In the intricate fabric of who I am, there’s no room for the notion of laziness. Anyone who’s crossed paths with me would never toss around that label or anything hinting at idleness. Opinions about me are a mixed bag—from silky-straight locks to sheep-like tendrils, from being a chatterbox to moments of quiet reflection. Kindness and generosity overflow, though Mondays might be an exception. As a daughter, sister, friend, and sometimes rival, the tag of laziness has never stuck. Being driven isn’t just something to admire; it’s a core part of me that’s led me on a journey to find my place in this world.
Early on, life handed me lessons about the perils of standing still. As a toddler diagnosed with speech and developmental delays, at three, I grappled with silence and sensory challenges. My folks describe me as stubborn, unpredictable, exhausting, and undeniably cute. Therapists used labels like nonverbal and delayed, playing hopscotch with diagnoses like Apraxia, Autism, and Pervasive Developmental Disorder. Limited by military insurance, local therapists and doctors often kept things textbook-bound and routine.
The turning point hit during an IEP meeting when a therapist dropped a disheartening bomb: “Your daughter will never do anything we could not train a monkey to do.”
At that moment, my parents and I walked away, starting a journey marked by resilience and determination. Traits like initiative, determination, and hard work weren’t just parts of me; they became weapons against the challenges ahead.
Through countless IEP meetings, a mom who turned research into an art form, navigating school changes, Special Education reassessments, and the guidance of teachers who saw my potential, my journey unfolded. My drive, clocking thousands of volunteer hours each year for various causes since the 5th grade, became a testament to my unwavering effort. Amid this evolving story, one thing stayed constant—the commitment to giving it my all 100 percent.
As my words found their way out, they became more than just sounds. They became carriers of pride, determination, and a burning desire to overcome. With quirks acknowledged and an awareness of my differences, I embraced the truth—I’m capable and strong. I might not always be the best, but my determination never wavers. Pervasive developmental disorder and delays aren’t roadblocks; they’re threads woven into the fabric of my story, shaping an indomitable spirit that faces challenges one step at a time.
At the end of 5th grade, I managed to speak at my elementary school graduation, shed all paperwork, and enter middle school as an honors student with no 504/IEP. Despite the success, I still had my battles being bullied by peers for my quirks. I went through 3 years of middle school trying to discover who I was through community service. I found my love of crafting and my love of serving my community. That’s who I became. I wanted nothing but that.
Entering high school, I found myself effortlessly mirroring my older brothers’ paths. The eldest excelled with a 5.0 genius in full AP coursework, while the other thrived in the Wind Ensemble band. As I required Fine Arts and Physical Education credits and aspired to secure commendable grades, I decided to emulate their experiences. Despite lacking musical ability, I embarked on trombone lessons over the summer, thrust into a close-knit group where musical talent and camaraderie intertwined. My disabilities, however, set me apart as a hardworking oddball, often secluded from the group dynamics. Juggling classes with daily rehearsals proved more challenging than anticipated, leading to a decline in grades and spending significant time with those who didn’t resonate with me. While I found solace in volunteering for the school coffee shop in the early mornings, the predominant focus on band activities left me feeling isolated, grappling with a hefty course load, and harboring guilt for not meeting the standards set by my accomplished brothers.
Over time, the significance of the band waned, and I found confidence in diverse areas. Upon closer inspection, the realization dawned that my discontent stemmed from a lack of focus on my own desires. Two years had been spent trying to emulate someone else’s ideal high school experience, realizing I am not my brothers. The love for band akin to my middle brother or the carefree ease of managing a full AP course load like my oldest brother did not resonate with me. Thus, a self-evaluation unfolded—I loved to volunteer, aspired to teach, and enjoyed mentoring, but the band was not my passion.
Taking a proactive step, I applied for the Peer Assistance and Leadership and Service course and Instructional Practices In Education and Training programs, shedding band from my schedule for the ensuing year. Surprisingly, amidst the struggle, I discovered substantial progress. Graduating a year earlier than projected became feasible with just a few more credits, allowing me to enroll in summer classes. The hard work paid off, bypassing Junior year entirely and commencing as a Senior. Selected for both programs I applied for, I carved out space in my schedule for more challenging courses, enjoying a successful year immersed in pursuits I am passionate about.
As I took my leave from the halls of high school earlier than most, the absence of IEP/504 accommodations served as the backdrop to my venture into college life, brimming with optimism and anticipation. Initially, the academic landscape of college painted a promising picture, with accolades and constructive criticism weaving the narrative of personal growth. Little did I know that the path I envisioned was about to embark on an unexpected and transformative journey.
Driven by a desire for proximity to family and navigating the challenges of foot issues, I made a profound decision to relocate home for my sophomore year, commencing in the fall of 2021. Eager to expedite my academic journey, I set my sights on early entry into the teacher education program—a challenging three-semester commitment. Encouraged by faculty who recognized my capabilities and the countless hours invested in my studies, I embarked on this ambitious path with the hope of not only fast-tracking my college journey but also immersing myself in field experience ahead of my peers.
However, the script took an unforeseen twist. A decline letter followed a promising interview, plunging me into a state of confusion and deep self-reflection. Isolated within a department where camaraderie seemed elusive, and group chats remained a distant dream, I turned to the very professors who had penned the disheartening missive, seeking answers to this unexpected detour.
To add to the bewildering mix, one professor’s question lingered in my mind: “Do you think everyone around you is neurotypical?” Dismissing this assumption, the subsequent advice to “learn to mask your Autism” hit me like a ton of bricks. Seeking validation, I embarked on a transformative journey of self-discovery, seeking advice from neurotypical friends and desperately searching for answers throughout the following year.
The subsequent application in October 2022, during my third year of college, resulted in acceptance on “special terms.” This entailed adhering to guidelines, attending extra meetings, and engaging at a higher level compared to my peers in the program. However, the promised meetings to address my perceived deficiencies in communication and social skills never materialized. Despite my consistent efforts to schedule these sessions, my pleas were met with deafening silence.
A pivotal moment arrived on September 26, 2023, nearly nine months later, as the process for the final semester of the program unfolded. In a meeting with three professors, I found myself under attack, criticized for my supposed lack of communication skills and the perception that academia was my sole strength. This disheartening encounter systematically picked apart my individuality, even scrutinizing my social interactions, oblivious to my struggle with a sensory processing disorder. Notably, the critique included my limited participation in social events due to my condition and recent attainment of the legal drinking age—factors overlooked in their assessment.
The revelation that my peers would learn about the next steps of the program in November while I remained in the dark until December was a turning point. Recognizing the incessant scrutiny and the evident reluctance to acknowledge my growth, abilities, and unique circumstances, I decided to reclaim my narrative.
On that decisive day, I reached out to the graduation office, signaling the beginning of my departure from the traditional path set by the teacher education program. Opting for an early graduation, I redirected my trajectory toward alternative avenues to fulfill my dream of becoming an educator. Now immersed in graduate school, I navigate the complexities of obtaining my teaching certification, propelled by an unwavering commitment to my unique journey and pursuit of genuine fulfillment in the realm of education. This intricate tapestry, woven with the threads of resilience and self-discovery, continues to unfold, marking my indelible imprint on the vast canvas of my educational odyssey.
