Why We Quit ABA, Pt. 1

I’ve mulled over writing this post for a while. There are so many voices out there who have better spoken about the challenges of ABA therapy. The voices that should be the loudest are #actuallyautistic individuals who have lived through ABA therapy and are begging us to listen.

They aren’t being heard enough. So I write, in hopes of bolstering and supporting their words. I write at the unique position of being a professional who has been pressured to pursue my BCBA, and as a mom to a child who has been pressured to enroll her in ABA.

(And go read from this list. Seriously. So much important stuff.)

I’ll start with my daughter’s story. She has unfortunately experienced ABA therapy twice in her life, and it is a deep regret. They are my mistakes, ones I own and can never fully make up for, though I try. Her first experience was in a private school placement. We had found out that she had not been safe in school. We advocated fiercely for a transfer within the public school system, but were rapidly running out of time and options. We chose the private school that, at the time, was least committed to doing things the “ABA way” with her. Or so it seemed. We ended up fighting to bring her back to public school. (Happy ending, at least: she is now with a teacher that is about as far from ABA as you can get… and having the best education she’s ever received.)

Her second experience was when she was 12 — and in pain. She was in so much pain and expressed her distress through her actions. I am not going to get into all of that, because it’s her story to tell. My story is about how we went to multiple doctors at multiple places. The recommendation, again and again, was ABA. I knew in my heart that ABA was not right for us. We had lived this before. We saw that it was not a match. We knew knew ABA would not solve this problem. I knew that she was in pain and that we needed to find the answer. After over a year of searching, it felt like doctors would not even look until we enrolled her in ABA therapy. We reluctantly enrolled her after asking for numerous recommendations for an agency that would focus on her communication device, participating in her daily life routines, and respond to our boundaries and feedback. We honestly hoped that we were going to get one of those places that doesn’t really do ABA but bills as ABA**. Except we didn’t. (Another happy ending: we found an amazing medical team, got appropriate treatment, and know they will always listen to her pain.)

We lasted not even 2 months before quitting.

We rarely saw the BCBA. When you go to therapy for anxiety, you see the licensed counselor. They provide direct services. When you’re in a special education classroom, the special education teacher is in that room supervising every single day. They know your child. But within ABA, the person that designs the instruction, makes the rules, determines what and how to teach? They may see your child less than 5% of their service hours. When she received in-home therapy, the BCBA met her one time. Once! In six weeks! That is a travesty and it happens way more frequently than most agencies are willing to admit. Instead, the person serving her may have little to no experience in education, psychology, learning, disability studies, or anything related. They may receive minimal training and support. And yet, here they are, getting all the funding and all the attention.

ABA is built on the prerequisite model. ABA therapy is built around breaking big tasks into smaller pieces. This alone would not be problematic. Breaking things down can be helpful. The problem lies in what we break down, how we teach it, and how we move on from it. For too many of the children in my life, “how we move on” has meant never. Arbitrary and meaningless “mastery criterion” kept my daughter listed as a “pre-learner”. The insistence on keeping a list of words that can be performed on command for 80% of opportunities across 3 people and 3 settings prevents students with apraxia, anxiety, or just a desire for communicative autonomy from having their voices heard. The inability to break down some concepts into easily measured discrete pieces prevents some children from ever accessing them (e.g., non-speaking students and true literacy instruction). ABA therapy was unwilling to address any of the goals that we had for our daughter, because they felt they had too many prerequisites to teach first. Prerequisites that we told them she already had. Prerequisites that were sometimes completely disconnected.

New ABA is old ABA. Knowing what we know, we set a lot of rules around in-home ABA therapy and supervised every session. We emphasized in every phone call that our focus as on meaningul activities connected to every day life and expanding my daughter’s use of her talker through modeling. The moment I broke was when I sat and watched an ABA therapist say to my daughter, “Hi Jane, what’s your name?” and then prompt her to say “Jane” on her talker. She had literally just said her name. They proceeded to repeat this several times in a row. I interrupted it before it could go on any longer. This moment just epitomizes everything for me. It showcases exactly what the therapists, BCBA, and system think of my daughter. To say her name to her face and then ask her what her name is… To ask that question in repetition… I offered advice, such as talking to my daughter about why being able to answer her name is important, talking to her about practicing & role play, and so on… Rather than take any of that advice, they just stopped working on anything with her device (see below, re: ABA is the only way.)

ABA still wants to control what my daughter loves. The moment that my husband broke was when they asked us if we could take my daughter’s iPad and iPod away for a hour before they came, so that these tools would be more powerful for them. We refused. They pushed. We refused. For starters, no, I am not going to take things my daughter loves away from her so that you can use them to manipulate her. Second, my daughter has physical disabilities in addition to being autistic. Taking away her iPad and iPod mean taking away her leisure activities, ones that she adores partially because it’s one of the few things she can do all by herslef. Finally, if we have to remove everything a kid loves in order to get them to love us, what does it say about us? What does it say about our actions? And what kind of professional are we if we ignore this information? Her current team certainly doesn’t. She listens to music all day, with her only restraint being volume and school-friendly lyrics — and still does all of her work.

The ABA way is “the only way”. Trying to get any BCBA or ABA therapist in this child’s life to ever listen to us about AAC, vision, or motor needs has been nearly impossible. Bringing in other professionals has rarely made a difference. We’ve met ONE BCBA who truly works as part of a team. Why is this so hard for them? How has ABA taken control over every other field, from feeding to speech to anxiety to riding a bicycle? At the time, I had over a decade of experience in supporting children like my daughter. I had all the experience of being her mom and knowing her deeply that they did not have. Yet I never felt so belittled and unimportant as when they pressed the need for “parent training” — while never actually defining what this meant.

They are always there. This was my husband’s ultimate complaint. When was my daughter supposed to be able to have a life? We asked for 2-3 days of 2 hours, at most. They wanted to provide over 20 hours. They wanted her to be pulled from school to provide that 20 hours. They wanted to somehow go to her school and do more hours there, interrupting her education. They always seem to want more. Their answer to “this is not working” re: a plan or strategy — let’s do it MORE. My daughter was a 12 year old girl. She deserved more in her life than ABA therapy. She deserved swimming in the pool and chilling in her room watching YouTube and spending time with her family. She deserved a summer.

Work as an act of love, or work as an act of work. We never really connected to our ABA therapists. I know that some families really connect to the people in their home, but ours always felt like they were coming to work. I can’t understand it. I go to school every day as a teacher with fire and passion in my heart for the little ones I serve. I delight in them. I adore all their habits and quirks and big personalities. I am the first one to celebrate every success, your child’s biggest non-family cheerleader. Maybe that’s unfair, but if you’re spending 20+ hours with my daughter — it needs to be more than work.

Turnover, cancellations, and the like. Turnover in the field is high. We stayed with in home ABA therapy for six weeks. We had 2 therapists and 2 BCBAs in that time period. We were in private school for 2 years. We had 5 BCBAs, a huge chunk of time with no BCBA, and who knows how many number of instructional assistants… And cancellations by therapists for in-home therapy were high.

And they still didn’t help with “behavior”. After all of that, they didn’t even do what they came for. Her private school didn’t help problem solve her distress behaviors. They didn’t disappear until she was back in public school. Her in-home therapy team was worthless at helping to collect data to analyze for patterns in what could be triggering the distress, the data that would have helped us advocate for her with her medical team. They took frequency. They wrote down what happened directly before or after. But that’s not enough. We needed to look at sleep, eating / what she ate, weather, seizure activity, symptoms, and missing supports. We needed to model pain-related vocabulary, protesting, and complaining. 7 BCBAs in her life and not a single one did these things. Not a single one.

It would be easier not to write about this, if only over the shame I feel when I think of those choices. But it needs to be shared. I’ve been stuck in a system that feels as if there is nowhere to turn. My daughter and I have both yelled and screamed and begged to be heard, while being completely shut down. We have been bullied. (Teachers, please don’t do this to your families. Respect the decisions they make for their child’s life outside of school.) If we were able to do it again, we would home school. We would travel as far as needed to find the doctor that listens. But not everyone has that luxury. A single parent working multiple jobs doesn’t. A parent without health insurance doesn’t.

That’s why we have to continue to share. The current system has to change. The way that insurance and professionals gatekeep and dictate what is right for their clients, instead of their clients deciding what is right? That has to change. There are pitiful supports for both disabled individuals and their families, across the board. There are few doctors who listen, few school systems that include, and way too few funding for communication systems, adaptive equipment, retrofitting spaces for physical or sensory needs, personal care attendants, classroom staff supports, and so on… There is so much support and money for ABA therapy, while everything else is left behind.

This won’t change just by switching to “nice ABA”. It is only going to change when we overthrow the ableist foundation on which it’s all built — that people become more worthy as they become less visibly disabled.

People are worthy of the supports they choose now. People are worthy of accessible communities now. People are worthy of quality & affordable healthcare now. People are worthy of being seen — not just as people to support, but as people with thoughts, feelings, talents, and skills that are important to and for the world. Now. My daughter deserves real therapy when she needs it, real education always, and real support from people who love and appreciate her. Now.

And that is why we quit ABA. Forever.

Part 2 documenting my own story will be posted later this week. I’ll also share what we do at home instead. What I write about every day is what I do at school instead 🙂

** I know realize the problems inherent to people practicing something not ABA but billing as ABA. While it’s great that a child can access supports that are helping them, it makes it more difficult for others to differentiate between harmful and not harmful. The non-ABA lends credence to the ABA, as people hope that they can enroll and get basically a play therapist (as we did). It also makes it more difficult to advocate for insurance and other support networks to better fund non-ABA supports.

How We Do It: Visual Schedules

yellow clipboard with velcro picture symbols showing a student's day (circle time, art, tech, eat)

I tend to write about the philosophy behind my teaching and the culture more than the practical. This is because nothing else matters until our classroom cultures shift. Visual schedules are a fantastic example of what I mean.

There are plenty of people who use visual schedules as a compliance system. This is on your schedule. You must do this. Or they use visual schedules because someone once said they should, but they sort of just sit around and have little meaning for the students using them. If that’s how they are being used, then it’s not a student accommodation. It’s a teacher tool.

We use visual schedules to increase predictability, visual supports for conversation about our day, and to assist students to know where they are going and when they are going there. They are a support system. I understand this deeply because I need a schedule.

How do we do this?

yellow folder on top of a yellow clipboard

We design the schedule to be easily accessed.

I often see schedules on walls. I’ve made this mistake in the past. But it’s not very useful on a wall if you’re in the cafeteria, on the playground, or even on the other side of the room. Asking a student to leave a preferred activity to go across the room to check their schedule to come back across the room seems like a lot of response effort for a time that may already be challenging. Transitioning, shifting attention, and now moving too? We keep our schedules on our clipboards. The front has a folder for data, notes, or individual student items. The back is the schedule. We also bring the schedule to our students. Older students could carry their schedules with them by placing them in their binders or backpacks.

We design the schedule for understanding.

We currently use primarily picture symbols, but not only picture symbols. We have used songs, objects, photographs, and written text, all dependent on the child’s needs. We’ve also mixed them all up — maybe a student uses a picture schedule for all of their work activities, but uses a spoon to transition to meal time. We currently don’t use times on our schedule as we are in preschool but I’ve used them with older students. It’s not about the tool. It’s about matching the tool to the student needs. Ask your students: will this lead to more or less understanding? More or less frustration? If they cannot tell you with speech, watch their nonverbal language. We always want to decrease frustration.

We use visual systems to support their use for transitions.

image of a filing cabinet with an "art" picture attached to the side, with 8 velcro dots below

One thing that has invariably helps my students when learning routines and schedules is to have a match in another location. They don’t just have a random picture of a table that means “work time”. There is a matching picture on the actual work time table as well. If we’re using a space that serves multiple purposes, that picture is attached by velcro. I don’t like spaces to have multiple visible pictures showing; it gets confusing. We know what the schedule says because we can read text. If our students are not yet able to read, how do we make sure they understand? This matching system helps so much.

We refer to the schedule throughout the day.

The schedule is not just a decoration or a transition cue. It’s something we talk about throughout the day. We talk about changes to the schedule in our morning meetings. When students go to their backpacks during the day, we show them their schedule to help them know when we go home. If a student asks for a snack or iPad or some other item that we cannot access right now, we use the schedule to tell them when they can have it.

We don’t care about compliance.

Repeat after me: the schedule is not about compliance. It is about understanding. Not compliance. Not compliance. It has to be said so many times. One of our assistants is brilliant at being about cooperation instead of compliance, especially with schedules. When a student puts a picture schedule piece in the wrong place or on the floor, she says, “That’s one place you could try. But let me show you where I would put it.” If a student just won’t take their picture symbol to transition, then we say, “Oh I’d love to help you. Let me show you where we are going.” If a student needs to finish their current activity, because they’re mid-alphabet, we let them finish their current activity. If a student runs across the room to the next activity, ignoring their schedule, that’s fine. If they are already sitting and waiting at the table, that’s fine too. Because it’s not about “checking the schedule”. It’s about feeling safe, knowing what’s happening in your day, and having a way to help you get from place to place. That’s why we use them. That’s why we adapt them. That’s why they work.

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.

 

 

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.

We don’t need to get physical.

white background with black text reading "no means no"... the o is a red "not" sign.
Bear with me, because what I am about to say cause you to feel defensive or want to click away. Please keep reading.

We overuse physical prompts and support in special education, and we are setting up our students to be hurt in their lives.

Whatttttt? Hurt?

Yes. Hurt.

One in three children who receive special education services are victims of neglect, physical abuse, or sexual abuse — compared to one in 10 non-disabled peers. They are 3.44 times more likely to be the victim of abuse compared to children without disabilities (Sullivan & Knutson, 2000). 3.44 times! And it is likely that these are underestimates, as children with disabilities may have difficulty reporting (or having their reports believed).

How does physical prompting play into this?

We are teaching our students that it is okay for someone to manipulate their body. We often teach something even more significant — that they cannot say no. When they fall on the floor and we force them up, we are teaching them that they cannot say no. When we force their hands under the running water in the sink, we are teaching them that they cannot say no. When they say “cookie” but we make them say “eat”, we are teaching them that they cannot say no and that their voice doesn’t matter.

I know it’s not the intention. But it is the impact.

I get it. I’ve made this mistake in the past. I’ve had moments that make me cringe as I’ve grown and matured in my understanding of teaching and supporting the kids I so adore. We think that we’re helping. We’re taught this in graduate school. We’re taught this by our children’s therapists. We didn’t know.

Now we do — and now we can do better.

It is possible, I promise. I teach ten preschoolers with disabilities every day with minimal physical prompting. I parent two children with disabilities every day with minimal physical prompting. It’s a journey, but it’s a journey that is absolutely worth it as you teach some of the most important life lessons: autonomy and consent.

How do we start?

Start by noticing. Notice the little ways that you use touch throughout the day. Notice when your child or student might be pulling away. Notice when you accidentally speak over instead of working with. It’s not about shame. It’s about mindfulness. It’s about noticing the ways that we, too, have been indoctrinated by a culture that expects compliance from children (and especially from children with disabilities). Notice when your hands begin to move before your brain even notices.

And then start to do things differently. Below are some steps to moving away from physical prompts and towards a different way of interacting. Your children and students will appreciate the respect for their individuality. They will thrive on having their voice heard and recognized. And you will uncover so much more learning, so much more personality, so much more of THEM when you take the chance to step back. I think you’ll like the change.

Ask yourself: what is this child communicating to me?

  • This is too easy / hard / boring.
  • I am not ready / I need more time / I need a break from this.
  • I don’t understand the expectation.
  • I don’t feel well.

When we find the same scenario popping up multiple times a day or week, we need to do some problem solving with the child or student. We can often minimize the need for prompting when we determine what the child is communicating through their actions, whether it’s disengaging from an activity or refusing a transition. There’s always a reason. When we address the reason, we often find that our students no longer need to complain or protest with their bodies.

Ask yourself: is this necessary?

It’s amazing how many times we think we need to do more — but we don’t. I think here about the student who has exercised their right to protest by laying on the floor instead of transitioning. The instinct by most is to pick this student up and force them to walk to the next location. But why? Are they being hurt? Are they hurting someone else? Is there absolutely no way to create safety by relocating peers / furniture / adults? That is the only time where I find it absolutely necessary to intervene in some sort of physical way (such as blocking a student from hitting themselves in the head). There’s a dozen other ways to respond — first and foremost, wait.

Yep, wait. We can wait for our students to re-regulate, offering supports or strategies for regulation when appropriate. We can make sure we stay regulated! And then address the situation together. Maybe we use one of the strategies below. Maybe we all just needed to offer more time to regulate. Maybe we can talk through it together when we are both calm and regulated, such as reminding a student that we take the bus to see mama.

Offer choices.

We all want choices in our lives. We all want to feel in control. There’s a difference between a lunch someone orders for you, and a lunch that you choose for yourself. Going to a party because you want to, or because someone else dragged you. Think of all the choices that you make on a daily basis. Think about the number of real, meaningful choices that your students or child gets to make on a daily basis. It’s often pretty insignificant. We need to offer more choices all day long. But we especially need to offer more choices before activities that have frequently served as triggers in the past.

An example: I once had a student who disliked the transition to the bus. It’s a hard transition. There’s a lot happening, and the bus ride can feel very long when all you want is your mama. We’ve struggled with making it out the door in the past. We didn’t really know what to do. We didn’t want to force him through the door, even if it was just through an adult holding each hand. It’s a bit much. But we also know that he needed to be on the bus and that, for once, there was a time limit. We can’t wait for the bus for 45 minutes. You’d be amazed at the simple solution that made all the difference: asking this student if he would like to wear his backpack, carry his backpack, or have help with his backpack. This small choice gave him a sense of control. It also meant that he could tell us what his sensory system could handle each day. Some days the feel of the heavy backpack helped him feel grounded. Other days, it was just too much. That tiny change has meant no tears and eagerly hurrying to get to the bus (and eventually mama).

Moral of the story: notice where you can offer choices, instead of telling what to do, how to do, when to do. Don’t be afraid about sharing control with your students. It’s often one of those antithetical ideas: the more you give away, the more you have.

Use other prompts.

There is a whole TON of other prompts available for teaching. We can use facial expressions, such as the “expectant waiting” face. We can talk to students. We can ask questions. We can give directions. We can show pictures. We can use video. We can point to different elements. We can use pointers and lasers and visual cover-ups. We can do it ourselves while they watch. We can start the process and then hand it over to them. Basically: don’t forget about all the other prompts that are available to you. Physical prompting is fast and it is easy, but that doesn’t mean it’s best. It’s rarely best.

Use assistive technology.

We are so lucky to live and teach in the 21st century. There are so many ways to accommodate our students. The one that most often comes to mind is the use of visual supports. We can use visuals to show each step of the process to complete an activity. We can use visuals to tell students what is happening, when it is happening, and where it is happening. We can use video to capture students doing the task, or showing their peers doing the task.

We can also use accommodations to create alternatives to the task, or modifying the task in some way. If a student regularly needs physical prompting to pull up their pants, maybe a different style of pants is going to allow them to be independent. If a student has difficulty locating a button on their talker, maybe a keyguard or even just a little sticker on the screen protector will guide them. If a student cannot touch one item at a time to count with cars and blocks, maybe they practice their counting with touch screens or focus on subitizing. This is an opportunity for endless creativity — and teamwork. Call on your instructional assistants, assistive tech teams, and related service providers! It’s amazing what we can come up with when we work together.

Emphasize consent. 

Always, always remember that a student has a right to say no.

There are still times when we use physical prompting in our class, primarily when teaching a new motor skill. Please remember that many — most — students do not need that physical support even with these skills. But some students struggle significantly with apraxia or other motor difficulties that benefit from some support. I think about my daughter, who benefits from physical support to find words on her talker the first few times she tries them. She cannot see the words very clearly, nor can she see our modeling. She needs us to show her.

But we do so cautiously. We ask — “Can I help you?” Yes, I literally ask my daughter this. I ask my students this. I give them the chance to give consent, or to say no. Even if they cannot verbalize consent, I hold my hand out without grabbing them. Do they put their hand on mine? Do they pull away? And they always should be allowed to pull away.

If they agree to have support, then I offer that support by hand-under-hand. It’s less intrusive, because they can more easily pull away at any moment. Because that’s the thing about consent — it’s an ongoing process. It’s not one and done. By placing my hand under theirs, it is easy for them to pull up and away. It is easy for them to decide to hit a different button on their talker. And they always should be allowed to.

(I know I sound like a skipping CD, stuck on repeat. But it’s a lesson that simply isn’t emphasized enough for our kids, and one that needs to be drilled into our heads. They are allowed to say no. They are allowed to refuse. They are allowed to pull away, walk away, however they convey the idea of NO. They are allowed to say no.)

I think of it as if I was taking lessons to swing a golf club. The trainer may assist me by providing physical support to feel what a swing should be. But notice: the trainer is going to ask me if they can support me. And if I decide, mid-swing, this isn’t working for me and walk away — they are going to let me. The trainer is not going to chase me around the golf course, trying to grab my hands and arms. It sounds ridiculous, yet so often we do exactly that.

Really, though, that’s what it comes down to… How would we want to be taught? What would we want for our own children, or for ourselves? We are caretakers of our children and our student’s trust. We must continuously live up to that. This is one of the most important ways.

 

 

Sullivan, P. & Knutson, J. (2000). Maltreatment and disabilities: A population-based epidemiological study. Child Abuse & Neglect, 24 (10), 1257-1273.

What is play?

perfect lines of large alphabet letters in red, blue, and green, sitting on a blue rug
I have really strongly moved away from writing an IEP goal for “play”. What do I mean? I mean things like this:

  • Play functionally with X number of toys for X minutes
  • Engage in cooperative pretend play for X number of minutes
  • Appropriately play with XYZ toys

Basically, anything that includes “functional” and “appropriate” and dictates HOW a child should play. Because that’s not play.

Play is, by definition, self-directed and for the purpose of joy. It is not what someone else thinks we should be doing. It is not for some practical purpose. It is not limited to one (neurotypical) way of interacting with materials.

Lining up trains is play.

Stacking and knocking down blocks repeatedly is play.

Waving a ribbon is play.

Filling and dumping a cup of rice, creating L’s out of Legos to stack on the corners of tables, jumping on a trampoline, sitting by yourself to examine letters for extended periods, linking little cars and big cars by yarn, sticking glow sticks in any spot you can find… It’s all play.

What is the purpose of forcing a child’s play to become something other than it is? To become “normal” and “functional”? (Who defines functional, by the way?) What do we think we are teaching? And what is the child learning?

I don’t know that I can answer “what we think we’re teaching”. I’m really not sure. Because everything I think is important can be taught and experienced through the child’s own play: curiosity, exploration, creativity, shared enjoyment, communicating your likes and dislikes, learning about the world… Imitation, language, and academic skills can all be modeled and experienced without forcing the child to switch from play to work. Because play done in a specific way with specific materials is work. So I’m not sure what the answer to that is.

But I do know what the child is learning: that the things they find enjoyable are not okay. That there is one way of being in the world, and they do not know it. That being themselves is not okay.

Do I think that most professionals or families have the intent to teach this? No. Do I think most students and children are learning that anyways? Yes.

It comes back to this: we need to re-think what skills we are teaching and why. There are often other ways to get at what’s important, ways that don’t involve shutting down a child’s unique way of being in the world. Dig deeper. Ask yourself: what am I really trying to get at? What’s actually important in this moment? How can our classroom environment be changed to better accommodate this need? How can we teach peers and ourselves to better accommodate this need or celebrate this difference?

Different doesn’t mean wrong. Different doesn’t mean it must be changed. Different just means different.

 

 

 

This is part two in a series on selecting what’s important in our special education classrooms. Check out the first post here. Future posts will selecting target goals and teaching social skills as a form of code-switching.

Selecting skills: But why does it matter?

blue Thomas train leading a line of toys that includes a broom... a shoe-less foot is peeking in to the edge of the frame.When people enter my classroom, they are sometimes confused. There is a lot that looks different from a typical classroom. A quarter of our room is filled with things that one would typically see outside: ride-along trains, cars, slides. Half of my class spends their days without socks or shoes. If we are in a large group setting, students may be seated at the table. They may also be doing something else in the back of the room, pacing near to the large group, or coming back and forth from the table. Independent work happens on the floor, standing at the table, in rocking chairs, next to squeeze machines. Students engaged in child-directed play may be stacking, lining up items, or scripting. Not only that, but you’ll find classroom staff delighting in these things, expressing joy right alongside the students.

People see this and think that I am permissive and lenient, that I don’t believe in my students, or that I am not teaching them.

Yet — I get good outcomes. Scratch that — I get great outcomes. My students master their IEP goals. My students develop a ‘functional communication system’. Their self-injury, aggression, and meltdowns disappear over time. They learn to tell someone no, to be more independent, and build relationships in ways that honor and support their needs & desires. My families are very happy with the learning that happens in our room, sometimes the first big progress that a student has made. My students and families trust me, which is even more important.

And this doesn’t happen in spite of the environment, but because of the environment.

My classroom environment respects neurodiversity. My classroom expectations respect neurodiversity.

Whenever we set an expectation in my classroom, I ask myself: but why is this the expectation? When we choose a skill to target for instruction: but why are we selecting this skill? I don’t just accept my first answer, but dive deep into it. Where did this expectation come from? Is it necessary for safety? Is it necessary for learning? Is there an alternate way?

Let’s take a look at wearing shoes in the classroom. Why do we insist on this? Is it because this is what we are familiar with? This is what the neurotypical students do? What reason would we have for pushing shoes all day? Is it necessary for safety? No. Students put their shoes on to leave the classroom. They put their shoes on for the playground. But in the classroom, it is not necessary to wear shoes in order to be safe. Is it necessary for learning? No, and I would argue that it is actually counterproductive to learning. If you’ve ever had an unmet sensory need, you would know what I mean. It can be one of the most distressing and distracting experiences, causing pain and discomfort for the entire time that it is unmet. I want my students to learn. This means meeting their sensory needs.

Similarly, with large groups — why do we believe that students can only learn or learn best when seated together in a group at the table or the carpet? Can the student hear my instruction when they are pacing behind our group? Almost certainly, and possibly better than they can when seated. Can they add to the conversation or take their turn with the materials even though they had to leave for several minutes and then return?

I don’t insist on greetings and closings when entering and leaving the classroom, much less eye contact. I make sure that I greet each of my arriving students with warmth and affection in a way that works for their personalities and needs. But they don’t have to return that greeting. They don’t have to look me in the eye. They don’t have to say hello or good morning or good-bye. Once again — is it necessary for me to insist they greet us? Does it have to look a certain way? What purpose does that serve? Why do we do it? If the answer is, in any shape or form, “because that’s what neurotypical children do”, then we need to step back and ask ourselves if that’s enough for something to be necessary. It usually isn’t. Instead, we can create a classroom environment that allows for and recognizes a much wider display of “what something looks like”. We can recognize as valid and beautiful the many different forms there are to acknowledge someone’s presence (e.g., what a greeting is). We can recognize that some days, students may need time and space upon entering the room. We can recognize that people move through the world differently. It’s not only okay, but beautiful and essential.

It’s not that I don’t hold high expectations for my students. We engage in real reading, real work with letters, and real writing. We learn about numbers, geometry, and measurement. We explore patterns. We do science experiments. We create art. We participate in teacher-directed activities. We work really hard every single moment of the day on speaking and listening. We are safe with our bodies and our friends.

It’s that I recognize that our world is better when our world recognizes that validity and importance of different ways of being in the world. And that is why we do as well as we do.

 

This is part one in a series on selecting what’s important in our special education classrooms. Future posts will feature conversation on play, selecting target goals, and teaching social skills as a form of code-switching.