When Professor Harold Bloom said, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her presence,” he put into words exactly why I’m called to special education. To me, teaching isn’t just about delivering content—it’s about helping each child discover that they matter. That their voice belongs in the room. That their existence, with all its challenges and beauty, is enough. For students with special needs, this truth is especially powerful. So often, they are overlooked or misunderstood. My job—my purpose—is to make sure they feel seen, heard, and celebrated. I want them to know they are not broken, but whole in ways the world doesn’t always understand yet. I didn’t plan to become a teacher. I was originally studying business administration when my life took an unexpected turn. After being diagnosed with lupus, I faced medical complications that forced me to pause school, including strokes and even temporary vision loss. The path I thought I was on disappeared—and I was left searching for meaning. I found it when I began working as a one-on-one aide for a student in a life skills classroom. What began as a job quickly became a calling. That student showed me what real strength looks like. I watched her face daily challenges with courage, determination, and grace. Helping her communicate, celebrate small wins, and navigate the world made me realize I had found something more important than any career I had imagined before. I found purpose. I found presence. Now, as I prepare to become a special education teacher, my mission is clear: to guide students in finding their own light. I want to create a classroom where differences are embraced, learning is individualized, and every child knows they belong. A space where presence isn’t something they have to earn—it’s something they already carry inside them, waiting to be seen. And beyond the classroom, I want to be a voice for my students. I want to advocate for equity and access, ensuring every child—regardless of ability—is given the opportunity to thrive. This work is not only professional. It’s personal. It’s rooted in my own journey of being underestimated, losing my way, and finding a deeper sense of purpose by helping others find theirs. Fairy Tale: The Girl Who Woke the Stars Once upon a time, in a quiet village tucked beneath a sky of sleeping stars, there lived a girl who could not sit still. Her thoughts moved like wild winds, her hands never stopped dancing. The villagers didn’t understand her, so they gave her names: Too Loud, Too Forgetful, Too Much. The girl believed them. She tried to quiet her spark, to fold herself small. She sat in the shadows and watched the stars above—dim, distant, silent. “Maybe they sleep because no one needs their light,” she whispered. One day, with a heavy heart and aching spirit, she wandered beyond the village into the Forest of Forgotten Voices. There, the trees carried stories in their bark—stories of children who had been unseen, unheard, mislabeled. Some had no words but spoke in gestures. Some didn’t learn like others, but danced or painted or built wonders with their hands. The girl listened closely. For the first time, she didn’t feel alone. These weren’t broken children—they were brilliant in ways no one had taken the time to understand. She wept, not just for them, but for the parts of herself she had buried. That night, as the wind hummed through the trees, she made a quiet promise: I will find a way to help them be seen. She returned to the village carrying a lantern made of empathy and fierce hope. She didn’t raise her voice to silence others; she used it to amplify what had gone unheard. She built a classroom at the forest’s edge—filled with picture boards, soft corners, mirrors, music, and space for every kind of learner. Children came—those who had once been shushed or forgotten—and she showed them how to turn their whispers into words, their silence into song. She helped them see themselves not as less, but as luminous. And as each child found their voice, their presence, their joy—something magical happened. One by one, the stars above began to flicker, then shine. Not because they were woken—but because someone finally looked up and saw them.

I am planning to support early childhood development by creating nurturing, inclusive, and structured learning environments that recognize the unique needs and strengths of every child. My approach centers around the belief that young children thrive when they feel seen, heard, and supported not only academically, but socially and emotionally as well. In my future classroom, I will incorporate developmentally appropriate practices, trauma-informed strategies, and differentiated instruction to support learners at all levels, particularly those with disabilities or from underserved communities. My experience working in a life skills classroom within the Reading School District opened my eyes to the deep impact educators can have on a child's sense of belonging and ability to succeed. Many of the students I supported faced challenges related to communication, behavior, and cognitive development—yet with the right tools, support, and encouragement, they made remarkable strides. I saw firsthand how early intervention, patience, and strong educator-family partnerships helped these students build confidence and independence. I also recognize that supporting early development goes beyond the classroom walls. I plan to foster strong relationships with families and community partners, using resources like Helping Harvest, local mental health organizations, and after-school programs to ensure a holistic approach to learning and care. I am passionate about family engagement because I’ve seen how much it matters—especially for children whose home lives may be unstable or under-resourced. My goal is to create a bridge between school and home, offering families strategies and tools they can use to support their child’s growth. My decision to enter this field stems not only from my professional experiences, but from personal ones as well. I was diagnosed with ADHD at a young age and spent much of my early school years feeling misunderstood and overlooked. I struggled with staying on task, processing information, and managing my emotions in a classroom setting. As I got older, I learned to make myself invisible to avoid embarrassment and anxiety. It wasn’t until I began working in education that I realized how different my experience might have been if I had a teacher who truly understood me and advocated for my needs. That realization became my motivation. I want to be the teacher who notices the quiet child in the back, the one who sees potential in every student—even when it’s not yet fully visible. I want to be the adult who creates a safe, consistent, and loving environment where all children, regardless of their background or diagnosis, can thrive. Supporting early childhood development is not just a career goal for me—it’s a personal mission rooted in empathy, resilience, and a commitment to equity.

My journey toward becoming a teacher has been anything but conventional; it emerged from an unexpected and profoundly challenging experience—being diagnosed with lupus. This chronic autoimmune disease, characterized by its unpredictable flare-ups and debilitating symptoms, forced me to reassess my life’s trajectory. Initially, I had envisioned pursuing a business degree, dreaming of a corporate career that promised stability and success. However, lupus had other plans for me, diverting my ambitions and reshaping my worldview in ways I could never have anticipated. The physical pain and emotional uncertainty that accompanied my diagnosis were daunting. On many days, the prospect of attending classes or working a traditional job felt overwhelming. Yet, in the midst of this struggle, I discovered invaluable lessons about resilience, patience, and the necessity of being heard. These lessons did not arrive in a neatly packaged form but were instead honed through countless moments of introspection and perseverance. They became the foundation for my passion for special education, a field where understanding and empathy are vital. During my recovery, I found myself grappling with an identity crisis, unsure of what my future would look like or whether I possessed the strength to return to the academic world. Rather than retreating into despair, I sought a sense of purpose that eluded me. In a moment of serendipity, I accepted a position as a one-on-one aide in a life skills classroom. This role proved transformative. Working closely with a remarkable student facing her own challenges illuminated my silent battles and offered profound insights into the nature of resilience and growth. Every small success that my student achieved became a beacon of hope, underscoring the incredible power of patience, encouragement, and tailored support. As I witnessed her progress, I painfully realized that she was, in many ways, teaching me far more than I could ever teach her. Through our shared experiences, I understood that my own struggles provided me with a unique perspective—one that allowed me to uplift students who often feel invisible or unheard in traditional educational settings. The bond we developed revealed a powerful truth: teaching extends beyond the confines of academics; it encompasses a deep commitment to believing in students, advocating for them, and helping them uncover their own strength and confidence. A pivotal moment in my journey occurred when a school principal recognized my potential and offered a simple yet profound statement: “You’re meant to be a teacher.” Those words resonated deeply within me, reigniting my confidence and inspiration. They propelled me forward in a way I hadn’t experienced in years, leading me to enroll once again in school to pursue a degree in Special Education. This affirmation of my potential transformed my journey, reinforcing my belief that I could make a meaningful impact in the lives of others. I now strive to embody that same source of encouragement for my future students. My experience with lupus has instilled in me a profound empathy and understanding for students who grapple with their own challenges, both visible and invisible. I’ve felt the frustration of being limited, the fear of not being understood, and the pivotal influence of having someone advocate for me during my darkest moments. These experiences have inevitably shaped my teaching philosophy: to meet students where they are, to celebrate every victory, no matter how small, and never to underestimate the monumental impact that believing in a child’s potential can yield. As I stand on the cusp of my teaching career, I am determined to use my story as a beacon of hope to inspire my students to persevere through their own adversities. I want them to know that their struggles do not define them; they can be transformed into their greatest source of strength. I envision cultivating an inclusive and supportive classroom atmosphere where every student feels valued, heard, and empowered to succeed. In retrospect, while lupus derailed me from my original path, it ultimately guided me toward the destiny where I was truly meant to be. Through teaching, I can transform personal challenges into meaningful connections, inspiring my students to find their voice and confidence, regardless of the obstacles that lie ahead. I am excited to embark on this journey, knowing that my experiences have uniquely equipped me to help others navigate their own paths with courage and resilience.

Working with a child who has a rare disorder, like Rebecca, requires more than merely following a teaching manual; it demands empathy, patience, creativity, and a vision that transcends diagnosis. My personal journey with lupus has deepened my understanding of what it means to navigate a world that can feel unaccommodating. This experience ignites my passion for special education and fuels my commitment to advocating for students whose voices often go unheard. If given the privilege to work with a child like Rebecca, I would prioritize building a strong relationship. Every child is unique, and it is essential to take the time to understand their individual needs, abilities, and communication styles. I would collaborate closely with families, therapists, and medical professionals to gather comprehensive insights into how the child learns best. I firmly believe in meeting students where they are and employing a variety of multi-sensory and individualized teaching methods, such as: - Visual supports like picture schedules, icons, and social stories to enhance comprehension. - Tactile and hands-on activities to engage fine motor skills and provide meaningful, sensory-rich experiences. - Assistive technology, including communication devices or apps, to empower students in expressing themselves and participating actively. - Flexible pacing and breaks to honor the child’s energy levels and avoid overwhelming them. - Celebrating small milestones and reinforcing growth through positive reinforcement, focusing on progress rather than perfection. For me, success is defined not by how quickly a student reaches a goal, but by how supported and confident they feel throughout their journey. Family plays an essential role in the education and development of a child with disabilities. They are the child’s first advocates and possess invaluable insights into their needs. Families provide understanding of what motivates their child, what triggers frustration, and what brings joy. Maintaining open and consistent communication with families enables: - Creating consistency between home and school routines. - Collaborating on goal setting to ensure educational objectives align with the family’s priorities and values. - Offering emotional support, assisting families in navigating the challenges of raising a child with unique needs. I view my role as not solely a teacher but a partner with families, working together to create the best possible learning environment for their child. My battle with lupus has underscored the importance of being heard and understood, even when struggles are invisible. This personal experience drives my advocacy for students with disabilities, especially those with rare disorders who may lack a voice. I am dedicated to ensuring that every child I work with feels seen, valued, and empowered to reach their fullest potential. Teaching is not just my profession—it’s my mission to amplify the voices of those who are too often unheard.

A few years ago, I was in a place of uncertainty. My original plan was to earn a degree in business administration, but life had other plans. I was forced to take a medical leave due to lupus—a battle that not only took a physical toll but also left me questioning my future. During recovery, I often wondered if I would ever find my way back to school or a meaningful career. In an effort to regain a sense of purpose, I applied for a position as a one-on-one aide at the Reading School District. I was assigned to work with a student in the life skills program, a young girl with unique challenges and so much untapped potential. What started as a simple job opportunity quickly became something much deeper. Every day, she taught me patience, empathy, and the importance of celebrating small victories. When she successfully completed a task independently for the first time, the pride in her eyes was unforgettable. In that moment, I realized the power of being an advocate for someone who might otherwise go unheard. While I was helping her find her voice, something unexpected happened—she was helping me find mine. The connection we built reminded me that my own journey with lupus had taught me resilience, compassion, and the importance of being seen. Just as I had struggled to feel heard and understood, I wanted to be the person who made sure students like her were never overlooked. A turning point came when a new principal took notice of my work. She looked at me and said, “You need to do more. You’re meant to be a teacher.” At first, I was skeptical. I wasn’t sure I could handle the demands of returning to school, especially with my health challenges. But her belief in me planted a seed of confidence that began to grow. For someone who had spent so long doubting herself, having another person see my potential was life-changing. It was as if she held up a mirror and showed me the person I was meant to be. Encouraged by her support, I decided to take control of my future. I researched education programs and eventually found my home at Drexel University, where I am now pursuing a degree in Special Education. This field feels like a perfect match—not just because of my experience, but because of my passion for advocating for students who need someone to believe in them, just as someone once believed in me. Financially, the journey has not been easy. My father had to restart his career after being forced into early retirement due to budget cuts, and my mother earns only slightly more than I do. Paying for school has meant taking out loans and relying on discounts for working educators. Scholarships like the B.R.I.G.H.T. Scholarship would help alleviate this burden, allowing me to fully focus on my studies and the students I am determined to serve. Looking back, that first connection with my life skills student was more than just a job assignment. It was the beginning of my calling. Through my battle with lupus, I learned what it feels like to fight to be heard. Now, I am driven to be the voice for students who face their own battles—ensuring they are seen, heard, and valued. That is the impact I want to continue making for the rest of my life.

When Professor Harold Bloom said, “The purpose of teaching is to bring the student to his or her sense of his or her presence,” he captured exactly why I am passionate about special education. This statement means that teaching is not just about delivering facts or meeting curriculum goals—it’s about helping each student recognize their unique value, abilities, and voice. For students with special needs, this journey is even more meaningful, as they often face barriers that can make them feel invisible or underestimated. As a future special education teacher, I aim to ensure that every student I work with feels seen, heard, and empowered to take pride in who they are. My path to special education was unexpected but deeply personal. After a medical leave derailed my original plan to study business administration, I began working as a one-on-one aide for a life skills student. What started as a job soon revealed itself as a calling. That student taught me more than I could have imagined—about resilience, patience, and the profound joy of small victories. Each day spent helping her navigate her world gave me a new sense of purpose. In those moments, I understood the true meaning of Professor Bloom’s words. Guiding my students to experience their presence means creating a classroom where they feel safe expressing themselves, celebrating their differences, and learning tailored to their strengths. It means being patient, observant, and intentional in recognizing and nurturing the unique gifts each student brings. I aim to build an environment where students feel capable and confident, knowing their contributions matter. Beyond the classroom, I aim to advocate for students with special needs, ensuring their voices are heard in broader educational discussions. I want to stand up for those who cannot yet advocate for themselves, working to create inclusive spaces where every student has the opportunity to succeed. This mission is not just professional—it’s personal, fueled by my experiences of being underestimated and finding my way back to a sense of purpose. The Voices Once upon a time, in a kingdom where only the loudest and strongest were heard, there lived a young woman named Yolanda. For years, she walked the Path of Business, believing that was her destiny. But one day, a shadow called Lupus crept into her life, slowing her steps and dimming her path. The battle was long and exhausting, and there were moments when Yolanda thought she might never find her way forward again. But as she rested from her fight, she stumbled upon a hidden garden. This was no ordinary garden—it was filled with soft whispers and gentle songs, barely audible amidst the noise of the kingdom. These were the Hidden Voices, children whose thoughts, dreams, and abilities were often overlooked simply because they didn’t shout the loudest. Though Yolanda was still healing, she recognized something familiar in those quiet voices. Just as her own struggle with lupus had made her feel invisible at times, these children were fighting to be seen and heard. With renewed purpose, Yolanda became the Garden Keeper, using her empathy, patience, and strength to nurture each child's unique voice. Every day, she battled the lingering shadows of lupus while tending to the garden. She taught the children how to make their voices bloom—through words, art, movement, or simple acts of courage. Slowly, the garden grew vibrant with songs and stories, each as unique as the child who sang it. One stormy day, dark clouds threatened to silence the garden forever. But Yolanda stood tall, her own battle scars giving her the strength to protect the Hidden Voices. She showed the kingdom that every voice matters, no matter how soft or different. With her guidance, the children’s whispers became a chorus of confidence, echoing through the kingdom and changing hearts. And they all lived empowered ever after.

A few years ago, I never imagined myself pursuing a career in education. My original plan was to earn a degree in business administration, but life had other ideas. Due to medical reasons, I had to take a leave of absence from school, and when I recovered, the thought of returning felt overwhelming. Unsure of my next step, I started working as a one-on-one aide for a life skills student at the Reading School District. What began as a job quickly became something much more meaningful. Working with that student reignited a sense of purpose I thought I had lost. Every day, she taught me new lessons about patience, empathy, and the importance of small victories. Through her, I discovered the profound impact educators have on students with special needs. I realized that this wasn’t just a job—it was where I was meant to be. Two years into my position, a new principal entered my life. With one look, she told me, “You need to do more.” At first, I brushed it off. But as I got to know her, she became a mentor and friend who pushed me to believe in myself. She challenged me to take control of my future, encouraging me to return to school and pursue teaching. Thanks to her support, I applied to several universities and ultimately fell in love with Drexel University. Today, I am pursuing a degree in Special Education, but my ambitions go beyond the classroom. I want to become an advocate for students who cannot speak up for themselves, ensuring they receive the resources and respect they deserve. My goal is not only to teach but also to use my voice to drive change in how students with disabilities are supported and included in our schools. However, the financial burden of higher education is a significant challenge. My family’s circumstances make it difficult to contribute to my tuition. My father was forced into early retirement due to budget cuts and had to start over in a new career. My mother earns just slightly more than I do, making it impossible for them to assist with my educational expenses. While I have taken out student loans and benefit from a teaching discount at Drexel, additional support like the From Anna & Ava Scholarship would help alleviate the financial strain and allow me to focus more on my studies and future career. This scholarship represents more than financial aid—it represents the chance to continue a journey that started with one student and grew into a lifelong mission. With your support, I will be able to complete my education and become the advocate and educator I aspire to be.