Teaching is a career rooted in service, empathy, and the belief that every child deserves to be seen and empowered. Over the past several years, I have worked with K–12 students navigating learning differences such as dyslexia, ADHD, and autism, as well as students living with physical and neurological disabilities. My role has gone far beyond academic instruction; it has meant being a consistent, compassionate presence in their lives as they work through challenges that impact not only their education but their identity and self-worth. One of the most impactful experiences I have had was working with a sixth‑grade student who developed a functional neurological disorder. Previously she had been outgoing and full of energy. After her diagnosis she became withdrawn, anxious, and fearful. Her symptoms included seizures, temporary loss of speech, and loss of motor control—making each day unpredictable. I knew my role in our tutoring sessions had to be more than academic. Because I live with a neurological disability myself, I deeply understood the isolation and uncertainty she faced. I became not just her tutor, but a source of steady empathy, patience, and encouragement. I created a learning space where she could feel seen, safe, and supported enough to begin reclaiming her voice and confidence. Over time, our work together helped her reclaim parts of herself she thought she had lost. Through daily support, literature (including the Harry Potter series), and a trauma-informed approach to learning, she not only improved academically but began to rediscover joy and resilience. Watching her go from avoiding reading to asking her parents for trips to the bookstore reminded me that real teaching is relational. It’s about helping students believe in their own strength and capacity to grow. This philosophy of teaching extends to all of my work in special education. My goal is always to help students be more confident in the classroom and the world. For students with dyslexia, that might mean structured literacy instruction; for others, it might be flexible sensory supports or tools that honor neurodiverse ways of learning. What matters most is that each student begins to see themselves not through a lens of deficiency, but through one of recognition for all their strengths. In every setting where I serve as a volunteer, mentor, or instructor, I strive to lead with empathy and advocate for equity. I believe deeply in inclusive education and in the idea that students are more than test scores or grade levels. They are thinkers, creators, and individuals with unique needs and contributions. My hope as a teacher is that students who pass through my classroom walk away not only with stronger academic skills, but with a deeper sense of self, a voice they trust, and the confidence to face the world with courage.

One of the most powerful teaching experiences I’ve had came from working with a sixth-grade student navigating a sudden and life-altering diagnosis. She had recently developed a functional neurological disorder (FND), which presented in unpredictable and often frightening ways. Some days, she would lose control of her legs and require a wheelchair. Other times, she would experience absent seizures during our tutoring sessions or temporarily lose the ability to form or understand words, among other debilitating symptoms. These symptoms were not only physically disabling, but they deeply affected her confidence, social comfort, and sense of self. I had known this student before her condition began. I worked with her two years earlier as a language arts tutor, and I remembered her as an outgoing, funny, and light-hearted child full of energy and joy. When I began working with her again after the onset of FND, the change was heartbreaking. She was quiet and withdrawn, gripped by anxiety and unwilling to be apart from her mother. Her fear of being around other people and her lack of confidence made it difficult for her to engage with the world as she once had. My role was to support her academically as she eased back into schooling, but I quickly realized that my presence in her life needed to be about more than just reading comprehension and grammar. As someone who also lives with neurological disabilities, including chronic migraine, fibromyalgia, and dysautonomia, I recognized in her many of the fears and frustrations I had once faced myself at the onset of my condition. I understood how it feels to have your body betray you without warning and how isolating it can be when people don’t know how to help and don’t understand the fatigue and anxiety that comes with chronic illness. That shared experience allowed me to show up for her with deep empathy and patience. For one hour each day throughout the school year, I made it my goal not just to help her build her language arts skills, but to be a source of stability and kindness in a world that suddenly felt unpredictable to her. Over time, I began to notice subtle but meaningful changes. She slowly started to open up more and became less anxious when her mom left. There were setbacks from time to time, when her condition flared up—she was also dealing with her parent’s divorce at the same time, and the emotional strain would negatively affect her FND. We kept working together each day and I met her at her level, wherever she was that day in how she felt. Her reading skills improved, but what truly mattered was watching her begin to reclaim parts of herself that had been lost to fear. She started to believe in her ability to cope with her condition, to navigate challenges, and to trust that people could and would be there to support her when she needed help. I watched her grow more independent, more resilient, and more hopeful. One of the most transformative moments in our time together came when I introduced her to the Harry Potter series. She had heard of the books from her friends but had never read them or seen the movies. Intrigued, she agreed to read The Sorcerer’s Stone with me. I used the opportunity to teach her strategies for visualizing scenes, helping her build a mental “movie” as she read. She fell in love with the story, connecting with the characters and the magical world. Before long, she began eagerly looking forward to our sessions. We made our way through the first four books over the course of the year. This was a student who once avoided reading entirely. Now, she was asking her mom to take her to the bookstore so she could get the next book in the series as a reward for hard work. Her newfound passion for reading wasn’t just an academic victory, it was a sign of how far she had come emotionally. She had rediscovered joy, curiosity, and a belief in her own capabilities. The books gave her an escape and a sense of wonder, but also strength. If her favorite character and fellow Gryffindor, Hermione, could face trolls and dark wizards, maybe she could face the challenges of her own body and mind. Looking back, I believe the most significant impact I had on this child’s life wasn’t in what I taught her about reading, but in the space I held for her to feel safe and seen in the midst of overwhelming uncertainty with her physical condition and her family life. At the same time, she taught me a great deal about courage, perseverance, and the transformative power of connection. I may have been her teacher, but in many ways, the growth was mutual. This experience reaffirmed why I want to work with children. The most meaningful learning doesn’t always come from a textbook; it often comes from the relationships we build and the strengths we help children discover in themselves. Making a difference in this student’s life showed me the kind of educator and human I want to be: one who sees the whole child, meets them where they are, and stays by their side as they face challenges.

The United States is facing a growing literacy crisis with serious implications for students’ academic success and long-term opportunities. According to the 2024 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP), “Thirty-one percent of fourth-grade students performed at or above the NAEP Proficient level on the reading assessment in 2024.” This means that nearly seven in ten fourth graders are reading below the level expected for their grade, with many lacking the foundational skills needed to engage with grade-level content. The consequences of this gap are far-reaching, especially for students with learning differences who often require targeted support. To address this crisis, I would create a required K–12 course focused on differentiated literacy instruction, offering phonemic awareness and structured reading support for students reading below grade level, and advanced writing instruction for students reading at or above grade level. This class would help close literacy gaps while equipping all students with the skills to read, write, and think critically throughout their education. This class would be tailored to meet students where they are, with the goal of building strong, confident readers and writers across the learning spectrum, which would benefit them in other subjects as well. For students who struggle with reading, many of whom may have dyslexia, ADHD, or other learning differences, the early grades would focus on phonemic awareness, decoding strategies, and repeated, guided practice with engaging, accessible texts. These lessons would be multisensory, structured, and rooted in evidence-based literacy instruction that supports neurodivergent learners. By building foundational reading skills early and consistently, the class would provide students with the tools and confidence they need to access content in all subject areas. For students reading at or above grade level, the class would shift focus to writing literacy; developing the ability to communicate ideas clearly, think critically, and engage with texts through writing. These students would work on crafting arguments, analyzing texts, and articulating their thoughts with increasing sophistication depending on grade level. Writing would become a tool not just for demonstrating knowledge but for learning how to reflect, question, and engage with the world. I feel that the impact of this class could be profound. By treating literacy as a dynamic, differentiated skill set based on phonics, fluency, and comprehension, instead of whole language reading, we would support struggling readers without holding back students who are ready to move forward. It would close opportunity gaps by intervening early and often, especially for students who might otherwise fall behind, and it would elevate literacy as a lifelong skill that empowers students to participate fully in academic, civic, and creative life. Works Cited National Center for Education Statistics. NAEP Reading—US Reading Score Trends. National Assessment of Educational Progress, U.S. Department of Education, January 2025. https://www.nagb.gov/naep/reading.html.

Professor Harold Bloom once said, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence.” I believe this speaks to the heart of special education. For me, it means helping each student understand their unique strengths, trust in their abilities, and feel empowered to take ownership of their learning. Over the past three years, I’ve had the privilege of working with K–12 students with dyslexia, autism, ADHD, and other learning differences, to guide them on their journey of becoming more confident readers. My passion for literacy education for neurodivergent learners stems from my own struggles fitting in as a kid at school, as someone whose brain also works a little differently than much of the population. Today, I love being able to guide these students from a place of compassion and understanding, helping them discover that their ways of thinking, learning, and engaging are not only valid but valuable. A sense of presence involves more than participation. It means that a student is fully engaged, self-aware, and confident that their thoughts and experiences belong in the classroom. As a teacher, my mission is to create an environment where this kind of presence can grow. With students who have dyslexia, for example, I focus on structured literacy strategies that emphasize phonemic awareness, while also offering creative ways to access and respond to texts. For students with autism and/or ADHD, I provide routines that support executive functioning along with flexible options that allow for sensory and expressive needs. My goal is to help each student find the tools and approaches that work for them to help them read and guide them with daily practice, so they build independence. When students begin to articulate how they learn best, they are claiming their own presence and have more confidence and self-awareness when they return to their integrated classrooms. Much of my passion for this work comes from seeing students grow into that space. They are no longer defined by what they cannot do. They begin to see their voice, perspective, and process as valuable. Teaching in special education allows me to support that growth every day. It’s not just about instruction, but helping students recognize that they are capable, creative, and worthy of being seen and heard. That is why I am committed to this profession, and why I have chosen to continue my education in literacy studies through my master’s degree program at Indiana University. My goal is to help more students gain confidence as readers and discover the learning strategies that work best for them.