Education is often described as a ladder, but for many students, it can feel more like a labyrinth. My journey toward becoming an educator is rooted in the belief that no child should have to navigate that labyrinth alone. My primary goal is to earn a degree in Elementary Education and Child Development, specializing in special education, to create the inclusive and accessible learning environments that I once lacked. This path is not merely a professional choice; it is a mission born from personal experience, refined through years of community college, and solidified by my work with over 4,000 children.
My drive to teach stems from my own history as a neurodivergent student. For the first four years of my nearly six-year journey at City College of San Francisco, I navigated the academic system without formal support services. This period was a masterclass in persistence, but it also highlighted the barriers that traditional classrooms place in front of those who process the world differently. Furthermore, my K-12 experience was often marked by bullying and isolation, making school feel like a place of exclusion rather than community. These obstacles did not discourage me; instead, they reframed my neurodivergence as a professional asset. I realized that my "high-energy" perspective and personal history of academic friction allowed me to connect with students on a deeper, more empathetic level.
I have already worked with many kids with special needs, including autism. In my last semester of high school I was doing an internship with an elementary school in my city but it was cut short due to the schools closing in 2020 for the covid19 pandemic.
If there is a singular source of inspiration in my life, it is the "students on the periphery"—the children who watch from the sidelines or struggle in the back of the classroom. I remember a specific camper at Steve and Kate’s Camp who spent every morning hiding under a craft table, overwhelmed by the noise. Rather than forcing compliance, I sat on the floor with him and used visual cues as well as fidget toys to explain the day. Watching him transition from hiding to leading within a week solidified my mission. This semester, my last semester at City College of San Francisco, I am furthering this expertise through CDEV 41T - Early Autism Spectrum Disorder, bridging the gap between hands-on intuition and specialized instructional strategy.
My "act of kindness" is a continuous practice of radical empathy. Whether I am leading an after-school program, tutoring English online, or mentoring in person, I intentionally seek out the invisible students. By providing a stable, encouraging environment for those facing academic instability or displacement, I transform my own history into a tool for advocacy. Every child deserves a consistent champion, and I strive to be that reliable anchor, ensuring their educational journey is defined by support rather than transition.
Transitioning to the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa or Chaminade University of Honolulu is the next vital step in this journey. While CCSF provided the grit to navigate my own neurodivergence, the community-focused environment in Hawaii will allow me to refine my teaching philosophy. I plan to bring my experience in inclusive mentorship to the campus, engaging with local school partnerships to serve the unique needs of Hawaii’s keiki. Ultimately, I am pursuing this degree to transform classrooms into sanctuaries—places where every student, regardless of their learning style, recognizes their unique strengths and understands that their potential is not defined by a standard timeline. I want to do both the regular teaching credential as well as adding on the special education credential
Most people imagine a classroom as quiet rows of desks and neatly raised hands.
My classroom sounds different.
Chairs scrape the floor as students shift in their seats. Pencils tap in uneven rhythms. Students hum softly, rock in their chairs or flap their hands as they process information. Communication happens through gestures, devices, half-finished sentences, and sometimes silence.
To someone unfamiliar, it might look like chaos.
To me, it sounds like learning.
My connection to the autism community began long before I understood what advocacy meant. My mother has worked in special education for more than twenty-five years, and much of my childhood was spent in the back of her classroom. I watched her support students who were often underestimated before they had the chance to show what they were capable of. What stayed with me most was not the curriculum or the routines. It was her refusal to accept limits.
She believed something simple: a diagnosis should never determine a person’s potential.
Today, I work in that same school as a paraeducator supporting middle school students with extensive support needs. My job is not simply to help with assignments. I help adapt curriculum, support emotional regulation, and collaborate with teachers to ensure that learning environments are accessible.
Working with autistic students has taught me that barriers are rarely caused by disability itself. More often, they come from environments that were never designed with neurodivergent individuals in mind.
One experience with a student made this reality impossible for me to ignore.
During a lesson, a student who was often labeled “difficult” shut down completely. From across the room, it looked like refusal. When I sat beside him and gave him time to process, he quietly said something that has stayed with me ever since:
“Everyone thinks I’m the problem.”
That moment revealed something deeper than a missed assignment. It showed how easily kids can internalize the misunderstandings of others. Instead of pushing him to continue the same way, I adjusted the format and gave him space to approach it differently. Within minutes, he was engaged again and eventually completed the assignment independently. The pride on his face was quiet but unmistakable.
Moments like that shape the way I see my future.
I am currently pursuing my education with the goal of becoming a special education teacher and behavior analyst specializing in autism support. I want to design learning environments where autistic individuals are not forced to adapt to systems that overlook them, but instead are supported in ways that allow their strengths to emerge.
My vision extends beyond the classroom. Too many autistic individuals receive structured support during childhood only to lose access to meaningful programs once they reach adulthood. I hope to help develop inclusive community programs that combine evidence-based practices with real-world activities such as art, recreation, and life-skills development. These programs would provide opportunities for autistic individuals to build independence, confidence, and community connection in environments that respect neurodiversity.
Working with autistic students has taught me that progress often happens quietly. It might look like a student asking for help for the first time, completing a task they once avoided, or finding the confidence to express themselves in a way others finally understand.
These moments rarely make headlines, but they matter.
Autistic individuals do not need to be changed in order to belong in the world. What they need are educators, advocates, and communities willing to listen, adapt, and believe in their potential.
Through my career, I hope to help build those spaces, one classroom, one student, and one opportunity at a time.
