Your ability to communicate your experience in its layered complexity astounds me! I am inspired by transformative education for neurodivergent liberation.
Now for my story. As an elementary school student in a small classroom setting, I learned well. In high school, my curiosity and interests were no longer aligned with the curriculum, and I went with my interests over performance and achievement.
My interests sere in Eastern knowledge practices and they were not taught, so I engaged in self study, practiced yoga and became a vegetarian (which was uncommon in the 1970's for a girl from a working class family). Anyway, I did well enough in school- but not as well as I could have if I was interested and connected to the teachers and teachings. But I made some good friends and did not struggle, went to college and had no idea what to do there, so I entered the program in Paris and studied there for two semesters. That's where I was introduced to a lifestyle that made sense to me - which it turns out, is what I was looking for.
When I returned, I did not re-enter college, but teamed up with artists, musicians and alternative culture, moved to NYC, and explored my interests. I also married a man who was undiagnosed, but was autistic, and struggled with daily living. I wanted to help him (in ways I will not disclose, it's his story), but I was not able to. We had a child and I could write volumes about her experience which I might do that later.
After my first marriage ended, I finished my education to become a teacher and found the public school system soul-crushing for me and my daughter so I became involved in founding alternative schools, teaching, and consulting. Instead of blaming the children, I asked the question, "does this child have the physical skills we are asking them to have"? I looked for ways to teach the physical skills, integrating primal reflexes with movement that prepared the body to learn. And advocated for allowing children to play, be in nature, and make their own discoveries.
Thanks and best wishes Sher! Hope this is helpful.
Your reflection is such a gift. I’m deeply moved by the layers you’ve offered here—the curiosity, the resistance, the self-trust it took to follow your own path, even when it diverged from what was expected or available. That is transformative education.
The thread of your story—honoring embodied knowledge, walking beside an undiagnosed partner, witnessing your daughter’s journey, and ultimately reclaiming your own educational praxis—is powerful and resonant. Your work asking “does this child have the physical skills we are asking them to have?” feels revolutionary in its simplicity and its depth. You saw the body, the movement, the whole human. That kind of presence is everything.
Your story affirms something I’ve felt so strongly: the system fails us before it names us. And sometimes, the deepest healing is found not in fixing, but in refusing to be flattened.
Thank you for being here, and for sharing so generously. I would love to read more of your writing, especially about your daughter’s experience if and when it feels right. You’re adding so much to this space just by being in it.
Thanks Sher. "Refusing to be flattened" is the best way of putting it. It goes beyond being a survivor, it's about turning straw into gold - the feminine art of transformation. Living from the inside out. There is no voice outside of me telling me who I am and what I can do. I am guided by the inner voice of the loving mother. Your work is inspiring me to write my daughter's story in the form of a conversation with her - will keep you posted. All the best, Judy
I will always admit great fortune in my schooling experience, as I received support in hidden, relational ways that made most of the difference.
Don’t get me wrong, I was labeled “operationally defiant” by the system, and pathologized into the ‘Behavioral Management Classroom’ but never asked much deeper. (I recall a vague memory of being evaluated and it being suggested we seek diagnosis for ADHD/ADD, but my mother’s distrust of psychology - thanks religion - prevented further clinical action… kinda grateful for that to a degree now, but honest evaluation of situation as it was notwithstanding.)
By third grade I had been able to regulate myself enough that I was invited into the ‘Gifted and Talented’ class… it helped my brain thrive on top of the mundane work. Challenged me in ways that helped regulate further (focus for the chaotic mind).
I roll into middle with the same designation, but no longer the bi-weekly hourly sessions for BMC, though GT remained constant, I did have access to the regulatory space the BMC classroom provided, and had a ‘handler’ but was mostly OFP* and with the general population. My district supported the honors/Pre-AP/AP norm before it became cool, and that also helped me thrive intellectually, but the support was stunted and jagged as I lack proper diagnosis.
I get denied access to one of the two ‘magnet schools’ I wanted to get into (and two years later my brother /does/) due to their lack of BMC support, and wind up at my second choice. Their intelligence based support was even better, but the BMC support dropped even more.
The designation within the programs certainly helped in some aspects, but I never received any real formal care due to lack of diagnosis… my ‘little professor’ ass erased the harm being inflicted, I had already been trained out of caring for my own needs.
Now, I had saints for teachers who are what really helped me thrive and survive in absence of true support. My elementary BMC teachers who used the program to teach us about things like understanding emotions, expressions, and moods (gave me language I lacked and would not have been taught elsewhere); my IPC teachers in middle school who was just loving and the science teacher who often said ‘let’s demonstrate it’ in the face of kids staring blankly at textbook pages (dude still inspires me). And honestly, the whole staff of my magnet had nothing but care and respect for the students, and it showed in how they treated us.
But the gaps that remained certainly affected the rest of my life.
You always bring such layered, grounded truth to this space—and this reflection is no exception. I’m struck by how you hold both the gratitude and the gaps. How you name the hidden care that helped you survive, without glossing over the systemic harm that went unaddressed. That duality is powerful.
Your story really highlights how so many of us were supported just enough to make it look like we were okay—while the deeper needs, the internal dissonance, the formative harms went unnoticed or ignored. That line about your "little professor ass" erasing the harm? Oof. That hits. The brilliance that kept you afloat is the same brilliance that made the pain invisible to others. And still, you knew.
The educators who did see you—those are the bright lights. The ones who cracked open possibility even when the system was failing. And the way you carry them in your memory speaks volumes about how relational care shapes us, even when formal support falls short.
Thank you for sharing this. For trusting us with the jagged edges as much as the grace. This space is richer because of your presence—and because you speak from that in-between place where both truth and tenderness live.
Your ability to communicate your experience in its layered complexity astounds me! I am inspired by transformative education for neurodivergent liberation.
Now for my story. As an elementary school student in a small classroom setting, I learned well. In high school, my curiosity and interests were no longer aligned with the curriculum, and I went with my interests over performance and achievement.
My interests sere in Eastern knowledge practices and they were not taught, so I engaged in self study, practiced yoga and became a vegetarian (which was uncommon in the 1970's for a girl from a working class family). Anyway, I did well enough in school- but not as well as I could have if I was interested and connected to the teachers and teachings. But I made some good friends and did not struggle, went to college and had no idea what to do there, so I entered the program in Paris and studied there for two semesters. That's where I was introduced to a lifestyle that made sense to me - which it turns out, is what I was looking for.
When I returned, I did not re-enter college, but teamed up with artists, musicians and alternative culture, moved to NYC, and explored my interests. I also married a man who was undiagnosed, but was autistic, and struggled with daily living. I wanted to help him (in ways I will not disclose, it's his story), but I was not able to. We had a child and I could write volumes about her experience which I might do that later.
After my first marriage ended, I finished my education to become a teacher and found the public school system soul-crushing for me and my daughter so I became involved in founding alternative schools, teaching, and consulting. Instead of blaming the children, I asked the question, "does this child have the physical skills we are asking them to have"? I looked for ways to teach the physical skills, integrating primal reflexes with movement that prepared the body to learn. And advocated for allowing children to play, be in nature, and make their own discoveries.
Thanks and best wishes Sher! Hope this is helpful.
Judith,
Your reflection is such a gift. I’m deeply moved by the layers you’ve offered here—the curiosity, the resistance, the self-trust it took to follow your own path, even when it diverged from what was expected or available. That is transformative education.
The thread of your story—honoring embodied knowledge, walking beside an undiagnosed partner, witnessing your daughter’s journey, and ultimately reclaiming your own educational praxis—is powerful and resonant. Your work asking “does this child have the physical skills we are asking them to have?” feels revolutionary in its simplicity and its depth. You saw the body, the movement, the whole human. That kind of presence is everything.
Your story affirms something I’ve felt so strongly: the system fails us before it names us. And sometimes, the deepest healing is found not in fixing, but in refusing to be flattened.
Thank you for being here, and for sharing so generously. I would love to read more of your writing, especially about your daughter’s experience if and when it feels right. You’re adding so much to this space just by being in it.
With gratitude and kinship,
Sher
Thanks Sher. "Refusing to be flattened" is the best way of putting it. It goes beyond being a survivor, it's about turning straw into gold - the feminine art of transformation. Living from the inside out. There is no voice outside of me telling me who I am and what I can do. I am guided by the inner voice of the loving mother. Your work is inspiring me to write my daughter's story in the form of a conversation with her - will keep you posted. All the best, Judy
I will always admit great fortune in my schooling experience, as I received support in hidden, relational ways that made most of the difference.
Don’t get me wrong, I was labeled “operationally defiant” by the system, and pathologized into the ‘Behavioral Management Classroom’ but never asked much deeper. (I recall a vague memory of being evaluated and it being suggested we seek diagnosis for ADHD/ADD, but my mother’s distrust of psychology - thanks religion - prevented further clinical action… kinda grateful for that to a degree now, but honest evaluation of situation as it was notwithstanding.)
By third grade I had been able to regulate myself enough that I was invited into the ‘Gifted and Talented’ class… it helped my brain thrive on top of the mundane work. Challenged me in ways that helped regulate further (focus for the chaotic mind).
I roll into middle with the same designation, but no longer the bi-weekly hourly sessions for BMC, though GT remained constant, I did have access to the regulatory space the BMC classroom provided, and had a ‘handler’ but was mostly OFP* and with the general population. My district supported the honors/Pre-AP/AP norm before it became cool, and that also helped me thrive intellectually, but the support was stunted and jagged as I lack proper diagnosis.
I get denied access to one of the two ‘magnet schools’ I wanted to get into (and two years later my brother /does/) due to their lack of BMC support, and wind up at my second choice. Their intelligence based support was even better, but the BMC support dropped even more.
The designation within the programs certainly helped in some aspects, but I never received any real formal care due to lack of diagnosis… my ‘little professor’ ass erased the harm being inflicted, I had already been trained out of caring for my own needs.
Now, I had saints for teachers who are what really helped me thrive and survive in absence of true support. My elementary BMC teachers who used the program to teach us about things like understanding emotions, expressions, and moods (gave me language I lacked and would not have been taught elsewhere); my IPC teachers in middle school who was just loving and the science teacher who often said ‘let’s demonstrate it’ in the face of kids staring blankly at textbook pages (dude still inspires me). And honestly, the whole staff of my magnet had nothing but care and respect for the students, and it showed in how they treated us.
But the gaps that remained certainly affected the rest of my life.
*mil lingo: own fvcking program
Marina,
You always bring such layered, grounded truth to this space—and this reflection is no exception. I’m struck by how you hold both the gratitude and the gaps. How you name the hidden care that helped you survive, without glossing over the systemic harm that went unaddressed. That duality is powerful.
Your story really highlights how so many of us were supported just enough to make it look like we were okay—while the deeper needs, the internal dissonance, the formative harms went unnoticed or ignored. That line about your "little professor ass" erasing the harm? Oof. That hits. The brilliance that kept you afloat is the same brilliance that made the pain invisible to others. And still, you knew.
The educators who did see you—those are the bright lights. The ones who cracked open possibility even when the system was failing. And the way you carry them in your memory speaks volumes about how relational care shapes us, even when formal support falls short.
Thank you for sharing this. For trusting us with the jagged edges as much as the grace. This space is richer because of your presence—and because you speak from that in-between place where both truth and tenderness live.
In solidarity and awe,
Sher