My Teaching Goal (Spoiler: It’s not Fixing!)

a set of neon shapes in a neat line on a couch cushionEarlier today, I was looking through one of the many assessment tools that are available to me, and trying to decide what’s useful, what’s not, and how it will feed into instruction. One of the warnings on this tool, and many others, is that using different materials or question phrasing invalidates the standardization process.

Except, outside of eligibility where I begrudgingly complete standardized assessments, I don’t care.

A training I recently attended said that children who can do something with family but not under a standardized test condition may have the knowledge, but should still target the skill due to the “performance problem”.

Except, to me, it’s only a “performance problem” if the student in front of me sees it as such, if they believe their difficulty accessing this knowledge is interfering with their goals and quality of life. Even then, I look at accommodations before re-teaching. Otherwise — if it is just a matter of “I can’t show my skills in these test conditions”, it’s okay. If you can name a bunch of farm animals when playing with toys or singing with mom, but not during a standardized test? That’s fine. I’m going to write that you know your (farm animals, letters, addition, etc).

Because here’s the thing — I don’t see my job as fixing children. I think my students are harmed if the primary focus of education is to bring their curve or scores closer to a normative one. It’s also simply not possible for many students, at least not without the terrible toll that comes with masking.

This doesn’t mean presuming incompetence.

This doesn’t mean babysitting.

This doesn’t mean not doing anything.

We hold high expectations and believe in the capability, value, and leadership potential in every single student that enters our classroom. We teach to those high expectations. We look for alternate ways to capture that learning.

I see my job not as fixing, but as supporting. I am here to support each student to finding and sharing their voice. I am here to support engagement through accommodations and universal design. I am here to support learning by ensuring access to the fullness of a curriculum, including real reading and writing and making sense of numbers. I am here to create a world of opportunity for every student to have the best possible life, to create, to think critically, to experiment and explore and uncover.

And students don’t have to become “normal” or “typical” to do that. In fact, our world is made richer when we see and encourage all the ways there are to create and synthesize knowledge.

So, no, I don’t care if my assessment tool is standardized or if I totally skip any and all goals around eye contact (*intense side eye* — why does that even still exist???). Because I don’t need to fix my students. They are already worthy and valuable and wonderful — just as they are

Teaching Values

As we enter a new school year, I find that it’s the perfect time to get clear on our teaching values. Teaching is inherently a political act, and I don’t mean this party versus that party. Each day we enter the classroom, we act on our values. And our values either uphold or break down systems of oppression.

There is no neutral.

To quote Elie Wiesel, “Neutrality helps the oppresser, never the victim.” Neutrality doesn’t exist. Neutrality means the current systems continue as they are. Neutrality means that the current power structures stay as they are. Neutrality means we don’t unwind all the bias that we have imbibed from our larger culture, whether intentional or not.

And so we need to get clear on who we are, what we value, and what we will implement in service of those values. We need to be clear on who we are there to serve: our students. Do we want to serve our students on autopilot? Do we want to serve them up the same systems that lead to the current outcomes, which aren’t very good for students with disabilities? Or do we want to serve them something more?

I want something more. So much more. The following five beliefs form the core of who I am as a teacher. There’s so much more that I can say. If you’re on Facebook, you’ve seen our classroom poster. I had to force myself to stop adding to it. But it all comes back to this.

Kids do well when they can. If things are not going well, then it is our job, as the adults in the room, to adapt so that things can go well. It is not the student’s job to adapt to me, to my environment, or to my needs. It is my job to adapt my teaching, to adapt my environment, to adapt my needs. It is my job to be flexible. This is why you’ll see me change the schedule, move a couch, adapt my data sheets, and a million other things throughout the year. It’s not because I love change. I hate change as much as the next person, and maybe more. But I know that it is my job to change for my students. It is my job to change so that our instructional assistants can be successful. That is the responsibility that I accepted when I entered the classroom. I take it very seriously. It also tends to be both the primary reason that my students succeed and the primary reason that outsiders dislike my room (see: “what? Why don’t they have shoes on? What is wrong with this teacher? THEY NEED TO LEARN!”, and also: my response).

Every student has value. Every single one, and that’s as they are right now. Not “when they talk” or “when they learn to read” or “when they hold a job”. They have gifts to offer right now.  I am ten thousand times over confident that the world would be worse off without the students I serve. My world would be worse off without the students I serve. I see part of my role as teaching this to my students, my families, my school community.

Everyone has something to say. All of my students have creative and funny and interesting things to say. Sometimes with words, sometimes with their bodies, sometimes through their art or curiosity. I want to amplify their voices so that everyone can hear them. I want to give them the tools they need to amplify their own voices, whether that’s access to an AAC system, increased vocabulary on that system, vocabulary instruction, or just telling people to stop and listen. Every student leaves my class knowing that their voice mattered to me.

Students have autonomy over their voices and bodies. Yes, that even means that students can tell me no. Yes, that means they can tell me to STOP and that they are MAD and even that they HATE me. A dear friend of mine has heard “we don’t say no to teachers” enough in classrooms that she has a whole blog post on how problematic it is. And it is so problematic. Our students, probably more than any other students, need to be taught that they have the right to say no. It’s abuse prevention. It’s voice amplifying. It is a fundamental human right.

Every student has the right to access rigorous curriculum. I wish that this didn’t need to be said. Yet I have spent most of the last six months defending that, yes, autistic students can learn to use core words. Yes, nonverbal students can learn to decode and comprehend what they are reading. Yes, students with language disabilities can engage in creative writing and the acts of putting written word to paper. No, a fourth grade should not be re-reading Pete the Cat as the core of their literacy work for the fifth year in a row. Whether they are served in the general education classroom, a self-contained classroom, a hospital, at home… They have the right to a robust education that teaches oral and written communication, critical thinking, problem solving, and so much more. An IEP does not mean “less”. It means more.

 

As I write on the eve of my fifteenth year serving other individuals with disabilities, this is what guides me. This is what I keep in mind when I write assistive technology evaluations, when I select IEP goals, and when I speak to parents about all the joy and beauty and honor that has come with teaching their child during the year. Because it is — it’s an honor. And one that I work hard to live up to.

 

 

Review: Hello, Universe

dark cover with a picture of a boy in pit/hole while 3 friends and a dog walk on the earth above.Genre: middle grades contemporary

Release date: March 14, 2017

Synopsis: Hello, Universe is told from the perspectives of four weens: Virgil, Chet, Kaori, and Valencia. Virgil is incredibly shy, possibly socially anxious, and lonely. Between school and home, he feels completely out of place. He’s also subject to intense bullying by Chet, which includes repeated use of the r-word. One day, Virgil goes missing. His friend Kaori (a self-proclaimed psychic) and her new client Valencia go on an adventure to find and rescue their friend.

Disabilities represented: learning disabilities, anxiety, deafness

Warning: The bullying in this book can get very emotionally intense and may be difficult to read, especially if you’ve been the recipient of bullying or feeling outcast due to your disabilities. I had to take repeated breaks during the novel.

Review: This book is an emotional roller coaster, with a lot to digest — but it’s also the kind of book that stays with you long after finishing. Kelly captures the intense feelings of what it means to be alone, of what it feels like to be bullied, of what it feels like to be perennially on the outside, looking in. But she also captures the warmth of her characters (Kaori, especially) and the hope that can come in building even one, true friendship.

One piece that Kelly captures incredibly well is the struggle of having a disability in a family and culture that pushes for “normal”. Valencia is hearing impaired, but has never been taught sign language. She is expected to read lips, which is hard enough — and even harder in a world where people do not accommodate. Little things, like facing the person you’re speaking to, can make the difference, yet so many people do not think to do them (or, worse, actively don’t care). Accommodations are important, both official ones and informal ones that we can do for each other. But it also opens up a discussion about American Sign Language — and why the dominant culture and hearing parents still see ASL as “less than”, as something to be avoided and ignored if any hearing can be captured at all. ASL is language. A valid, important, beautiful language. And more — ASL doesn’t just provide a way to communicate, but it also can be an integral part of connecting to Deaf culture. All of which raises questions about identity-first language, pride, neurodiversity and acceptance — important conversations to be having with our children.

I do recommend reading it with children or students, but I recommend doing so as a read-aloud or buddy read. There’s a lot to unpack, and I think most students would benefit from unpacking it with someone. For example, the use of the r-word in this novel should be unpacked together to discuss why that word is so offensive and painful to disabled communities (on top of the bullying way that it is used). It would also provide a great text for talking about what it means to be a friend and to welcome all into our communities, whether our classrooms or our neighborhoods. Overall, this book really captured my heart — wrung it out — and lingered with me for days… Five stars, and I understand why it won awards.

 

Review: Roll With It

bright blue cover with white text "Roll With It"; a girl in a wheelchair pops a wheelie while spinning a pie on her finger.Genre: Middle Grades Contemporary

Release date: October 1, 2019

Synopsis: Ellie is a young girl with cerebral palsy who uses a wheelchair to navigate through life. She and her mom move to her grandparents’ small town to help her grandmother care for her grandfather, who has dementia. Ellie also has to navigate new school, new town, and new friends while on the quest to bake the most perfect pie.

Disabilities represented: Ellie has cerebral palsy, and one of her friends is autistic. Her grandfather has dementia.

Warning: some bullying of Bert by classmates, but no graphic descriptions

Disclosure: I received the paperback of Roll With It as a free ARC when I attended BookCon 2019. I also received digital access to the ARC in exchange for my review, which was also shared on both NetGalley and Edelweiss.

Review:

I had a lot of conflicted feelings when reading Roll With It, which is why it’s taken me a week to post this review. I’ll start with what I love: Ellie is a whole person. It seems like something that shouldn’t need to be said, but it does. Too many books featuring characters with disabilities use those characters as props to make friends & family feel good. Ellie is not one of those characters. She is her own person. She has her own dreams and desires. She makes mistakes. She and her friends get in fights. She is a tween girl, living in a complicated situation.

On the flip side, Ellie has a lot of moments where she basically thinks or says “my disability sucks” or when she daydreams of not needing a wheelchair. Those feelings are real. I get that. I remember being a teenager who was different. I didn’t use a wheelchair, but I had my own invisible disabilities that were hard enough. I spent a lot of time trying to fit in. I know this part of the story is very, very real. But I worry that often THIS part of the story is the only part that is portrayed in our media. I worry about where that leaves kids reading about cerebral palsy, possibly for the first time, and how it can lead to pity and ableism.

However, I find that Ellie’s baking and her friendships come together with this piece of the story to balance the narrative. There is “this sucks”, but there is also “I’m Ellie, I have CP, and I am going to live my best life.” There are plenty of moments that make clear that a HUGE part of “this sucks” is other people sucking. Other people not providing accommodations. Other people making assumptions. Other people being jerks. And that’s important, because people need to know that they can do better to build a world inclusive of all. All those feelings of internal conflict, that processing — that’s the most real part of the story for me.

At times, the pieces of the story can feel disjointed, yet all of them are important. They all contribute to that feeling of fullness — to the knowledge that Ellie is… well, Ellie. She is a girl who is struggling with a grandparent who may not be safe at home. She is a girl who is struggling to find her autonomy from her mom, as many tweens and teens do. She is a girl who loves to bake. She is herself, and that’s what makes this book work for me.

One last thought — I understand that people make judgments about people with disabilities based off what they see. They shouldn’t do that. I do think that authors, in general, can do a better job of making this point without the, “But I don’t have an intellectual disability!” line. This pops up in several books about physical disabilities, and really deserves its own post. Because I worry that we accidentally dehumanize people with intellectual disabilities, that we accidentally are saying “but if I did have an intellectual disability”… The reality is that we shouldn’t speak like that or think like that about anyone. Regardless.

Overall: I would recommend for a read-aloud in an elementary school class or for adding to your school library. I think there are really powerful elements that are worth discussing, especially in the friendships that are formed (and the way classmates treat both Ellie & Bert, who is autistic).

Review: It’s My Life

side view of a young girl with dark hair and a pink baseball cap with "It's My Life" in white text on over it.Genre: young adult contemporary

Release date: January 1, 2020

Synopsis: It’s My Life follows Jenna, as she struggles with growing up, figuring out who she is, and how her disability plays into that. She navigates family, friendship, and finding her voice, both at school and as the director of her own care. The author writes that this book is primarily not about her disability, but about a girl who “believes something about herself that is not true”. However, Jenna’s negative feelings around her disability drive the bulk of the plot points and are central to the story.

Disabilities represented: cerebral palsy, depression

Disclosure: I received digital access to the ARC in exchange for my review, which was shared on Edelweiss.

Review contains spoilers.

I found It’s My Life choppy and disorganized. First person perspective can be challenging for authors. In this case Jenna’s thoughts come through as pressured, fast-paced, and highly disorganized. The plot contained significant jump points with weak transitions. I often found myself wondering, “How did we get here?” or “Would this really happen?” I mean, would someone’s uncle really randomly help them complete lal the paperwork for medical emancipation out of nowhere? The text message conversations between Jenna and her crush are especially choppy, as was the whole “cat-fishing” scheme. Jenna spends so much of the novel as her alter-ego that I honestly forgot her name several times.

I wanted to love this book. I did. I think there is a real dearth of coming of age novels for teens with disabilities. They face the same struggles as any teen, but with the added stress of a society that doesn’t often accommodate them. I think that following Jenna’s struggle for medical autonomy, the constant decision-making, the risk/benefit analysis of “is this treatment worth it? are these side effects worth it? for what purpose?” would have yielded a whole depth of emotions and plot to explore. I would have loved for that to be at the forefront. Instead, I struggled to understand whether this book was about Jenna’s understanding of her disability (which was very, very negative), about her struggle to have a “normal” life, about her depression, about her friendships… I just don’t even know.

I will say that I very much thing that Ramey wanted to portray to the world that Jenna is capable and brilliant and perfect, as she is. I do not think that Ramey herself has a negative view of cerebral palsy. She especially portrayed Jenna’s family beautifully. There’s a moment between Jenna and Jenna’s dad, towards the end of the book. Jenna asks if he ever had to grieve the diagnosis of cerebral palsy. He talks about how, from the beginning, he saw what a fighter she was and how beautiful and perfect she was, as herself, completely. It was a heart cracking moment — and an unconditional love that I wish more people had the privilege to experience.

So, no, I don’t think that Ramey is intentionally ableist. I don’t think she believes the world would be better without Jenna, or that Jenna would be better without her disability. The ableism in this novel is the subtle stuff, the “I don’t like the word disability” stuff. Late in the novel, when Jenna meets another person with a disability, the other person says she runs a club at her college for students with disabilities. The other person, though, talks about how she prefers the term “differently abled” or something (and I rolled my eyes). Similarly, of course the happy ending for this novel is that Jenna gets a baclofen pump, the baclofen pump works beautifully, and Jenna’s whole life is changed! She is less physically impacted! Hurray! (Sense the sarcasm.)

I do think this is a risk when well-meaning professionals write from the perspective of a disability. We have to really spend a lot of time analyzing what we are writing to see if we are unintentionally reflecting the ableist culture we live in, or if we are using our writing to subvert that oppression. I think that It’s My Life could have done with a lot more subversion.

Review: Red

white cover with a crayon coloring blue all over it, but the crayon is labeled as red.Genre: Picture Books

Release date: February 3, 2015

Synopsis: The blue crayon is mistakenly labeled as red, and suffers an identity crisis from trying — harder and harder — to be what he is “supposed to be”. Eventually, Red discovers the best way to be true to themselves is to let go of the rules… and be blue!

Disabilities represented: This book has been used to celebrate neurodiversity, gender non-conformity, and pride. It could be used to talk about disability and difference in other ways too, always coming back to the essential message: be you.

Review: This is a favorite in our household. My 12 year old still picks this up to read, as evidenced by our missing book jacket and torn corners. The beautiful and bold illustrations bring the “be you” message to life, as children literally see in front of them that there is no other way to be. But this story doesn’t just benefit children. It reminds all of the adults in our lives that happiness & joy come from allowing the people in our loves to just be. We don’t have to force neurotypical movements onto their bodies. We don’t have to force gender-normed clothing or activities. We don’t have to assume “can’t” and defiance and incapable.

There’s this scene where the teacher crayon tells the student crayon to draw strawberries. All of crayon’s strawberries are blue, because, he’s… blue. I think about all the times that children are asked to do something, especially our neurodiversity children. To identify a letter. To find a group of numbers. To draw a specific picture. I think about the assumptions professionals in their lives make: they can’t, they don’t know, they’re not listening, “they’re not ready”, “they need prerequisite skills”.

Or… maybe… just maybe… they’re blue.

Truly: a classic that I wish every child had in their class, school, and home libraries. Highly recommend.

Review: OCDaniel

teal book cover with crossed out numbers all over it... the title is written in a black marker font (OCDaniel) over a q-tip character with yellow hair.Genre: middle grades contemporary

Release date: April 12, 2016; this book is probably at your local library!

Synopsis: Daniel is a young teen who is struggling to find his place in the world — to find his friendships, to find his place in class and on his football team, to navigate early romance… Add to all the typical teen self-discovery, he also struggles with high levels of anxiety and needing to complete intricate routines to stave off those fears. And then Daniel meets Sara, who needs his help to solve the mystery of where her father is. Sara, who is honest about her own journey with mental illness.

Disabilities represented: primarily focused on obsessive-compulsive disorder, but also discusses depression, schizophrenia, and other mental illnesses

Note: The author has obsessive-compulsive disorder and writes about the autobiographical components of this story in his author’s note at the end of the novel. I’ve included a major spoiler at the end of this review, with a warning if you would like to avoid it.

Overall: 5/5 stars.

Review:

“Then there is only dread—the kind that sits on your back and claws at your head and doesn’t let you see happiness or hope or anything.”

I loved this book. Loved. King captures the internal feelings that come with compulsions so well that you may feel them in your own stomach. He captures the desperation, the feeling different, the confusion when they first begin. The way they cannot, cannot be ignored. He captures it all — but he does so without adding to the shame and stigma that our world so often perpetuates. If anything, over the course of the novel, he slowly peels back that shame that readers may feel as he peels it back from Daniel.

My favorite, though, is Sara… Sara lists her labels with nonchalance, as if they are just part of who she is. Sara, who talks about medication and therapy and how helpful it can be to know who you are. Sara, who shows that you can have mental illness and be brilliant and loving and brilliant. Sara, who shows that true friendship is. Sara takes the novel from a 4 star to a 5 star for me.

The one element that didn’t really hit home for me was Daniel’s short story excerpts. Periodically throughout the novel, we read Daniel’s own writing about a boy who feels alone. I understand the intention behind these pieces, but they really interrupted my reading flow. Others may find that they add to the emotional nuance.

Be sure to read the author’s note at the end. I appreciated King contrasting true OCD with the colloquial “I’m so OCD” that everyone throws around. It’s not the same.

MAJOR spoiler ahead:

One warning — Sara’s dad disappeared because he committed suicide due to depression. It is not idealized or made pretty in the way that a book like Thirteen Reasons Why does. And I don’t think the book should be avoided. I do think parents may want to use that as a conversation starter with their children. While this is especially true if you, like me, parent a child with mental illness, it is something that we can all discuss more with our children. They need to know the early signs of depression, where to go for help, and what to do if they feel like that. Teenage suicide is on the increase, at the highest number it has been in 20 years. We need to be proactive in giving our children the skills and supports that will help decrease their risk.

The right to NOT talk.

image of an iPad screen with a grid of icons for voice output. the message bar reads: "I don't want to! Grumpy"We all have times where talking is not happening. We ignore questions. We don’t answer the phone. We flat out tell others that we don’t want to talk. Some of us have times where we simply cannot talk; I’ve had many conversations with my husband via text message. At other times, we may want to talk — just not about the subject at hand. Our partner may ask if we want hamburgers or grilled cheese for dinner, but we answer with complaints about something that happened earlier during work.

Yet, this is forgotten or completely thrown out the window when it comes to the students that we serve (and children, generally, in our compliance-driven society).

We ask students what they want (often within limits). If they begin talking about something else, then we take it as proof that they weren’t listening, that they don’t understand, or that they don’t have the ability to answer. They talk about Diego, because it’s their all-time favorite, and we say they “perseverate” or “only know one word”. They don’t use their talker on demand, and it’s written off as “inappropriate” or “not being used” or “they don’t know how to do it” or “too much”.

We need to ask ourselves: what is our goal? Is our goal for students to say what we want when they want? Or is our goal for student’s to have a voice? Because a voice means they get to say what they want when they want.

A voice means being able to talk about your passions, whether they are Diego or the alphabet or worms. A voice means being able to change the topic, interrupt, or ask for something that wasn’t on the menu.

A voice also means being able to NOT talk.

It means that I don’t have to answer your questions  — not when you want me to, and maybe not at all.

It means that I can go hours without talking, or days, or whatever, because it’s my voice and I can use it when and how I want it. I can be silent, and I won’t have people then try to take my voice away.

Autonomy isn’t autonomy if it’s only allowed at the convenience of adults and professionals in students’ lives. A voice isn’t a voice unless we grant the full range of freedom — freedom to use, but freedom to not use as well.

Silence is okay.

Silence doesn’t mean “doesn’t know”.

Silence doesn’t mean “doesn’t need”.

Silence certainly doesn’t mean “take my voice from me”.

Silence is just that — silence. And everyone has the right to it.

Dear teachers, we can do better.

I have had some heart-breaking meetings and phone calls with families. They almost always involve sharing experiences that they find normal, but completely wrench me open.

Example: Families surprised by compliments and celebrations of their child.

Oh, teachers and staff members, think about what you say before you say it. Think about what message you are giving to the children you serve when criticism is followed by criticism by another criticism. Please, please, please start sharing more of the good with families. Even more important: start sharing it with your students. No one should ever be surprised that there is good news. It can be small, it can be big, it can be anything, but it’s there. Tell them about the gifts and talents you see, about their hard work, about the gains they make each week. And I promise: every single child has them. Every single one.

Example: Families surprised by staff who speak directly to their child.

When you meet a child for the first time, say hello to them. When you ask “how are you?” and “what do you like?”, say it too them. Do they use an alternative communication system? You can still speak to them. Do they not have a communication system yet? You can still speak to them. How hard is it to say, “Good morning! I hope that you had a wonderful weekend!” directly to a child? It’s not. How hard is it to say, “You seem so sad. I’m sorry you’re having a hard time” directly to a child? It’s not. Do it.

Example: Families excited by discovering that all kids participate in class photographs, graduation, school plays, field days, music concerts, or electives. 

This is their school too. Special education students are not guests. They are community members. It shouldn’t be a fight to gain access to these things. They should be so automatic that no one would ever think of it being any other way. I get that there is a spectrum of options, that least restrictive environment means a lot of things. I have a son that has advocated for himself to have more or less time in a self-contained environment over the years. But his school has always, always ensured that he was in every PTA concert, that he was in every field day, that his picture was always with his general education classmates in the yearbook, that he was seen as a member of that community. When life was hard, that sense of belonging meant everything to him (and to us). It matters. Oh, how it matters.

Folx — these things should be foundational to our practice. These shouldn’t be things that families move across districts and states to find. These aren’t things that are hard to do, but they mean everything. They mean everything to the students we teach, who deserve respect and access to a robust education. They mean everything to their families, who need to see all that is possible. And they can mean everything for us, as we see our practice, our schools, and our communities transform to become places where all children are seen, welcomed, and celebrated.

We can do better.

Behavior as a Stress Reaction

image of a child completely tucked into an orange body sock, no head or arm or leg visible.
student response to looking at their daily schedule

Summer is coming to an end, which means that all of my preschool babies are getting tired. It’s a long school year when you’re 3 or 4 years old. They are so absolutely ready to swim and splash and have their days in the sun. Add transitions and life events and medical issues, and there’s been some visible signs of stress showing up in our day-to-day routines. Work avoidance. Difficulty sharing. Words that won’t come out right. And a million other little ways that they say: “I am done. D. O. N. E. Done.”

I myself have been under a larger amount of stress than is typical this year. I’ve been sick. I’ve had surgery. I’ve had a larger caseload than typical. Graduate school. Financial stress due to those medical bills and graduate school. One child leaving elementary school, one child in her last year of middle school.

My family sees the impacts.

Conversations of more than 3-4 exchanges — not happening. It’s not just that I cannot participate, but I don’t even want to be around them. It’s too much at once. I have reverted to having the vast majority of my longer conversations with my husband via text message, even when we are in the same room. Sensory input that I could typically ignore, like someone patting their legs or singing under their breath sounds like it’s on volume 200. I’ve eaten the same food for dinner for 4-5 nights in a row. My screen time? Way up!

There’s a couple of take-aways… It would be really easy to see me walking away from a conversation or asking people to stop talking as being mean or rude. At best, someone might think I’m lacking some skill or another. Maybe they would see my screen time use and think that I’m a disengaged parent. Basically: there’s a lot of judgements that people could make, and none of them would be right.

Because — none of the above. It’s a stress response. My tank is full. My tank is over-filling. All the neurons and skills that I had for coping with life’s bumps (such as too much sensory input) in more “acceptable” ways are gone. And so I revert to this. Younger children or people under more stress may revert to other things: hitting, screaming, scratching, falling on the floor, and so on.

The other piece: this happens at home. It doesn’t happen during my school day. It doesn’t happen when I’m in a super important meeting with a parent. It happens at home. That doesn’t mean that I’m “doing it on purpose” or that I could just pull it together. And how many times have we thought or said something like that? But the space we have for coping skills is always in flux, sometimes more, sometimes less. And sometimes we choose to use up more of our skills in one place, knowing our safe place will be there for us when our tank is empty.

I get that this is easy to forget. It’s not exactly something our culture prioritizes. But doesn’t it make all the difference?

I think of a student who may disembark the bus screaming. If we focus on “quiet mouth” (ugh!), what do we miss? What if they’re simply hungry and have no way to tell us? What about the student who falls on the floor every time someone comes near them? Do we just enter their space anyways? What if their sensory system is so on fire that the possibility of any sort of imminent touch is sending signals of pain through their body? We are so much better able to support these students if we look to minimize their stressors and support their over-flowing systems.

It comes down to this — can we just remember that our kids are doing the best that they can? Because I think that would change everything else we do, from the tones that we use to the plans that we make.

My own safe space is home. I see in my family the kind of classroom that I want to have. I see in my husband the kind of teacher that I want to be.

Flexible.

Kind.

Accommodating.

And always, always recognizing that I am doing my best.

Can’t we give our kids that same benefit of the doubt?