What I want to build is a more accessible path for students and families who need support in school. I do not imagine this as one program, one room, or one resource, though those may become part of it. I imagine it as a bridge: between families and schools, between student needs and practical supports, and between the hope parents carry for their children and the systems meant to help them grow. My desire to build this comes from both personal and professional experience. As a parent of children with disabilities, I know how overwhelming school systems can feel when a child needs support and a family is trying to understand what comes next. I also know how powerful it is when someone listens, explains, and helps make the path clearer. That experience shaped my work as an advocate and eventually led me back into education. I am now pursuing a graduate degree in special education with initial licensure while working in education. My goal is to build the knowledge, skills, and credibility needed to serve students well, especially students with disabilities and those whose needs may otherwise go unnoticed. I want to help create school communities where support is not treated as an afterthought, but as part of how we love and teach children well. I have already begun building this future through Little Way Advocacy Collaborative, where I offer free support to families navigating special education questions, and through Little Way Tutoring, which helps connect students with academic support. These efforts are small, but they reflect the kind of future I want to keep building: one where families feel less alone, students feel more capable, and schools are better equipped to respond with dignity and care. Building this future will also change me. It will require persistence, humility, and continued learning. It will ask me to keep growing as a teacher, advocate, mother, and member of my community. But I believe that is the kind of work worth building: work that strengthens not only my own future, but the lives of the students, families, and communities connected to mine.

The impact I want to make is helping children believe they are capable before the world has finished measuring them. I am pursuing a graduate degree in special education with initial licensure because I want students, especially students with disabilities and students whose needs are easily missed, to experience school as a place where they can belong, grow, and build confidence. My vision has been shaped first by my own family. As a parent of children with disabilities, I have seen how deeply a child can be affected by whether the adults around them understand what they need. A child can begin to shrink when they are repeatedly misunderstood. But I have also seen the opposite. When support is offered with patience, skill, and belief, a child begins to take risks again. They ask the question. They try the assignment. They enter the room with a little more trust in themselves. That is the kind of future I want to help create. In my current work in Catholic education, I support students who need academic, behavioral, emotional, or accessibility-based help. Some students have identified disabilities, and others need an adult to notice that something is getting in the way of learning. My graduate coursework is helping me become better prepared for that responsibility. What I learned about assessment, instruction, collaboration, disability access, and special education law gives me practical tools to serve students with more clarity and confidence. I also founded Little Way Advocacy Collaborative to provide free support to families navigating special education questions. Through that work, I help families understand IEPs, prepare for school conversations, research law and policy, and consider next steps. Little Way Tutoring grew from the same desire to respond to real needs in my community. Through tutoring, I have helped connect students from elementary through high school with academic support, including students in the Muslim and refugee community in Mankato. The people who inspire me most are children and families who keep showing up, even when the path has not been easy. I am inspired by the parent who asks another question because their child needs help. I am inspired by the student who tries again after feeling embarrassed. I am inspired by educators who do quiet, consistent work so children can feel safer, steadier, and more hopeful at school. I want to use my education to give back by helping schools become places where more children have access to the support they need to thrive. I want families to feel less alone. I want teachers to feel better equipped. Most of all, I want students to know they are not problems to be managed, but people to be understood. The change I am determined to create is not only academic. I want to help build learning communities where children are seen, known, loved, and given the chance to believe in what they can become.

I have come to believe that community is built in the spaces where people might otherwise fall through the cracks. It is built when someone notices a confused parent, a struggling student, a family new to a system, or a child who needs extra support, and chooses to move closer instead of assuming someone else will help. Much of the good I have tried to contribute to my community has grown from that noticing. As a parent of children with disabilities, I learned how overwhelming school systems can feel when a family is trying to understand what support their child needs. I learned to read special education documents, research law and policy, prepare for school conversations, and ask questions clearly. At first, I learned those things for my own family. Over time, I realized that knowledge could become useful to other families, too. That realization led me to found Little Way Advocacy Collaborative, where I offer free support to families navigating special education concerns. Sometimes that means helping a parent understand an IEP. Sometimes it means researching a question, organizing concerns before a meeting, or helping a family think through possible next steps. This work strengthens the community by helping families feel less isolated and more able to participate in decisions that affect their children. Little Way Tutoring grew from the same desire to respond to needs close to me. Through tutoring, I have helped connect students from elementary through high school with academic support, including students in the Muslim and refugee community in Mankato. That has been one of the most meaningful parts of my community involvement because tutoring is not only about finishing assignments. It can also be a bridge between families, schools, cultures, and confidence. When a student feels safe enough to ask a question or a family feels welcome rather than intimidated, the community becomes stronger. I have also served through Catholic education and parish life. I currently work in a Catholic school setting, supporting students who need academic, behavioral, emotional, or accessibility support. I have served as a Faith Formation Catechist for 4 years and have been asked to assume leadership of Second Grade Sacramental Preparation. In those roles, I support children while also walking alongside parents as important guides in their children’s faith. Parish and school communities grow stronger through steady, ordinary acts: preparing lessons, welcoming families, answering questions, and helping children know they belong. Earlier in my path, I also served with AmeriCorps as a 4th–8th grade math tutor in a Catholic school setting. That experience shaped my belief that community work is often built through consistency. Students do not always need grand gestures. Sometimes they need an adult who keeps showing up, believes they can grow, and helps them take the next step. The good I hope I have contributed is not limited to one project or title. It is found in the pattern of my life: noticing needs, building bridges, and using what I have learned to strengthen the people around me. I want my community to be a place where families can ask for help without shame, students can access support without feeling less capable, and children can experience belonging in schools, churches, and neighborhoods. That is the kind of community I want to keep helping build.

I do not think selflessness always looks large or dramatic. Often, it looks like making time. It looks like answering the message, sitting through the confusing conversation, staying patient with the repeated question, or helping someone take the next small step when the whole path feels overwhelming. Much of my service has grown from what I first had to learn for my own family. As a parent of children with disabilities, I learned how confusing school systems can feel when a child needs support, and a parent is trying to understand what comes next. I learned to read special education documents, research law and policy, prepare for meetings, and ask questions clearly. At first, I was learning because my own children needed me to. Over time, I realized that knowledge could help other families too. That is why I founded Little Way Advocacy Collaborative. Through it, I offer free support to families who are trying to understand special education concerns, IEPs, school communication, or possible next steps, and sometimes helping someone in need means explaining a process in plain language. Sometimes it means helping a parent organize their concerns before a meeting. Sometimes it simply means being a steady person who can say, “You are not wrong to ask questions, and you do not have to figure this out alone.” Little Way Tutoring also grew from that same desire to respond to real needs in front of me. Through tutoring, I have helped connect students from elementary through high school with academic support, including students in the Muslim and refugee community in Mankato. Tutoring can look like homework help, but it can also become something deeper: a student feeling less embarrassed to ask for help, a family feeling welcomed, or a child experiencing the confidence that comes from understanding something that used to feel impossible. I also try to live this out in my daily work in education. Helping someone in need may look like supporting a dysregulated student, helping a teacher understand what a child is communicating through behavior, or reassuring a parent who feels uncertain. These moments are rarely flashy, but they matter. I have had to persevere to keep serving. I returned to full-time work and graduate school while raising seven children with my husband, including children with disabilities. My life is full, but I continue because I believe service is not only something we do when it is convenient. It is something we practice by noticing who is in front of us and responding with what we have. Michael Rudometkin’s legacy of relationships, community, and helping others along the journey resonates with me. I hope to embody that kind of selflessness: not by doing everything, but by making time for people in moments when support, clarity, and kindness can change what comes next.

I deserve this scholarship because I am already living the work my degree is preparing me to do. I am not pursuing graduate school as a distant dream or a credential to figure out later. I am a graduate student in special education with initial licensure, maintaining a 4.0 GPA while working in education and raising seven children, including those with disabilities, alongside my husband. My path has not been traditional, but that is part of what gives me an advantage. I completed my undergraduate degree in 2013 and later stepped away from paid professional work to focus on motherhood. During those years, I was not building a traditional résumé, but I was being formed. Parenting children with disabilities taught me how to research, advocate, organize, communicate, and keep going when systems felt confusing or slow to respond. I learned to read law and policy, ask better questions, prepare for school meetings, and translate concerns into action. That lived experience became the foundation for my return to full-time work and graduate study in 2025. My advantage is that I understand special education from both sides of the table. I understand it as a parent who has needed support, as an advocate who has helped families navigate difficult processes, and as an educator who now directly supports students. I know what it feels like when a family needs someone to listen, explain, and make a system more navigable. I also know the responsibility of being the person who must respond with clarity, calm, and skill. In my current school-based work, I support students with academic, behavioral, emotional, and accessibility needs. Some students have identified disabilities, while others need an adult to notice a pattern, adjust support, or help them through a difficult moment. What I learned in graduate school is not something I am waiting to use. I use it now. Coursework in assessment, instruction, collaboration, disability access, IEP development, transition planning, and special education law directly shapes how I collect data, communicate with families, collaborate with teachers, and support students in real time. That is why scholarship support would matter. It would not simply help me afford a degree. It would strengthen the work already happening in classrooms, meetings, interventions, and family conversations. It would help me continue building the professional knowledge and credibility needed to serve students and families well. I also believe my path gives me urgency. I am not pursuing special education because it sounds meaningful in theory. I have seen what happens when a child is misunderstood, when a parent feels alone, and when a school wants to help but does not yet have the tools or structure to respond well. I have also seen what happens when the right support is consistently offered: a student tries again, a family exhales, data begin to show growth, and a teacher sees a child more clearly. My long-term goal is to help make Catholic and nonpublic school communities more accessible for students with disabilities and students with a wide range of needs. I was raised in Catholic education, and I believe deeply that these schools should be places where all children can belong and grow. This is both personal and professional for me. My graduate program is giving me the formal training, legal grounding, and practical tools to pursue that goal responsibly. What gives me an advantage over many applicants is not that my life is easier or that my goals are more important. It is my purpose that has already been tested. I have returned to school after years away from the traditional academic path. I have maintained a 4.0 GPA while carrying family, work, and financial responsibilities. I have turned personal experience into advocacy. I have taken what began as frustration and turned it into service. I am a strong candidate for this scholarship because I know exactly what I am working toward. I want to become a more prepared, steady, and effective special education teacher. I want families to feel a sense of partnership rather than opposition. I want students to experience school as a place where they are seen, known, loved, and capable of growth. I want schools to become better at supporting the children already entrusted to them. This scholarship would help me continue on a new path that is already changing my life and strengthening the lives connected to mine. I am not asking for support so I can begin becoming useful someday. I am asking for support because I am already using my education, and I am committed to using it well.

Education has always represented possibility in my family, but it has not always followed a simple or traditional path. I am the first generation of my family to be born in the United States. My family immigrated from Scotland in the 1970s, when my mother was very young. I am also a first-generation college student and now a first-generation graduate student. For me, higher education is not only about personal advancement. It is connected to family history, sacrifice, responsibility, and the hope that one person’s education can strengthen the lives of many others. One of the things I have had to overcome to pursue higher education is the belief that success must happen on a traditional timeline. I completed my undergraduate degree in 2013 and then stepped away from paid professional work for several years to focus on raising my family. My husband and I are raising seven children, including children with disabilities. During those years at home, my education did not stop; it just looked different. I was learning through motherhood, disability advocacy, research, and the daily responsibility of helping children receive the support they needed. As a parent of children with disabilities, I became a researcher, advocate, problem-solver, and steady presence. I learned how to navigate school systems, read special education law and policy, communicate with educators, and advocate for supports that often felt morally simple: children should be understood, families should be heard, and students should have access to what they need to learn. At first, that work was deeply personal. I wanted my own children to be seen clearly and supported well. Over time, I realized I did not want other families to feel as alone, overwhelmed, or uncertain as I had felt at the beginning. That realization became part of my path back into education. I returned to full-time work and began graduate school in 2025, entering a new career path while continuing to carry significant family responsibilities. Nothing about that transition has been easy. Children get sick. Work responsibilities change. Each semester has brought a new “first” I did not anticipate. Still, I have kept going and have excelled academically, maintaining a 4.0 GPA in my graduate program. I am proud of that not because grades are the whole point, but because they show that I can succeed even in imperfect conditions. I have also excelled in turning lived experience into service. I founded Little Way Advocacy Collaborative to offer free support to families navigating special education questions, including IEP translation, law and policy research, and school consultation. Little Way Tutoring developed under that same umbrella as a practical extension of my advocacy and educational work. Through tutoring, I have helped provide academic support to students from elementary through high school, including students in the Muslim and refugee community in Mankato. This work reflects a simple conviction: families should not have to feel alone while trying to help their children succeed. My field of study is special education with initial licensure. My goal after graduation is to continue serving students with disabilities and students whose needs may otherwise be missed, especially in Catholic and nonpublic school settings. I was raised in Catholic schools, and returning to Catholic education has felt both personal and purposeful. I believe Catholic schools should be places where all students can belong, including students with disabilities. Helping make those spaces more accessible is not only a professional goal for me; it is a moral responsibility. In my current school-based work, I support students with academic, behavioral, emotional, and accessibility needs. Some students have identified disabilities, and others need an adult to notice a pattern, adjust support, or help them through a difficult moment. My graduate coursework is not something I hope to use in the future. I use it now. When I collect data, collaborate with teachers, communicate with families, and help translate student needs into practical support, I am applying what I am learning. The change I want to help accomplish in my field is a shift toward seeing special education not as a separate place or a last resort, but as a way of thinking carefully and humanely about how students learn. Too often, families experience school support as confusing, adversarial, or deficit-focused. Too often, students with disabilities are seen first through what they cannot do instead of who they are and what they need to grow. I want to help change that. I want families to enter meetings and feel like partners, not sides of a table. I want students to have the spark of confidence to try something that once felt too hard. I want data used not only to document struggle, but also to recognize growth and guide better instruction. The change I am seeking for myself is continued formation into the educator and advocate I believe I am called to become. I do not see graduate school as separate from my life or my work. This degree is part of the work itself. It is providing formal training, credibility, and practical tools to support the responsibilities I already carry. It is helping me move from instinct and lived experience into stronger professional practice. It is also strengthening my commitment to lifelong learning, because educators are better able to support student growth when we continue growing ourselves. I am willing to drive these changes through persistence, service, and steady work. I am willing to keep reading, asking questions, collecting data, collaborating, advocating, and learning. I am willing to sit with families in confusing moments, help students experience success, and work with teachers to make support more practical and effective. My motivation originally came from frustration, but it has grown into purpose. I know what it feels like to need someone to listen, explain, and help make a system more navigable. Now I want to be that person for others. Grandmaster Nam K. Hyong’s story reminds me that education can elevate not only one life, but the lives connected to it. That is what I hope my education will do. I am pursuing this degree not only to change my own future, but to strengthen my family, serve my community, and help students experience school as a place where they are seen, known, loved, and capable of growth.

When I graduated from college in 2013, I could not have predicted what returning to school more than a decade later would look like. By 2016, I had stepped away from the workforce to focus on raising my family. Nearly 9 years later, in 2025, I returned not only to full-time employment but also to an entirely new career path and a graduate program in special education. I did so as the mother of seven children, two of whom have developmental disabilities. Returning to school has required much more than relearning how to write papers, meet deadlines, or navigate graduate-level coursework. It has required me to rebuild my professional identity while remaining fully present for a family that depends on me. My days are divided among working in a school, supporting students, raising children, managing additional appointments, advocating for and caring for individuals with disabilities, and completing the coursework necessary to become a licensed special educator. There is rarely a perfect time to study. Graduate school happens after children are in bed, early in the morning, between appointments, and in whatever quiet spaces I can create. I have learned to write papers while carrying the mental load of a household of nine and to move between being a mother, caregiver, employee, advocate, and student—sometimes within the same hour. Perhaps the greatest challenge in returning has been accepting that determination does not always look graceful. The past year, in particular, tested my ability to balance these roles. During the final weeks of the school year, my principal was hospitalized and unable to return, increasing responsibilities among our very small staff. At the same time, my family experienced a serious situation involving one of my own children at school. I was navigating it as a mother, an employee, and an educator, all while supporting students whose own routines had been disrupted. There were moments when my coursework was completed later than I wanted and nights when opening my laptop again felt nearly impossible. I learned that perseverance sometimes means letting go of perfection. It means asking for grace when necessary, beginning again after a difficult week, and continuing toward a goal even when the circumstances surrounding it are far from ideal. There are financial challenges as well. Graduate tuition must fit within the realities of raising seven children and meeting the additional needs of children with disabilities. Returning to full-time employment has helped make my education possible, but pursuing a graduate degree remains a significant investment for our family. Still, returning to school has affirmed that I am exactly where I am meant to be. The years I spent raising my children were not a gap in my development. They shaped the educator I am becoming. Parenting children with disabilities taught me how deeply families need professionals who listen, advocate, and see the whole child. Returning to the workforce gave me the opportunity to transform that lived experience into a new vocation in special education. My path back to school has been unconventional, but I no longer see that as a disadvantage. At this stage of my life, I know why I am here. I hope my children see in my journey that their presence never stood in the way of my ambitions. In many ways, they gave those ambitions their purpose.

If I were asked to work with a child like Rebecca, I would begin with one assumption: communication is not the same as speech, and a disability does not make a child unknowable. My first responsibility would not be to decide what to teach. It would be to learn who that child is. I would observe closely, listen to the family, collaborate with therapists and educators, and notice the details that formal evaluations cannot always capture: what makes the child laugh, what causes frustration, what sparks engagement, and how they communicate joy, discomfort, refusal, curiosity, or connection. I would use individualized supports such as augmentative and alternative communication, visual systems, sensory supports, modeling, explicit instruction, repetition, and carefully scaffolded routines. But the foundation would always be relationship. I cannot meaningfully teach a child I have not first taken the time to understand. I know this from both sides of the special education table. As a special education support teacher and 504 coordinator in a PreK–6 Catholic school, I support students with disabilities and a wide range of academic, behavioral, communication, and regulation needs. I provide individualized intervention, implement accommodations, collaborate with families and public-school special education partners, and help students develop the skills they need to participate meaningfully in their classrooms and communities. I am pursuing my master’s degree in special education and initial teaching licensure, and I fully intend to continue serving students in special education from PreK through grade 12. I am also the mother of seven children, including children with disabilities. I understand the vulnerability of sitting at a table while professionals discuss your child in terms of data, deficits, goals, and services. I also understand the responsibility of being the educator at that table. Families need to know that the people entrusted with their children see more than a diagnosis or an evaluation report. They need to know we see the whole child. For that reason, I believe families are not simply members of an educational team; they are essential experts within it. They know the histories, patterns, fears, strengths, communication signals, and hopes that may never appear in school data. True family partnership means listening without defensiveness, communicating without unnecessary jargon, honoring family priorities, and recognizing that the strongest educational plans are built with families, not merely presented to them. That belief has also shaped my advocacy outside of school. I have provided families with free support navigating special education, understanding IEPs, researching policy, and learning their rights. I believe a family's ability to advocate effectively for their child should never depend on their income or their fluency in the language of special education systems. Pursuing graduate education while working and raising seven children requires real financial sacrifice. Tuition is another significant responsibility within an already full family budget, yet completing this degree is essential to the work I intend to do with my career. Scholarship support would reduce that burden and allow me to continue building the expertise necessary to serve students and families with both competence and compassion. Rebecca's story reminds me that the measure of successful special education is not how well a child learns to fit within a system designed without them in mind. It is whether we know that child well enough to help them communicate, participate, learn, belong, and experience joy. Rebecca deserved educators who took the time to know her. Every child does. I intend to be one of them.

Everything I do in this field begins at home. I am a mother of seven, including two children under the age of twelve with significant neurodevelopmental diagnoses—one with autism and ADHD, and one with severe ADHD. I did not choose a career supporting individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities out of abstract interest or professional curiosity. I chose it because I had to learn how to support my own children, and in doing so, I recognized the same patterns of struggle shared by families everywhere, navigating special education systems. Raising children with complex support needs quickly exposed how fragile and inconsistent those systems can be. I learned how difficult it is to secure appropriate evaluations, how easily children are misunderstood, and how often families are expected to adapt to systems rather than systems adapting to children. I saw how stigma shapes expectations, how behavior is misread as defiance, and how families are left carrying the emotional and logistical weight of advocacy without guidance or partnership. These experiences did not just inform my perspective. They reshaped my direction. My children taught me that progress is not linear and that success cannot be measured by comparison or compliance. They taught me that regulation precedes learning, that communication takes many forms, and that dignity must never be conditional. As I worked to support them, I found myself walking alongside other families facing the same barriers; families exhausted by paperwork, meetings, and the constant need to justify their children’s needs. That shared struggle became the thread that pulled me into this work. Professionally, I now work in special education support, disability advocacy, and reduced-cost tutoring for underserved students. I help families translate complex systems into clear steps, advocate for appropriate services, and ensure students are not defined by limitations imposed by inadequate structures. My work is grounded in the belief that families should not have to become experts simply to access what their children need to learn and belong. My long-term goal is to strengthen inclusive systems that support individuals with intellectual and developmental disabilities across educational settings, particularly within parochial schools. Families who choose faith-based education often do so with great financial and personal sacrifice. For families raising children with disabilities, that sacrifice should not be compounded by exclusion or reduced support. I am committed to helping build frameworks that allow schools to serve all learners well, through layered academic and social-emotional supports, staff training grounded in best practice, and collaborative partnerships with public systems. My relationship with my children is the reason I am here. It shaped my values, sharpened my resolve, and gave me clarity of purpose. I pursue this work because intellectual disability justice is lived daily in homes like mine, in classrooms, and in communities. Through my education and advocacy, I am committed to building systems that recognize individuals with intellectual disabilities not as problems to manage, but as people worthy of full support, belonging, and respect.

I want to build sustainable, inclusive student support systems within parochial school environments. Systems that ensure families are not forced to choose between faith-based education and their child’s learning needs. Too often, parochial schools are perceived as inaccessible for students with disabilities or learning differences, not because of unwillingness, but because of limited structure, training, and resources. My goal is to help build frameworks that allow these schools to serve all learners with clarity, dignity, and accountability. Families who choose parochial education often do so at great personal sacrifice. They budget carefully, work extra hours, and prioritize tuition because they believe in the values, community, and formation these schools provide. For families navigating disability, poverty, or systemic barriers, that sacrifice can be even greater. When learning needs are unmet, the cost becomes more than financial; it becomes emotional and relational. I want to help build systems where those sacrifices are honored, not compounded. What I am building is not a single program, but a model: layered academic and social-emotional supports, clear intervention pathways, staff training grounded in best practice, and collaborative partnerships with public systems where appropriate. This includes reduced-cost tutoring for underserved students, informed advocacy for families, and school-wide practices that normalize support rather than isolate it. My education equips me to move beyond goodwill into implementation—to translate intent into structures that work. This work matters not only to students but to the long-term health of parochial schools themselves. Schools that can support diverse learners are stronger, more resilient communities. They retain families, build trust, and reflect the values they profess: that every child belongs and is worthy of care. By strengthening these systems, I am helping parochial schools remain viable, responsive, and rooted in justice. Building this future also shapes my own. As a mother, educator, and advocate, my work is deeply personal. I am building a path where service and professionalism are not in conflict, where faith and evidence-based practice coexist, and where education functions as a tool for equity rather than exclusion. I am not building something abstract. I am building access, continuity, and belonging: one school, one system, and one student at a time.

Returning to school was not a single brave decision, but a series of deliberate ones made over time. As I balanced motherhood, work, and advocacy, I began to understand that remaining where I was carried its own cost, one that limited the impact I could make. As a mother of seven, I have learned that meaningful change often requires sustained effort rather than bold gestures, and that responsibility has a way of clarifying difficult choices. My work in education and disability advocacy exposed me daily to systems that were complex, fragmented, and often inaccessible to families who needed them most. I saw students struggle without appropriate support, parents overwhelmed by procedural barriers, and educators working with deep commitment but limited resources. Over time, it became clear that experience alone was no longer sufficient. If I wanted to lead responsibly and advocate effectively, I needed deeper training, stronger credentials, and a more comprehensive understanding of the systems I was trying to navigate and improve. I also became increasingly aware that my choices were shaping how my children understood challenge and growth. I wanted them to see that learning and vocation are not confined to a particular season of life, and that returning to the classroom later in life is not a setback but a strategic decision. Going back to school required me to accept being a beginner again: asking questions, revising my thinking, and embracing discomfort as part of growth. The practical realities of returning to school were significant. Time was scarce, financial pressure was real, and exhaustion was often unavoidable. There were moments when I questioned whether I could sustain the demands of graduate study while continuing to show up fully as a parent and professional. What sustained me was not certainty, but a deep sense of responsibility to do the work well, for my family and for the students and families who depend on informed, capable advocates. Like Susie Green, whose legacy this scholarship honors, I chose a path that demanded discipline and resilience rather than convenience. Returning to education was not about reinvention, but preparation. Preparation to serve with greater skill, credibility, and impact. Each course strengthens my ability to analyze systems, support students effectively, and contribute meaningfully to educational communities. Going back to school expanded both my capacity and my reach. It reinforced my belief that learning is an act of service when it is pursued with purpose and accountability. The courage to return came from understanding that I was capable of more and that doing this work well required me to keep learning, even when it was difficult. So when you ask, “Who gave you the courage to go back to school?” my answer is simple: I did.

Essay: Becoming Present The first time I truly understood what it means for a student to “experience a sense of their own presence,” it wasn’t in a classroom or a textbook. It was at my kitchen table. One of my children, overwhelmed and dysregulated, was unable to explain what they needed or why they were struggling. In that moment, my role was not to fix or correct, but to stay, to listen, and to help them reconnect with themselves. That experience mirrors the heart of special education, and it is why I am deeply passionate about becoming and continuing to grow as a special education teacher. Professor Harold Bloom’s statement that “the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence” speaks powerfully to the work of special education. To me, a student’s sense of presence means knowing that they exist as a whole person, valued, capable, and worthy, before skills, behaviors, or academic outcomes measure them. For students with disabilities, this presence is often interrupted by systems that focus on deficits, compliance, or normalization rather than understanding. My mission as a special education teacher is to restore that presence by creating environments where students feel seen, understood, and empowered to engage with learning on their own terms. My passion for special education is rooted in both lived experience and professional practice. As a mother of seven, I understand how deeply systems affect families, especially when children learn differently or require additional support. Parenting has taught me that progress is rarely linear, regulation precedes learning, and dignity must always come before compliance. These truths guide my work as a special education support teacher, advocate, and tutor serving underserved and marginalized families. I have walked alongside parents navigating complex educational systems, helped students access appropriate supports, and translated intimidating processes into actionable steps that lead to real outcomes. Guiding students toward a sense of their own presence begins with a relationship. Before academic goals can be met, students must trust that they are safe, capable, and respected. In my practice, this means slowing down, observing closely, and honoring communication in all its forms: spoken language, behavior, silence, and emotion. Presence is built when students recognize that their needs and experiences matter, even when those needs are complex or inconvenient. When a student understands that they are not a problem to be solved, but a person to be understood, learning becomes possible. Equally important is helping students develop self-awareness and self-advocacy. Many special needs students are spoken about far more often than they are spoken to. I believe it is my responsibility to shift that dynamic by providing students with language, tools, and opportunities to express what they need and how they learn best. Whether through visual supports, choice-based learning, restorative reflection, or collaborative problem-solving, my goal is to help students recognize their own agency. A student who can communicate, “This is hard for me,” or “I need help,” is a student who is present within themselves. My faith also informs my approach to special education. As a Catholic educator and catechist, I believe each student bears inherent dignity that cannot be earned or lost. This belief sustains my patience and determination, especially on difficult days. Teaching students with special needs requires flexibility, endurance, and creativity; qualities often compared to heroic figures or saints. But more than anything, it requires consistency. Showing up day after day, even when progress is slow or invisible, is how trust is built, and presence is restored. Balancing education, advocacy, volunteerism, and family life is demanding, but it is also intentional. My children watch how I choose to spend my time and energy. By integrating service and advocacy into daily life, I aim to model moral courage, responsibility, and compassion in action. I want my children to understand that justice is lived through persistence and that meaningful change often comes through small, faithful acts done consistently. If I were to tell my journey as a fairy tale, it would not be one of slaying dragons or claiming glory. Instead, it would be the story of a guide walking beside travelers who have been lost in the woods for far too long. The guide does not carry them out or choose their path; she simply holds the lantern. With patience and care, she helps each traveler notice their own footsteps again, remember their strength, and recognize that they are capable of moving forward. In the end, the greatest victory is not reaching the destination, but realizing they were never invisible along the way. I am pursuing the special education teaching profession because I believe every student deserves to experience their own presence fully and without apology. With ambition, drive, and deep respect for the students and families I serve, I am committed to building learning environments where students are not merely accommodated, but truly known. This is the work I am called to do and the work I will continue to show up for, with determination and heart.