Let’s be real for a second: forensic institutions weren’t exactly built with healing in mind. They were built to contain, to manage risk, to control. So when we talk about making these environments “trauma-informed” or “neurodiversity-affirming,” we’re essentially trying to retrofit compassion into systems that were never designed for it. Not impossible—but definitely messy.
I recently sat down with a trainee forensic psychologist to chat through some of these challenges and reflect on what we need to do differently.
Let’s Talk Numbers (and People Behind Them)
It’s no secret that trauma is widespread in forensic settings. But let’s add a layer: neurodivergence. We’re talking ADHD, autism, dyslexia, learning difficulties, brain injuries—the works. Some quick stats:
- Over 50% of UK prisoners are dyslexic (CJJI, 2021)
- Up to 80% have speech, language, or communication difficulties (McNamara, 2012)
- About 25% meet criteria for ADHD (Young et al., 2018)
- 60% have a history of brain injury (Shiroma et al., 2010)
These aren’t fringe numbers. They’re mainstream, and they demand more than one-size-fits-all solutions.
Neurodivergent individuals are often more exposed to Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), compounding their vulnerabilities. But our systems—designed for compliance and control—often interpret survival strategies as manipulation, defiance, or resistance. Imagine being in freeze mode and someone calls you unmotivated. Or being overwhelmed by noise and getting written up for being “disrespectful.” It happens. All the time.
“Lazy”, “Manipulative”, “Unmotivated”… or Misunderstood?
We need to get better at decoding behaviour. Trauma responses don’t always come with a neat little tag saying “Please be gentle, I’ve been hurt.”
Instead, we get what looks like:
- “Manipulative” – when someone’s learned to get their needs met however they can. Survival, not sabotage.
- “Unmotivated” – when they’re frozen, not lazy.
- “Disrespectful” – when they’re actually feeling unsafe or overstimulated.
And then there’s the neurodivergence angle. Repetitive movements, flat affect, or no eye contact? These aren’t power moves. They’re part of how someone navigates a world that doesn’t accommodate them.
We Can Do Better: Small Shifts, Big Impact
Some services are moving in the right direction. The Offender Personality Disorder (OPD) pathway, for example, integrates trauma-informed and psychologically informed environments. I’m also seeing more co-production—services being shaped by the people who actually use them (radical, I know).
But there are still massive barriers: outdated risk tools, staff burnout, inflexible environments, and a real allergy to change. And let’s not pretend a PowerPoint on trauma once a year is going to cut it.
Trauma-Informed ≠ Pretty Posters
If I had a pound for every time “trauma-informed” was slapped onto a service like a hashtag, I’d be funding my own reform initiative.
True trauma-informed care means policy change. Rethinking power dynamics. Making safety—not control—the foundation. It means involving people with lived experience not as tokens, but as decision-makers. It means making sure staff are supported too—because burnout isn’t a character flaw, it’s a system failure.
So Where Do We Start?
Start small. Ask yourself:
- “What might this behaviour be trying to communicate?”
- “Am I reacting to discomfort, or responding to need?”
- “Whose voice is missing from this conversation?”
Read widely. Invest in lived experience. Stop trying to “fix” people and start fixing the environments that harm them. And maybe—just maybe—burn the checklist.
Closing Thought:
The contradiction at the core of forensic work is this: we’re trying to promote healing inside institutions that were never built to heal. That doesn’t mean we give up. It means we stay curious, stay humble, and keep pushing for a system that truly sees the human being behind the behaviour.