When I first discovered I had aphantasia, it felt like unearthing a quiet but fundamental truth about how I experience the world.
I’d always assumed that phrases like “picture this” or “see it in your mind’s eye” were purely metaphorical.
Only much later did I realise most people can actually generate mental images - something that has simply never happened for me.
Aphantasia and the classroom
While reading the recent Tes article by Professor Julia Thomas, I was struck by how closely her observations resonated with my own experiences.
Like the students she described, I’ve long lived on the other side of this divide: someone who does not visualise, working in a profession where teachers often use mental imagery as a core part of how we help students make sense of texts, concepts and the world around them.
I’ve worked in international education for over two decades, and when I received my diagnosis, I initially saw it as an interesting quirk to reflect on privately.
But the more I thought about it, the more it became clear that this was more than a personal revelation - it was a professional responsibility.
Lacking a mind’s eye
Aphantasia is estimated to affect around 4 per cent of people, yet it rarely comes up in schools. How many students, I wondered, were sitting in our classrooms right now, navigating learning without ever mentioning that they lacked a mind’s eye?
How often might teachers ask them to “imagine the scene”, “visualise the process” or “picture the character”, assuming that all learners process information in the same way?
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So, stepping slightly outside my comfort zone, I chose to bring it into a staff CPD session. I explained to my colleagues that I’ve never been able to visualise images, not even the faces of loved ones. As someone who prefers to keep personal disclosures to a minimum, it wasn’t easy to open up.
Yet I felt compelled to, not for my sake, but for those students who might also be masking this part of their experience. In schools, we rightly talk a lot about inclusion, but we sometimes overlook the quieter forms of neurodiversity.
Cognitive diversity
What followed surprised me. Most staff were unfamiliar with the concept of aphantasia. Many admitted they’d never considered that a lack of mental imagery could be a barrier to learning. Others reflected on how often they rely on visualisation prompts in lessons.
We discussed how students with aphantasia may find tasks that rely on imagery - guided visualisations, creative writing exercises or reading comprehension strategies built on “picturing” a scene - frustrating or disengaging.
Importantly, the conversation expanded beyond aphantasia. It became a moment to challenge our assumptions about how students think.
We talked about how other forms of cognitive diversity, whether diagnosed or hidden, can shape learning in ways that are easy to overlook. From that session, several teachers began re-examining their approaches.
For instance, one English teacher resolved to offer alternative strategies for engaging with texts, such as focusing more on the sensory or emotional aspects of a scene rather than defaulting to “visualise this moment”.
Meaningful teaching changes
In the weeks that followed, small but meaningful changes began to emerge across classrooms. Staff were more conscious of giving students different ways to access imaginative tasks, using oral, written and kinaesthetic prompts alongside visual ones.
Teachers reported that these adjustments not only benefited students who might have aphantasia but also enriched learning for all students, encouraging a broader range of responses and interpretations.
Personally, sharing my diagnosis with staff has helped normalise conversations about cognitive diversity in our school. It has also modelled to colleagues and students alike that talking about how we think - and where we differ - is not something to shy away from.
Ultimately, it reminded me that inclusion is about more than adapting for visible differences. It’s about creating an environment where unseen experiences, like aphantasia, are acknowledged and accommodated.
Like Professor Thomas suggested in her article, asking simple questions such as “Do you have a mind’s eye?” can spark important discussions and help students feel understood in new ways.
For me, taking this step felt like an act of leadership, but more than that, it was a reminder that no matter how long you’ve worked in education, there’s always space to challenge your own assumptions and model vulnerability for the sake of the students we serve.
Adam McRoy is the headmaster of Cogdel Cranleigh School Changsha with over 20 years of experience in international education
