Reflection: Neurodivergent Teacher Trauma

I know I’m a good teacher. I know I don’t have to control everything. Yet, I always feel a need to prove myself. I see every disagreement as a challenge to my knowledge and skill. (And that fear, which is what it is, is exacerbated when I know I have current research on my side.) I know full well that, to my frustration, I do not have the social skill to make people see my way of interpreting the evidence. Trauma and fear means I often give in to avoid the situation when the other person presents a reasoned argument. For years, I have marveled at the people who are able to say exactly the same thing I just said and get people to agree with them. It’s a skill I don’t have. Body language? Tone of voice? Social rapport building? Probably a combination. Whatever it is; I don’t know how to do it. That’s a problem when you have a social communication disability and you’re being evaluated on your ability to coordinate a cohesive team unit. The problem is even worse when not everyone is coming from the same background/approach. (And the problem is only exacerbated by the experience of administrators who invalidated my voice in the process, or who flat out told me they didn’t believe I could do it. I haven’t learned better strategies, only more fear.)

I feel safest in a very silo-ed approach. I feel most comfortable if there is allowance for disagreement in approach among team members, but we all can do what we believe is best. I believe students benefit from multiple approaches, and that’s part of it. The other part is that because I don’t feel threatened, I’m able to work more cooperatively/productively with everyone on the team. But that model is not acceptable in modern special education. Consistency is the name of the game. We all must be on the same page, defined as taking the same approach to everything: lock stock and barrel. That makes me very uncomfortable. I’m neurodivergent; I simply don’t think the same way as everyone else. 

I tried working in an ultra-“consistency-is-everything” environment back at the beginning of my career. That experience marks clearly the start my education-system related trauma. Back then I totally drank the kool-aid. I believed in the system completely. Unfortunately, that school quickly and explicitly showed me that my brain didn’t respond to stimulus the same way. Purely by virtue of being neurodivergent, I was physically unable to live up to their standard of consistency. That experience has colored my feelings and approach to the whole concept ever since. (I’m not sure I was explicitly aware of it until I just typed that sentence. I knew the trauma was effecting me emotionally, but I’m not sure I understood how it was effecting my work until now.)

I’ve known for several years know that my trauma and my neurodivergence were causing most of my stress at work. I knew I was part of the problem (everyone has a role in a social interaction problem.) I knew my trauma stemmed from the reactions I’ve received over the years to my neurodivergence, but I always focused on the ableism in special education as the root cause. Special Education is incredibly ableist, but in reality I’m quite good at navigating that aspect of my chosen field. This trauma is pedagological. That’s why I have never been able to figure out how I could be successfully accommodated. I still don’t have an answer for how that can work in the future, but now at least I’ve started asking the right question.

A Part Time AAC Using Teacher in an AAC Classroom

I’ve been using AAC a lot at home recently. It feels really good. It feels comfortable in a way that mouth words don’t. Mouth words are stressful even in non-stressful situations. They tend to tumble out of me unbidden and uncontrolled. Ensuring that the correct words come out in the correct order with the correct tone at the correct time.... I can usually manage most of that, but rarely all of it, and it’s a lot of work. And don’t ask me what I said. I rarely have a clue.

Still, although I often text across the classroom or across the building for communication access, I’ve never seen AAC as a viable communication tool in the classroom. What’s frustrating is that it’s not for any practical reason.

It’s feeling like I owe people explanations I don’t want to give for why I’m doing things differently than I used to. I don’t owe anybody any explanation I don’t want to give. “I can communicate clearer this way” is enough. I say that. I’m not sure I believe it.

It’s feeling like I’m sending mixed messages or like I’m not providing a good model for my students and staff of the expectations for language modeling or AAC device use because even when I’m using AAC, I tend to mix it with mouth words. I’m a part time AAC user and that’s hard to explain. (It’s also different from my students who are primary AAC users or my students who use AAC for communication repair.) I understand the difference. I’m still afraid others won’t.

I know the answer, like all the accessibility tools I’ve tried incorporating into my classroom routines this year, is “try it and see how it works for you.” I don’t know why this one feels so different from using mobility aids. Maybe it’s because we teach students to use AAC and we don’t teach students to use canes? Really, that should be all the more reason to do it.

Maybe I’ll try on Monday. Assuming we don’t get snowed out.

Communication Badges: A More Nuanced Approach

I’ve written about Autistic Communication Badges before. My first attempt to implement them in the school environment was a total bust. (I couldn’t find a way to functionally implement it that was both safe and useful.) Quite similar to my first attempt at creating a classroom-wide communication accommodation actually. That one also failed spectacularly.

I’ve also written a lot about trying to teach self advocacy and body autonomy to students with significant needs. I’ve generally been impressed with what my students have been able to learn and demonstrate. But, by a chance of circumstances, I got to see what happened when one of those students left the environment where the staff was trained to respect body autonomy and to support self-advocacy. If those skills remained, they weren’t recognized or respected. I learned that my students did not have the skills to stand up to authority who tried to take away their rights. I also learned that they needed clear, unambiguous tools to use in their own defense.

So, when September starts, I am planning to reintroduce the Communication Badges, with one significant difference. This time, I’m creating a whole class set for teachers and students. For teachers: It will help students understand who is available to ask for help. It will help other teachers/specialists know who is available to talk to (or who needs help). For students: It will help teachers and peers know who is ready and who needs more time. It will let teachers know who needs more support and who needs to be left alone. 

These are skills we need to teach. One of the biggest challenges, especially when working with students who have difficulty with expressive communication and who express emotion in non-standard ways is to find a way to bridge that communication gap so students can find the support they need and reject the support that is unhelpful.

It’s not a cure, but communication badges might just be a start to helping bridge that communication gap in a way that respects all communication.

Queer Eye: A Problematic Relationship With Disability from the Start

There’s a new episode in the upcoming season of Queer Eye that’s getting, well deserved, derision from the disability community for the title “Disabled But Not Really.” The primary frustration I’ve heard is that Queer Eye has steadfastly ignored the Disability community for so many seasons and episodes, and then chose this, extremely problematic, individual to highlight as their one “disabled makeover.”

My argument is simple. Queer Eye hasn’t been ignoring the disability community. They’ve had a problematic relationship with disability throughout the run of the show. 

Many of the individuals they have made over have explicitly said during the episode that they currently have or previously had a diagnosis of depression. Depression is a real mental illness. It is a disability. But the way Queer Eye treats it, giving them a fresh start is the cure. (It’s not.) There’s a reason that the dramatic “after the makeover” parties that end the episode are videos of the day after the intervention, and not a week or month or year later. That kind of intervention is exciting and fresh, but doesn’t have long term effects. I’d love to see them do a “Queer Eye: One Year Later” special and prove me wrong, but without follow-up intervention, the research is on my side.

The other problem the show has with it’s approach to disability is Karamo and his entire approach to the makeover project. He’s a charismatic guy and it’s easy to see why people connect with him. But his fundamental problem is he’s a one trick pony. To look at him, it’s obvious he takes fitness seriously. So it’s no surprise that he uses physical activity to “get people out of their comfort zone” in almost every episode. I recognize that we need that “made for TV emotional moment” for viewership. But the show misses the opportunity, every single time, to acknowledge that the “aha” moment is just the beginning of a much longer process, and that process won’t happen automatically. Every time, the show misses a real opportunity to reduce stigma and provide awareness about mental health resources that could provide long term benefits not just for the individual on the episode but for all people living with mental illness.

Queer Eye has made a start in trying to be more inclusive. They have simply fallen prey to what most of media falls prey to. Lack of representation or consultation within the production team. They don’t know what they don’t know. Much like Karamo only really knows how to get people out of their comfort zone and get that emotional moment using physical tools to get that “aha” moment, the show only knows how to portray a snapshot/momentary intervention. I encourage the show to reach out and partner with groups like NAMI to provide resources and connections that have the power to truly change people’s lives. Queer Eye has the voice. They say their goal is to promote inclusion and acceptance. My hope is that they learn from the feedback they have gotten from the disability community, step up, and use that voice to promote the resources that will create inclusion and acceptance for ALL.

Sexuality in the Special Education Classroom

CN: “sex ed” 

There is no room for sexuality in the special education classroom. It’s a difficult and controversial topic in general education that gets largely ignored in special education. Students with disabilities are either viewed as non-sexual (eternal children) or hyper-sexual (sexual deviants). Those who fall into the first category don’t get sex ed at all. The second group do get sex ed, but it’s “sex ed for special education.” Sex Ed for Special Education covers: public and private - what you can do where, circles of friendship - appropriate behaviors around people you know more/less well (aka not everyone is your best friend), and hygiene.

If you’re wondering where the actual “sex ed” is in that curriculum, that’s pretty much my point. Hygiene is as close as they come to “why my body is changing” and I’ve seen some pretty fascinating misconceptions about how the adult body works from my adult students as a result. But I only knew about it because I was supporting them in the residence in the evening when they were confused and overwhelmed and unable to express it. Most teachers don’t get that opportunity to interact with their students in that setting and most residential staff don’t have the time or training to provide the feedback to the educational staff. (And that’s assuming either side is willing to listen or do anything about it.)

Somebody did ask, at a recent conference I attended on teaching sexuality to students with significant needs, about teaching about sexuality, safe sex, or dating. The presenter dismissed this as a non-issue for this population, stating “if a student expressed an interest in any of these areas we would address it on a 1:1 basis, but it hasn’t come up.” Of course it hasn’t come up. Most of our students don’t know how to ask. It certainly isn’t default vocabulary in anyone’s communication device. Typical students have extreme difficulty talking about it and finding someone who they trust enough to talk to. We are expecting students for whom basic communication can still be a challenge, and who may only have a few people in their lives with whom fluent communication is even possible, to initiate these conversations?

But that won’t change. Because that’s not the point of Sex Ed for Special Education. The goal, like the goal of most special education curriculum, is to get those uncomfortable box 2 students back into box 1 where they make their typical educators feel more comfortable. Without changing that paradigm, sexuality will never be allowed to exist in the special education classroom.

Teaching While Autistic

To the outside world, I’ve had an incredibly successful 10 year career as a special education teacher. (You could argue 20 year career, if you count the time I spent working in residential services before getting my teaching certificate.) But under the surface lies a deeper struggle. A struggle not just with trying to reconcile my professional identity as a special education teacher with my personal identity as an autistic person, but to try to figure out how to survive as an autistic person in the incredibly ableist educational environment.

Part of my problem was, because I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 30, I had no experience requesting accommodations. And since most people still think “wheelchair” or maybe “blind person” when they hear “accommodations” my supervisors had no idea what to do either. (Even at schools for students with autism! Especially at schools for students with autism!)

And so my journey progressed from “how are you going to help yourself” to “We’ll help you” without any clear understanding on anybody’s part (mine included) as to what that “help” was going to look like, or exactly what I needed “help” with.

Should we be surprised that those positions didn’t work out?

So before I try again, it’s obvious there’s something I need to make clear to myself and to my prospective employers. I need to know, in concrete definable terms, exactly what I need from them in order to be successful in the position they are hiring me for. And if we cannot define clear, concrete supports that will make the position successful, either because what I would need to be successful is too abstract or because we are unclear on what would be required, then the position is not a good match for me and I shouldn’t apply.

I’m tired of hiding and trying to pretend there isn’t an issue here. I’m tired of supports that are really just attempts to recognize and fix things after the fact. I love what I do, and I’m not going to give up on my career. But it’s time to find a place where I can do it without pretending to be someone I’m not.

Coping Strategies

One of my personal projects recently has developing a system to track and analyze my energy regulation. I’ve been trying to figure out if I can predict and even out the highs and lows I’ve been having lately with more better self accommodation. The jury’s out on whether I’ve made any significant breakthrough (and that’s a different post) but as always it brought me back to the question of instruction.

I wrote about my emotion-based instructional curriculum a couple of years ago and what I’ve been doing hasn’t changed significantly in the intervening time. But thinking about it from this perspective, there’s an obvious piece missing. There’s an obvious ableism embedded in that curriculum that I didn’t even notice. Nothing there teaches students to recognize the coping strategies *that they are already using.* Nothing there teaches them to understand how they might need to modify their current coping strategies to function more effectively in a neurotypical society. (Which, like it or not, is the one we live in.) It assumed that the student didn’t have any coping strategy (not very likely for my older teen students!) and tried to teach them the ones that neurotypicals thought were a good idea. Yet we know that the  best teaching is building on skills *that are already there* not trying to build new skills without a foundation.

It seems so obvious when I say it like that, doesn’t it? Time to put it into practice!