A Class on Emotional Intelligence and Life Skills If I could create a class that every student, from kindergarten through twelfth grade, had to take, it would be a course on Emotional Intelligence and Life Skills. I believe schools do a great job of teaching math, science, history, and reading, but there is something missing: how to understand ourselves, how to connect with others, and how to handle the ups and downs of life. These are lessons every single person needs, no matter where life takes them. When kids are little, the class would start with something simple: helping them recognize and name their feelings. Too often, children are told to “stop crying” or to “calm down” without anyone teaching them what those feelings mean or how to handle them. Imagine instead if kids were told: “It’s okay to feel sad, let’s talk about why you feel this way.” In the classroom, they could role-play, share stories, or use art to express what they’re feeling. Learning to say, “I feel angry because…” or “I feel proud because…” might seem small, but it would give them a voice and help them see that emotions are normal, not something to hide. By middle school, this course would become even more important. Those years can be tough—friendship drama, peer pressure, self-doubt—it all hits at once. This class would be a safe space where students could be real about what they’re going through. They could learn how to handle disagreements without hurting each other, how to calm themselves when they feel overwhelmed, and how to work with others even when personalities clash. Simple tools like mindfulness, journaling, or team projects could help them realize that they’re not alone in what they feel, and that they can get through challenges without shutting down or lashing out. In high school, the class would focus on preparing students for real life. They would talk about things like how to set goals, how to manage time, how to handle money responsibly, and how to take care of their mental health. They would also learn about relationships—what healthy communication looks like, how to set boundaries, and how to respect themselves and others. With so much of our lives online, digital responsibility would also be key: learning that what you post can follow you, and how to balance screen time with real-world connections. I think the impact of a class like this would be incredible. Students would walk into the world with more than just academic knowledge—they’d have a sense of who they are and how to care for themselves and others. They’d be less likely to fall into harmful patterns when life gets hard, because they would already have strategies to lean on. Schools would probably feel calmer too, with fewer conflicts and more understanding among classmates. And years later, when those kids grow up, they’d carry those lessons with them into their jobs, their families, and their communities. This kind of class would remind students that being smart is not just about grades or test scores—it’s also about being kind, resilient, and aware. At the end of the day, those are the skills that make a person not just successful, but whole.

Why I’m Passionate About Special Education I believe that the true purpose of teaching is to help students discover their own presence—the awareness that they matter, that their voice counts, and that they are capable of growth and success. For me, this idea is especially meaningful in the field of special education. Too often, children with special needs are told what they cannot do. They are measured against standards that don’t account for their unique ways of learning and growing. I want to be the kind of teacher who changes that narrative, who helps each student realize their strengths, and who gives them the tools to step into their own sense of confidence and self-worth. My passion for special education is rooted in a deep respect for resilience. Every child with special needs has had to adapt in some way—whether through communication challenges, academic struggles, or social obstacles. These challenges often lead to frustration, self-doubt, and the feeling that they are somehow “less than” their peers. But I see those challenges differently: not as limitations, but as opportunities for creativity, for patience, and for new ways of learning. My role as a teacher is to shine a light on those opportunities, to help my students uncover the skills and strengths that are already inside them. Guiding students toward a sense of their own presence means building a classroom environment where they feel safe, respected, and capable of success. This begins with trust. When a student knows that I see them, that I believe in them, and that I will not give up on them, they are more willing to take risks and try again after setbacks. Learning doesn’t always happen in a straight line; sometimes progress is slow, sometimes it’s uneven. But every step forward matters, and I want my students to feel proud of those steps—no matter how small they may seem. My mission as a teacher is not just to focus on academics but to nurture the whole child. Yes, I want my students to master skills and make academic gains. But I also want them to walk away from my classroom with a stronger sense of who they are and what they can do. That means celebrating their strengths, encouraging their independence, and reminding them that mistakes are not failures—they are part of the learning process. I want my students to learn how to advocate for themselves, to express their needs, and to see themselves as capable members of any community. This work requires patience, empathy, and flexibility. I know that not every lesson will work the same way for every student. Some will need more time; others will need a different approach. My responsibility is to meet them where they are and to adapt so that learning feels achievable and meaningful. I see this not as a burden, but as an opportunity to grow alongside my students. Their challenges will push me to think more creatively and to become a better teacher. What excites me most about special education is the impact that even small moments can have. When a child who once avoided reading aloud raises their hand to try, when a student who often gives up after mistakes chooses to try again, when a quiet student finds the courage to share an idea—those are victories. They may not always be measured on a test, but they are life-changing. Those are the moments when students begin to recognize their own presence, to feel their own worth, and to believe that they belong. I also recognize that I cannot do this work alone. Families, support staff, and specialists all play important roles in a child’s development. Part of my mission will be to build strong partnerships, to communicate with families with empathy and honesty, and to advocate for my students’ needs both inside and outside the classroom. I see collaboration as a vital part of teaching—because when we all work together, students feel supported in every area of their lives. A Fairy Tale of Light Once upon a time, there was a teacher who carried a lantern that never went out. One day, she came to a village where children held jars that looked empty. Some jars were cracked, others covered in dust, and many children believed their jars were worthless. They walked with their heads down, convinced they had no light to share. The teacher did not give them her lantern, because she knew the light they needed was not hers to give. Instead, she knelt beside each child and listened to their stories. She showed them how to look inside their jars more closely. At first, they saw only shadows. But when they dared to look again, they noticed tiny sparks—so faint they almost missed them. The teacher taught them how to nurture those sparks. With patience, she encouraged them to shield their jars from the wind of self-doubt. With gentle words, she reminded them that even a small spark has the power to grow. Some jars lit up quickly, bursting into bright flames. Others glowed more slowly, flickering on and off. But the teacher never lost faith. She stayed beside them, offering steady support as each child learned to tend to their own flame. Over time, the village changed. Where once there had been dimness, there was now a soft, steady glow. Each child’s light was unique—some burned bright and bold, others shone quietly but powerfully. Together, the village sparkled with a beauty it had never known. The teacher looked around and smiled, knowing the truth: it was never her lantern that lit the village. It was the light that had always been inside the children, waiting to be seen. Closing Thoughts This is how I see my role as a special education teacher. I am not there to hand my students success or to define their worth. I am there to help them uncover what is already inside of them, to remind them of their strengths, and to support them in becoming confident, capable individuals. My passion comes from believing that every child, no matter their challenges, deserves to feel their presence in the world and to know that they matter. Teaching in special education is not just a career to me—it is a calling. It is a chance to walk alongside students as they discover their voices, their abilities, and their place in the world. And if I can help even one student light their own jar and see their own presence, then I will know I’ve done what I was meant to do.