Changing Roles

*This post was written in June of 2019

In 2002, the summer after I graduated college, someone asked me what I was going to do with my psychology degree. My response was something along the lines of “I’m not really sure, but I can tell you one thing, I’m NEVER going to be a teacher.” And, by “something along the lines of..” I mean, “the exact words that came out of my mouth were….”   I was so tired of hearing over and over again “oh you’re majoring in psychology, guess you’re going to be a teacher.” I didn’t see myself as a teacher. I didn’t want to be a teacher.  In my senior internship, I got the ONE coveted position of intern to school psychologist.  Out of a room full of students who wanted to be school psychologists, I was gifted the one actual psychology internship, while the others were placed as classroom aides in various special or general education programs. I still don’t know how it worked out that I got that spot, but guess what?  After I got it, and did it for a semester, I had decided that I also didn’t want to be a school psychologist.   So here I was, newly graduated, with no idea what the heck I was going to do with my life because now I knew that I not only didn’t want to be a teacher, but I also didn’t want to be a school psychologist.  But it was really fine because I lived in Santa Barbara at the time and the beach was calling me.

Fast forward to about 5 weeks later, when I had landed a job for the summer as a classroom aide in the summer program for the school district where I lived.   My internship advisor had recommended me and when I walked through the door, the panicked secretary said “you’re the one that Jim sent right? Can you start tomorrow?” No interview, no questions, nothing. The desperation (that I now understand fully) of someone who needs to staff a special ed aide in a summer school program so badly that she will literally take anyone who walks through the door.  I didn’t know it at the time, but while on assignment that summer, I would be pointed in the direction that my career would ultimately go from there on out.

I had been assigned as an aide in a preschool class that was specifically for children with autism and it was my first day.  To this point, I had met a total of two children who had autism, both of whom were diagnosed with Asberger’s Sydrome, and I had yet to meet a child who fell on the more severe end of the spectrum.   But then, the most beautiful child I had ever seen walked into the room.  His mom started talking to the teacher and he stood there in the doorway, silently looking up toward the ceiling moving his fingers next to his eyes.  He was four years old and he was wearing a red shirt.  I can remember the scene in my head exactly, as that was the moment I said to myself “this is it. This is what I want to do. I want to know what he is thinking. I want to connect with him.” And thus began my career in the field of autism. 

Over the next few years, I had applied to a teaching credential program and became a… (gasp)…teacher. I got my master’s degree in Special Education and was teaching a moderate severe autism preschool program. I had my first baby, Charlotte, and shortly thereafter, I had my second baby, Iris. And that is when everything changed. Iris wasn’t breathing when she was born.  I became hypervigilant about watching for signs of delays, as being in the field, I well knew the risks of traumatic birth. When she was a month old, I told her doctor that I thought I saw signs of delays. He told me I needed to calm down. When she was two months, I repeated myself and he told me to calm down. When she was four months, I broke down in tears to her doctor and he told me again to calm down but agreed to order an assessment so my fears could be appeased. Then, when she was seven months, we had the assessment and when they showed us on the bell curve where she was performing, we knew that we had a very long road ahead of us. The whole time, I knew deep down in my heart that it was autism and a little over two years later, a different doctor confirmed that it was.

In the past 8 and a half years since having Iris, I have changed the way I practice ABA. I have acquired a new understanding of the field as I have learned what it is like to not only teach a child with autism, but how to raise one. One week ago, I had my last day at work as a BCBA.  I cried my way through an exit interview for a job that I loved for 7 years, at a company that I helped start because at this time, I know deep down in my heart that this is the time for me to focus on my own child, to extend the bulk of the effort of my skills to her. Following the interview, I cried all the way to Iris’ school, pulled my shit together, put on a smile and picked her up and then drove straight to her ABA clinic meeting, where I would discuss her progress, behaviors and programming with another BCBA. An hour after I had “left the field,” I was back in it. Because the truth is, I won’t ever leave the field. Because we live it.  And that’s ok, because we love it and I hope that even in this changing role I will have, I can continue to help guide people along the way and maybe provide some laughter, all the while being the best possible mom I can be.

My hope is that this site can be helpful to those who might be going through something with their own child, and to those who love these people. In the different positions I have held in the field, I have acquired a great deal of knowledge that can help guide families in a forward direction. I’m here to do that and if I can help even one family, then I will know I have accomplished something great.