a supportive environment. Role models, mentors and leaders are all important in inspiring and guiding students with disabilities, alongside changing the environment around them. Evidence of support is important, and currently, the field of engineering is lacking. Roughly 20% of people in the UK workforce are considered disabled, whereas Engineering only sees 11% of its workforce being disabled.

In contradiction to this though, education has seen a rise in students with disabilities, particularly in Higher Education (HE). In STEM subjects, the number has doubled between 2008-2018, and this number is continuously moving towards that of the UK workforce. Although what about staff? Staff members with disabilities make up less than 5% of the STEM education workforce. This is even more prevalent as the level of seniority increases.

Mentorship and my experience

One of the main reasons I personally went into engineering education was being inspired by one of my own tutors who was openly autistic. Being able to relate to this person was important to me, reminding myself that I wasn’t an outsider trying to break in. Other people had pushed through the barriers, and it was reassuring seeing them standing at the front of the room.

The other reason I went into engineering education was mainly because of how much I struggled myself to complete steps of my education. It was difficult to find support as a student with autism, the challenges in pushing forward with each step of the process were frustrating. There were countless hours of waiting and it took a lot of effort to gain some level of basic support. Growing up, I rarely struggled academically, which meant that my diagnosis for autism took until the age of 19. Moving from secondary school to university was like swimming in a pool, to then suddenly being dropped in the ocean. The struggle at points to figure out North from South was constant and sometimes it clicked. Those times were important as it allowed me to reorient myself towards completing. Sometimes, however, I was lost and the challenges that brought were like being adrift in a storm. I wanted to support other students so that they’d have some level of guidance throughout all the challenges of HE.

One of the core values that drives my ethos of education is support. I want students to know that there is someone who relates to their struggles. I’m open with my disability diagnosis, at open days, at outreach events, in sessions, seminars, lectures and lessons I maintain a level of openness about my Autism, and what this does is provide some sense of familiarity and helps break down the idea that their disability is barrier to the field.

Now, usually it’s not that simple, but just being present in my workplace as an ever-walking force of autistic nature and carrying that like a badge of honour has led to staff and students asking questions and wanting to learn more about the way I view the world, which in turn has helped them approach situations differently.

A sense of belonging

By making disability visible, we can create a more inclusive and supportive engineering field where everyone, regardless of their abilities, can thrive. If visibility wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

An Industrial Outlook from Sarah Glanvill 

From hiding to advocacy in the workplace

Navigating the professional world with a later in life ADHD diagnosis has been a challenging and transformative journey for me. As someone who has long been open about my dyslexia, I initially found myself hiding my ADHD diagnosis out of fear of bias, stigma and stereotyping. Looking around me and reflecting, I know this in part comes from a lack of representation of individuals who are neurodiverse in my field and in particular, in senior roles. As a result of this I’ve learned that visibility and advocacy are not just vital for myself, but for others walking the same path.

The weight of a hidden diagnosis

When I was diagnosed with ADHD a couple of years ago, the news was both a revelation and a moment of mourning. On one hand, the diagnosis made sense of so much: my unique thought processes, moments of hyperfocus, and the lifelong struggles I had chalked up to personal shortcomings. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but grieve for how exhausting it had been to try to fit my square-shaped self into a round-shaped world. The fatigue, anxiety, and cracks in the mask I had worn for so long suddenly became undeniable.

Unlike dyslexia, where my openness was always met with accommodations and understanding, ADHD carried with it a different kind of stigma. I feared that my colleagues would associate ADHD with stereotypes: someone who is chaotic, disorganised, or unreliable, the image of the naughty kid I knew I was capable of being but didn’t let out, weighed heavy on me. As a team manager, the last thing I wanted was for my leadership abilities to be questioned or my team to worry I would let them down.

In contrast, dyslexia seemed easier to explain. People could see my strengths—creative problem-solving, pattern recognition—and acknowledge my challenges in a practical way, such as giving me extra time to review documents. With ADHD, I feared the judgment would be more personal, with assumptions made about my character or professionalism.

Representation matters

Part of my hesitation stemmed from the lack of visible representation of people with ADHD in science and engineering, especially in leadership roles. I couldn’t point to a single role model who embodied what I hoped to achieve while openly navigating ADHD. This absence made me feel isolated and compounded my fear of standing out for the “wrong” reasons.

The shame I felt was exacerbated by the reality that ADHD did impact my role. It influences how I managed deadlines, my ability to stay present in lengthy meetings, every accidental interruption and side quest would be drawn in for questioning. While I found ways to cope, it often felt like I was battling a storm in my head, one that my colleagues couldn’t see or understand.

Choosing advocacy over fear

After sitting on my diagnosis for a year, I began to see the cost of hiding this part of myself. I not only denied myself the opportunity for meaningful support, but I also perpetuated the very stigma I feared. If I wanted the narrative around ADHD to change, I realised I had to be part of that change.

Creating a supportive environment

ADHD, like dyslexia, is not a one-size-fits-all diagnosis. It manifests differently in everyone, and it doesn’t negate the skills, intelligence, or professionalism we bring to the table.

Advocacy starts with education—both for myself and for my colleagues. I’ve begun sharing practical insights about how ADHD affects my work and what accommodations help me thrive. For example, discussing practical reasonable adjustments someone can ask for in the workplace, these could be getting a pair of noise cancelling headphones or setting up study spaces in meetings rooms so you can body double with your colleagues away from the noise of an open plan office. Or for myself as a manager, I have one morning a week where I don’t take calls or book meetings. Having conversation about your needs will not just help those of us who are neurodiverse, but everyone in the workplace, challenge norms and provide a different narrative.

Building a new narrative

I want others to see that it’s possible to succeed—not despite our diagnoses, but because of them. Through advocacy, education, and representation, we can break down the biases and assumptions that hold so many of us back.