Week 11

 Week 11 — “Finding Gratitude in the Hard”

This week, I began to feel discouraged. Every day felt heavy, and each morning I struggled to find the motivation to walk through the school doors. Monday set the tone early, and before I could settle in,the day was moving at full speed.

One student started the day struggling from something that happened before he even arrived at school. His behavior reflected it all day long. Even though he wasn’t on my schedule, I had him join my 5th-grade reading group just to reset. After time to decompress, he was able to return to class calm and ready. Moments like this remind me how crucial it is to seek the “why” behind behavior — especially for students with autism. Everyone has hard days. He didn’t need consequences — he needed understanding and a reset button.

At the end of Monday, I learned I would be completing an initial IEP for a student I’d never worked with before. I’ve never written an initial IEP on my own — all my students in previous roles already had them. I was told to write it using the school psychologist’s report and teacher input. I went home overwhelmed.

On Tuesday, I brought a social-skills checklist to his teachers to determine whether social-emotional needs were present. I asked questions, accepted advice, and dug into the eligibility report. One thing I find fascinating — and sometimes frustrating — about special education is how eligibility is determined. It isn’t based on a doctor’s diagnosis alone, but rather the school-based criteria and checklists. There are pros and cons to both approaches. As a parent who had my daughter evaluated by a full diagnostic team at UNC Chapel Hill, I have seen the benefit of comprehensive evaluation. I wish every family had access to that level of care and clarity.

On Wednesday, I pushed myself to get to school. I fulfilled my support-facilitator role, and I completed my first solo initial IEP and submitted it. I checked in on students, handled behavior concerns, and wrapped up the day with conversations that reminded me I’m not alone in this work. A colleague texted me about a student who improved on his math assessment — that encouragement mattered. Later, another colleague shared a personal story that touched my heart so deeply it nearly brought me to tears. I needed to feel God this week, and He showed up through her.

Before dismissal, I was called to assist with a student who became upset when the friend he earned time with wasn’t available. After he calmed down, he apologized, and I helped problem-solve with his teachers. Delayed gratification is extremely challenging for students with autism — rewards must feel predictable and meaningful.

On Thursday, I made an executive decision for my own emotional well-being: I pulled all my students to my room. I needed a familiar space — a place to teach, reset, and breathe. For years, I taught in my own classroom, creating a structured environment where students and routines thrived. This year, being a support facilitator means adapting constantly, stepping into many classrooms, and sometimes feeling like a classroom assistant rather than a teacher. Some days it’s humbling; some days it’s hard. But Thursday reminded me of who I am as an educator. I love small groups. I love the quiet, focused work behind a closed door. I love teaching.

Friday began with every school in the county on lockdown due to a threat later deemed not credible. We moved forward like normal, and I met with my principal to share an idea for encouraging more small-group instruction across our campus. I ended the day supporting behavior needs and helping a colleague prep for a course assignment about morphemes.

This post is real and raw — because teaching is real and raw.

This week stretched me. It reminded me I’m human. I carried heaviness and exhaustion — but I also experienced grace, connection, and purpose.

This morning, I put up my Thanksgiving decorations. And I felt a shift.

This is the season to be thankful.

Sometimes I spend more time worrying about what isn’t right than celebrating what is.

So as I walk into this new month, I am choosing thankfulness:

thankfulness for the talent God gave me to work with students,

thankfulness for the moments of growth I witness every day,

and thankfulness for the blessings I see each morning — even in the hard.

Hard weeks don’t mean we’re weak.

They mean we’re human — and growing.