All Minds Support Journal — Reflection
Rethinking the Role of a Mentor | All Minds Support
Journal reflection — walking beside the learner.
Learning to Walk Beside, Not Ahead
When people ask me what a mentor does, I sometimes struggle to give a neat definition. Not because I don’t understand the role — but because, over the years, my understanding has changed completely.
My first real encounter with disability support came in 2008, working in a further education college with a creative curriculum for students with profound and multiple learning disabilities. Many of the students were autistic or had physical conditions such as cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, or Down syndrome. They arrived with carers who supported their access to learning and daily care.
Nothing in my academic training prepared me for that first day.
I sat in a music room, guitar in hand, surrounded by students in wheelchairs and their support staff. I tried to lead, tried to teach, tried to make something happen — and felt utterly lost. By mid-morning I was considering leaving and never coming back. Not because I lacked compassion, but because I believed I had nothing useful to offer. My education had taught me that learning meant research, argument, critical thinking, and written output. I thought I was the wrong kind of skilled person for this space.
Looking back now, I realise that moment shaped everything that followed.
The Myth of the “Right” Kind of Learning
Many professionals working in disability support come from postgraduate, cognitively focused educational pathways. We are trained to think that learning looks a particular way: structured, analytical, verbal, and evidence-based.
But what if that idea of learning is only one version among many?
Over the years, supporting hundreds of neurodivergent students in higher education, I have begun to question whether mentors sometimes spend too much energy trying to help students think like us — instead of learning to think alongside them.
There are differences between neurotypes, of course. But there are also huge differences within them. Research comparing male and female characteristics often shows extensive overlap rather than neat categories, and I think neurodivergence works similarly. Labels can be useful, but they are not blueprints.
Dyslexia: Seeing the Landscape Differently
Many dyslexic students describe experiencing problems spatially or relationally. I sometimes use a metaphor: some thinkers stand on the ground, seeing details and distinctions; others feel as if they are floating above a landscape, noticing patterns and connections.
Neither is better — they are simply different vantage points.
Students who feel defeated by spelling or written expression often brighten when they realise their way of thinking is not broken. It is simply tuned to a different frequency. A strengths-based mentor doesn’t erase difference; they help translate it into forms the academic world can recognise.
Autism: Difference, Not Deficit
My early training framed autism through deficit-based language — a “triad of impairment.” Yet lived experience and emerging research suggest something more nuanced.
Autistic people often communicate deeply and effectively with one another. Difficulties can arise not because someone is impaired, but because neurotypes process social information differently. Misunderstanding can be mutual.
When mentors stop assuming impairment and start assuming difference, the work changes. The goal becomes building bridges between communication styles rather than correcting one side of the conversation.
ADHD: Working With Momentum, Not Against It
Students with ADHD have taught me perhaps the clearest lesson about strengths.
Many can produce extraordinary work under pressure. The ability to hyperfocus close to a deadline is not simply a problem to eliminate — it is a resource. Instead of trying to stop an ADHD student leaving things until the last minute, mentors can learn to work with that rhythm.
Preparation becomes key.
We might help them gather materials early, brainstorm ideas together, or even start writing within the session itself. Sometimes I offer to scribe while the student talks through their thoughts. Momentum matters more than perfection in those early stages.
And perhaps most importantly: don’t make learning boring. ADHD brains often switch off when tasks feel flat or repetitive. Engagement is not a luxury — it is the gateway to access.
Rather than forcing students to abandon their natural workflow, mentoring can help them refine it: leaving space for a second proofread, creating earlier “false deadlines,” or designing study structures that mimic urgency without overwhelming the student.
From Expert to Companion
If I have learned anything since that first music room experience, it is this: mentoring is not about leading from the front. It is about walking beside.
A mentor is not there to reshape a student into a version of themselves. Nor are we there to punish people for speaking a different “learning language.” Instead, mentoring involves curiosity — a willingness to ask:
How does this person think? What feels natural to them? What strengths are already present?
Sometimes our role is simply to speak their language first — and then help translate it into academic forms that others can understand.
Grace, Curiosity, and Positive Regard
Over time, I have come to believe that mentoring rests on unconditional positive regard. Not in a naïve sense, but in a grounded belief that students are already capable thinkers.
- Dyslexic learners may bring spatial creativity.
- Autistic learners may bring depth and authenticity.
- ADHD learners may bring intensity and momentum.
Our task is not to erase difference but to create conditions where it can thrive.
An Open Question
All of this leaves me with a question I continue to explore:
What if mentoring is less about teaching students to fit education — and more about helping education make room for different ways of thinking? A practical example of this approach appears in When the Student Becomes the Teacher.
I don’t claim to have the answer. In fact, I’m increasingly curious about how other non-medical helpers understand their role. Are we guides, translators, advocates, witnesses — or something else entirely?
In a future post, I hope to invite mentors and NMHs to share their perspectives through a short reflective questionnaire. Because perhaps the most important thing we can do as mentors is remain learners ourselves.
—
James Fraser
All Minds Support