Teaching with a Disability

When I was younger, I never had someone that I could look up to with a disability. I had a bunch of supportive family, friends, teachers, and other people around me, but there was never an adult with a disability that I met or saw that made me think, "Oh, I want that to be me one day!"

Now, as a thirty year old, I think that having a mentor or role model with similar differences, would have helped feelings of what it was like living with a disability in this society -- whether it was someone I personally knew, or someone that was in the media. As a result, I didn't really know what was possible for me. Rather than being driven by what I wanted to do, I was driven a lot of the time to prove everyone wrong, whether it was being able to put on a pair of stud earrings myself or get good grades in mainstream classes.

I remember being in a program at Dominican University of California where professors representing different majors would come and talk to students about how they should declare that major. While listening to all of them, I remember being drawn to one thing. I wanted to be in a major where, at the end of the day, I could have the opportunity to work with children who were like me -- children with disabilities trying to find their way in a mainstream environment. I wanted to be in a leadership position where I could be proof for a child (and their parents) that there's hope, and that there are successful people out in the world just like them. I knew I had the opportunity to become the role model I wished I had.

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Fast forward ten years, and I am currently a credentialed lead teacher working full time with two and three year olds in a Montessori Early Childhood classroom. I have worked at four different schools, every school different. I have worked with a diverse group of children with various races, ethnicities, and abilities.

I have been asked questions about my disability by my own professors, children I have taught and currently teach, parents, bosses, and co workers. I have heard both "I don't think teaching is the career for you" and "you'll be an awesome teacher -- kids will love you." I have been confronted by a lot of different reactions, ranging from staring in complete silence and doubt, to some questions with a lot of hesitancy, to complete curiosity and nonstop questions. I have learned over the years that, for me, as a person with a physical disability, that the answer to the question "What's wrong?" or "What happened?" has to be VERY different depending on who I am talking to.

If it's a child, I say something like:

"When I was a baby my brain got really hurt so it developed differently than yours. Did you know that your brain helps you think, learn, and move? Well, the part of my brain that got really hurt is where you brain can tell your hand to move. That's why I have a hard time. Don't worry, though, I'm still able to do a lot of things. I just have to learn how to do things differently than you."

If it is a adult, I say something like:

"I was born with a disability and have a hard time using my hand. It's no problem though, I have learned how to do some things differently."

I feel like much of the time people who are curious are also looking for assurance. Assurance that I am ok, assurance that working with me and being around me will be ok. My hope is that one day we, as a society, can no longer need assurance. Instead, we can be purely curious and have the understanding and appreciation that everyone is different. It takes time to know anyone, but I truly believe it takes longer to know a person with a disability.

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Being a teacher with a disability in a preschool classroom can mean that the children (and parents) are exposed to yet another part of the world they may have not gotten a glimpse in yet -- people with disabilities who are able to successfully work and contribute to their community. They are exposed to the idea of inclusion.

By working in a classroom with children, I hope, at the end of the day, that I can show that resilience and perseverance can get you to places that are often thought as impossible for people with disabilities. My hope is that I can be proof that your circumstances don't define you.