My passion for becoming a teacher for students with special needs is rooted deeply in my own lived experience. As someone diagnosed with both dyscalculia and autism, I know what it feels like to be a student who struggles—not because of a lack of effort, but because the way I learn doesn’t always match the way things are taught. I have sat in classrooms where I felt invisible, overlooked, or simply “not enough.” But I’ve also experienced the power of being truly seen and supported by a teacher who believed in me. That experience changed everything for me. And now, I want to become that kind of teacher for someone else. I believe that teaching is not just about transferring knowledge—it’s about transformation. It’s about helping students understand who they are, how they learn, and what they are capable of becoming. For students with special needs, this is especially important. So many of them have been defined by what they can’t do, and they struggle to see their strengths and their potential. As a special education teacher, I want to help my students shift that narrative. I want to help them find their voice, their confidence, and their sense of identity. That’s why I’m passionate about this profession. It isn’t just a career goal—it’s a calling. This passion connects directly to the quote by Professor Harold Bloom: "I have learned that the purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her own presence." This quote holds deep meaning, especially in the context of special education. To me, Bloom is saying that the true goal of teaching is to awaken a student’s awareness of who they are—not just academically but emotionally, intellectually, and even spiritually. It’s about helping students become present in their own lives and take ownership of their identity, their thoughts, their voice, and their journey. It’s more than getting a correct answer—it’s about cultivating self-awareness, agency, and belief in one’s own value. Students with special needs often live in a world that tries to define them by limitations. Whether they face learning disabilities, developmental delays, or emotional challenges, many of them are constantly reminded of how they fall short of traditional expectations. That can lead to withdrawal, silence, and a lack of self-confidence. They may become disconnected from their own presence, hiding parts of themselves in order to fit in or avoid failure. That’s where a special education teacher has the power to make a life-changing difference. As a future special education teacher, my mission is to guide my students toward a full sense of their own presence by doing three key things: seeing them, equipping them, and empowering them. First, I will see them. Truly see them—not just as a diagnosis, an IEP, or a set of goals, but as whole people. I know how powerful it is when a teacher takes the time to notice your effort, your unique way of thinking, and your potential. I want to be that teacher who celebrates even the smallest victories, who listens to what’s not being said, and who reminds each student that they matter. By creating a safe and welcoming classroom environment, I hope to affirm their worth and invite them to show up fully as themselves. Second, I will equip them. Every student deserves the tools and support they need to learn. That might mean using visuals and hands-on materials, offering alternative assessments, or allowing more time to complete tasks. But equipping students goes beyond academics. I want to teach them how to advocate for themselves, how to express their needs, and how to recognize their own progress. I’ll work closely with families and support staff to make sure that each student has a plan tailored to their strengths and challenges. I will help them see that learning isn’t about keeping up—it’s about growing at their own pace. Third, I will empower them. I want my students to leave my classroom not only knowing more but knowing themselves more. I want them to know what they’re capable of, what they care about, and what they can contribute to the world. I will provide opportunities for them to lead, to collaborate, to reflect, and to create. Whether it’s through storytelling, projects, or moments of one-on-one connection, I will continually point them back to their own value. When a student begins to believe, “I have something important to say,” or “I can do something meaningful,” they begin to experience what Bloom describes as their own presence. This mission is personal for me because I’ve lived it. I’ve had to fight through self-doubt, comparison, and anxiety. I’ve had to learn how to advocate for myself, how to ask for help, and how to embrace the way my brain works. I know the loneliness that comes with feeling “different,” but I also know the joy that comes when someone believes in you and helps you believe in yourself. That joy is what I want to offer my students. I also believe that being a special education teacher means being a lifelong learner. Every student will teach me something new. I plan to keep growing in my understanding of trauma-informed practices, inclusive classroom strategies, and how to collaborate with families and specialists. I’m committed to staying curious, compassionate, and humble because I know that the work of guiding students to their own presence isn’t a checklist; it’s a journey we take together. In the end, my goal is simple but powerful: I want my students to walk into my classroom and feel like they belong. I want them to see themselves not through the lens of what’s “wrong” but through the truth of what’s strong, beautiful, and full of potential in them. I want them to leave each day with their heads held high, knowing that their challenges do not define them but by how they face them. That, to me, is what it means to guide students to a sense of their own presence. And that is why I am becoming a special education teacher.

I want to be a teacher because I know how it feels to sit in a classroom and try your hardest but still come up short. I’ve been the student who stared at a math problem for hours and still couldn’t find the answer. I’ve been the one who was too nervous to raise my hand, not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t want to feel embarrassed for not understanding something the way others seemed to. For a long time, I wondered if something was wrong with me. It felt like I was doing everything right, paying attention, studying, trying...and still falling behind. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with dyscalculia and autism that things finally started to make sense. I learned that my brain just processes things differently, especially when it comes to numbers, time, and spatial reasoning. I also began understanding why social situations and sensory overload could be so draining. Getting that diagnosis didn’t make my struggles go away overnight, but it helped me understand them and, most importantly, it helped me understand myself. Being part of a Special Education program made a huge difference in my life. For the first time, I had teachers who truly saw me. They didn’t treat me like I was broken or less capable. Instead, they helped me figure out how to work with my learning style. I was given tools like visual supports, extra time, and step-by-step instructions that made learning possible again. But more than that, I was given encouragement. I was told that I could do it and that I wasn’t alone. That experience has stuck with me, and it’s exactly why I want to become a high school history teacher. I want to be that person for someone else. I want to create a classroom where students with learning disabilities feel safe, supported, and valued. I want them to know that struggling doesn’t mean failing and that their worth isn’t measured by a test score or how fast they finish an assignment. I want them to see that there is power in persistence and beauty in difference. History has always fascinated me, not just because of the dates and events, but because it is full of stories about people overcoming impossible odds, rising up during hard times, and shaping the future in spite of everything working against them. I think students with learning disabilities are a lot like that. Their stories are full of resilience and quiet strength. I want to help them see that in themselves. I know that being a teacher won’t always be easy, but I also know it will be worth it. My own experiences with dyscalculia and autism have given me empathy, patience, and a deep desire to make school a better place for students who feel overlooked or misunderstood. If I can help even one student feel seen, believed in, and proud of who they are, then I’ll know I’ve done something that matters. That’s why I want to teach.

For a long time, school felt like a constant uphill battle. I tried hard—really hard—but things that seemed easy for other students just didn’t click for me. Math, especially, made me feel lost. I would spend hours on a single homework assignment, only to still get the answers wrong. I knew I wasn’t lazy or unwilling to try—I just didn’t understand why my brain couldn’t do what others could. It was frustrating, discouraging, and, honestly, a little isolating. Everything started to shift when I was diagnosed with dyscalculia, a learning disability that affects how I understand numbers. Finally, I had a name for what I’d been struggling with for years. Not long after, I was also diagnosed with autism, which helped explain the difficulties I had with social situations, organization, and sensory overload. Getting those diagnoses didn’t magically fix everything, but it was the first time I felt truly seen—and it changed how I saw myself. Through my school’s Special Education program, I was introduced to teachers who didn’t just support me—they believed in me. They didn’t treat me like I was broken or behind. They taught me how to break down assignments into smaller steps, use visuals to stay organized and build confidence in my strengths. For the first time, I felt like I belonged in the classroom. I could learn—I just needed the right tools and time. That support didn’t just help me get through school. It inspired me to think about who I want to be for someone else. I want to become a high school history teacher—the kind of teacher who understands what it’s like to struggle but also knows how to help students rise above it. I want to create a classroom where all students, especially those with learning differences, feel safe, supported, and capable. History is about stories—about real people navigating challenges—and I think it’s a powerful subject for helping students find meaning and purpose. My challenges have taught me a lot about who I am. I’ve learned how to persevere when things are hard, how to problem-solve creatively, and how to advocate for myself. I’ve also found leadership in unexpected places. I helped lead our Speech and Debate team as Vice President, founded my school’s French Club, and organized community service projects, from starting a food bank to helping restore salmon habitats. None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t learned how to work through difficulty and keep going when things got tough. College, for me, isn’t just about getting a degree. It’s about preparing for a future where I can give back. I want to be the kind of teacher who notices the quiet kid who’s struggling, who offers extra help without making them feel ashamed, and who celebrates growth, not just grades. I know what it feels like to be underestimated, and I want to ensure my students know they are more than their report cards or test scores. The Special Education program didn’t just help me survive high school; it gave me the tools and encouragement to dream bigger. It showed me that my struggles do not define me and how I can move forward with them. And now, I want to help others do the same. My journey hasn’t been easy, but I’m proud of it. Every challenge I’ve faced has shaped me into someone who wants to serve, who wants to make a difference, and who believes that everyone deserves a chance to succeed. I’m excited for what comes next—and even more excited to one day stand in front of a classroom and help students believe in themselves the way my teachers helped me believe in me.