Saturday Story Time

When I was six years old, my cousin was born with a cleft palate and holes in her heart. She was immediately taken to Vanderbilt for care. I didn’t understand everything that was happening at the time, but I remember the weight of it—how quickly her life became connected to doctors, specialists, and decisions far bigger than any child can understand.

Recently, I shared a post from Active Day Logan County where she was featured holding a Vanderbilt magazine—on the cover as a baby. That same hospital became the place where she received life-changing care and was later diagnosed with Williams syndrome.

Looking back, I can see that this was the beginning of my advocacy journey, even if I didn’t have the words for it yet.

Not long after she was born, my family became closely connected with another family who had two daughters around my age. I share a birthday with their oldest—just one year apart—and their younger daughter is one month to the day older than me. She has autism.

We grew up together. We were in the same class. And for me, it was one of the earliest and clearest examples of inclusion I had ever seen.

She received services, but she was also very much part of our classroom community. I still remember one moment clearly: our music teacher stood on her tapping feet. I remember her crying, sitting beside her, and hugging her as I tried to comfort her. When I got home, I told my mom—and her parents—because I knew something wasn’t right.

Our families were incredibly close. Some of my best childhood memories are with them: camping trips, Holiday World, swimming, sleepovers, drive-in movies, and family game nights. She taught me what it really means to be a friend long before I ever understood what advocacy was.

When I was 14, I sat on a superintendent advisory committee and spoke up about special education in my district. I had loved ones in the program, and I wanted them—and every student like them—to receive the education they deserved.

That experience must have stood out more than I realized, because later that superintendent would recommend me to other districts, saying I had been an advocate since high school. The truth is, it didn’t start there. It had been part of me my entire life.

I went on to receive what I still consider an incredible education. My undergraduate program was hands-on from the start. We spent semesters in clinical placements in elementary schools, earning dual certification in elementary and special education (LBD). We wrote case studies, ran literacy clinics, hosted parent nights, presented research at the state level, and even contributed to academic publications alongside professors I now work with today.

While earning my degree, I also worked closely with a young man with autism and seizures. His family welcomed me into their lives in a way I will never forget. This is where I truly began to understand presuming competence—not just as a concept, but as a way of seeing people.

He trusted me in a way that allowed me to see his voice, even when it wasn’t spoken in traditional ways. I will always be grateful for what he taught me about communication, patience, and dignity.

I student taught abroad in Piacenza, Italy, and later interviewed for a job I deeply wanted—and got. It was a school full of diverse learners, and I supported IEP meetings with translators in Swahili and Karen. I stayed there until COVID brought everything to a halt.

After that, I taught at the elementary school I once attended as a child.

Life continued to unfold—marriage, buying our farm, starting my master’s degree through a federally funded grant program. My cohort included both SLP and special education teachers, and we learned side by side, gaining a deeper understanding of each other’s roles. That experience made me a stronger IEP team member and collaborator.

I had the opportunity to truly co-teach with a general education teacher who had a deep love for her students and a strong commitment to inclusion. I also served in a school where I was the only special education teacher, and I found myself in IEP meetings almost daily. I worked hard, I cared deeply, and I always tried to do right by my students.

In 2024, I stepped out of the classroom to stay home with my children.

But I never stopped thinking about it.

I never stopped thinking about students, families, meetings, and what support should look like when it’s done right.

Spesh was born out of that space.

It reminds me of when I first started college and dreamed of building something that helped people learn, grow, and feel supported. I don’t know exactly what Spesh will become—but I know I’m not done building it.

I keep telling myself: the more I work at this, the better it will get.

And I believe that.

But I also know none of this happens alone. It’s built on every student, family, teacher, and mentor who has shaped me into the advocate I am today.

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So Very Spesh

IEPs • Inclusion • Real Classroom Practice