We talk a lot about “support” in higher education. It appears in strategies, policies, and performance measures, and we often use indicators such as engagement, attendance, and outcomes to reassure ourselves that support is in place and working. I have been thinking more about who that support actually works for, and how easily we confuse accessibility with effectiveness.

In practice, support tends to work most smoothly for people who can engage in the ways our systems expect. For students, that might mean responding to emails, attending scheduled sessions, and being able to articulate what they need. For staff, it often means knowing how to navigate institutional processes, when to ask for support, and how to present need in a way that is understood and accepted. These are the people we experience as “easy to support”. That ease is not neutral; it reflects alignment with the system, not the absence of need.

What is less visible is the effort that sits behind that alignment, and who is excluded from it. A student who does not respond may be overwhelmed, unsure where to start, or drawing on past experiences that have made engagement feel risky. A member of staff who has managed for years without adjustments may have done so at high personal cost, without recognising that support was available or appropriate. In both cases, what looks like disengagement or inconsistency can reflect something more complex. The issue is not always the willingness to engage; it is whether the system is set up in a way that makes engagement possible.

This becomes particularly clear in conversations about reasonable adjustments. There is often an expectation that need should be visible, stable, and ideally identified early. When someone has been “absolutely fine” and then requests adjustments, it can prompt questions about what has changed. The answer is not always a sudden shift. It can reflect a change in context, an accumulation of pressure, or a growing understanding of what is needed to work and study sustainably. Not knowing that adjustments are needed, or not having them in place, can be part of what creates the difficulty in the first place.

The same pattern appears across student support. Systems are often designed around a particular way of engaging, and those who cannot meet that expectation are described as hard to reach or complex. Support exists, but it is not always accessible in practice. Timetables, referral routes, and formal processes can assume confidence, capacity, and prior knowledge. When those assumptions do not hold, the responsibility shifts back to the individual to adapt.

Being easy to support is not the same as being supported. It tells us more about how well someone fits the system than how well the system responds to different kinds of need.

That distinction matters because it shapes how we respond. If we assume that support is effective because it is available and works for some, we risk overlooking those who cannot access it in the same way. We also risk reinforcing the idea that difficulty lies with the individual, rather than with the structures they are navigating. This applies as much to staff as it does to students. The expectation to cope, to manage, or to have been “fine before” can make it harder to ask for support at the point it is most needed.

A more useful starting point is curiosity. Considering not why someone has not engaged, but what made it difficult. Not why support is being requested now, but what has made it necessary. Not whether support exists, but who it works for, who it does not, and what we are prepared to change as a result.

If support is something we value, then it is worth asking a more direct question. Are we designing it in a way that works for the people who need it most, including those whose needs are less visible or less easily articulated, or are we continuing to design it around those who find it easiest to access?