I Left the Classroom -- But I Didn't Leave Education

When I graduated high school, I had every intention of becoming a history teacher.

I wasn't just casually interested in history--I was deeply, intensely into it. A full-on special interest kind of love. Especially Civil War history. Even more specifically: Abraham Lincoln.

But life has a way of shifting plans in ways you don't see coming.

The summer after I graduated, I worked in my mom's little boutique store. I started dating my now husband. And around that same time, I was asked to work with a young man just a little younger than me who has autism and seizures.

I said yes immediately.

That one yes changed everything.

It didn't take long before I marched into my advisor's office and changed my entire academic path. I finished my associate's degree at SKYCTC and transferred to WKU with a new direction.

While at WKU, I ended up in a clinical dual-certification experience called TopPrep completely by accident. In fact, I tried to get out of it.

I had no idea it would become of the most formative experiences of my life.

Not only did it prepare me for teaching, it gave me real professional opportunities--real responsibility, real mentorship, real expectations. I still tell my friend Madison that the way we were trained in that program didn't just prepare us to be teachers. It prepared us for professional roles. Big professional roles.

And I loved teaching.

I made unbreakable bonds with the teachers I worked alongside. Caring for students came naturally. Loving them was effortless. Showing up for them felt like breathing.

But I wore myself out.

I care loudly. And I think people who know me understand what that means. When resources weren't enough, I tried to become the difference myself. I filled the gaps. I pushed harder. I kept going until I didn't have anything left to give in the same way.

Eventually, I made a decision that felt both risky and necessary: I left teaching.

But I didn't leave education.

I never slowed down. I just started doing it differently. On my own terms. From my home. With my family at the center of it.

I have ADHD, and while it might look like I'm constantly moving forward without effort, the truth is I struggle with emotional regulation and executive functioning in ways most people don't see it. Spesh became my hyperfocus. My "Abe Lincoln-level" deep dive. Advocacy, inclusion, and disability awareness are my special interests--what my mom calls a "niche."

One day last summer, I had a phone call with my mom that left me in tears. I was struggling more than I wanted to admit.

After that call, I did something simple but life-changing: I finalized the Spesh Facebook page, invited a few friends, and made a post.

The response was immediate.

And that moment of support became the beginning of something much bigger than I expected. It led, in part, to landing my position at WKU teaching a class while still being able to stay home with my kids. It led to my first paid consultation and advocacy work. It led to momentum.

And once it started, I didn't stop.

Spesh now lives in my brain in a constant stream of ideas. Community impact projects. Resource development. Event planning. Vendor opportunities. Speaking engagements. Future possibilities I'm still learning how to build into reality.

It all grew faster than I ever expected.

When I think about Spesh, I often think back to sitting at Chick-fil-A with my mom when I first started classes at SKYCTC. I told her I wanted to be a business owner someday. I wanted to create a space for individuals with disabilities to come, to learn, to build skills, and to just be.

Spesh doesn't look exactly like that dream yet.

But maybe dreams aren't meant to arrive fully formed.

Maybe they unfold.

And maybe, just maybe, I'm still building my way back to a full-circle version of it.

Because I left the classroom--but I didn't leave education.

I just found a different way to live it.