January 17, 2025

My name is Rebecca Engle, and I’m a special education teacher, writer, and advocate for equitable education. My journey has been shaped by challenges, triumphs, and a deep determination to make education a place where all students feel seen and valued. Today, I work to build inclusive spaces for neurodivergent students, but my path to this point was anything but straightforward.

I was born autistic and was non-verbal until I was four years old. As a young child, I experienced the world in ways that felt chaotic and overwhelming. While other children expressed themselves with ease, I lived in a quieter world, trying to make sense of it all. When I finally began to speak, it was a victory, but not without its own challenges. My speech wasn’t typical—I struggled with articulation and finding the right words, and my voice was often misinterpreted or dismissed.

Up until 5th grade, I was fortunate to have an Individualized Education Program (IEP) that provided accommodations to help me navigate the classroom. This support allowed me to manage sensory overload, difficulties with executive functioning, and the social aspects of school. But when I exited the program, everything changed. Suddenly, it was as though my autism no longer existed in the eyes of my educators. The very traits that had once been supported were now seen as shortcomings or personal failings.

Instead of receiving help, I was met with skepticism and a lack of understanding. Teachers assumed that if I no longer had an IEP, I should have “grown out” of my autism. My challenges didn’t disappear—they were just ignored. I had to work harder than ever to meet expectations, all while feeling like I was constantly falling short.

The discrimination I faced became glaringly obvious during a high school biology project. Group work has always been difficult for me. The constant negotiation of tasks, managing different personalities, and dealing with unstructured social interactions were overwhelming. For this project, my group members dismissed my ideas outright, leaving me excluded from discussions. I tried to contribute, but my struggles with communication made it difficult to assert myself.

The teacher overseeing the project didn’t help. Instead of offering guidance, she made me feel like my struggles were my fault. After finishing my presentation with my group she snapped, “Learn how to talk.” That moment cut deep—it wasn’t just a criticism of my presentation skills; it was a direct attack on a disability I had worked tirelessly to overcome.

To make matters worse, when I got my grade back I was handed a 0 with the statement "Learn how to talk" The failure wasn’t just about the grade—it was a failure of the system to recognize my potential and provide the support I needed.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. High school was filled with moments where I felt invisible or judged. Teachers and peers expected me to perform like a neurotypical student, and when I didn’t, I was labeled as lazy or unmotivated. My autism wasn’t accommodated; it was something I was expected to overcome on my own.

The challenges didn’t end in high school. College brought its own set of hurdles, particularly because the accommodations offered weren’t tailored to my needs. I didn’t need extra time on tests or access to a quiet room. What I needed was flexibility and understanding—professors who recognized that neurodivergent students learn differently and thrive in environments that celebrate those differences.

Instead, I was often told to “learn how to mask.” Masking is the exhausting process of suppressing autistic traits to fit in with neurotypical expectations. For me, it meant forcing eye contact, stifling my need to stim, and pretending to understand social cues I didn’t. It meant hiding the very traits that made me who I was, just to be seen as “normal.”

Masking isn’t just draining—it’s harmful. It left me feeling like I had to erase myself to succeed. Professors would tell me that if I wanted to make it in the real world, I needed to stop drawing attention to myself. When I stimmed to regulate my emotions, I was told it was distracting. When I asked for clarification on assignments, I was met with impatience or dismissal. The message was clear: I wasn’t allowed to exist as I was.

Despite these experiences, I refused to give up. Every instance of discrimination, every moment of being underestimated, fueled my determination to change the system. I knew I wasn’t alone in these struggles, and I wanted to ensure that other students didn’t have to endure the same pain.

When I became a teacher, I carried these lessons with me. My classroom became a place where differences were not just accommodated but celebrated. I made it my mission to ensure that every student felt seen, heard, and valued. I knew firsthand what it felt like to be dismissed, and I vowed to never let my students feel that way.

My experiences also inspired my research. Too often, students fall through the cracks because they don’t fit neatly into the boxes the education system has created. My work focuses on developing better supports for autistic students, particularly those who don’t qualify for formal accommodations but still face significant challenges. I believe in creating environments that emphasize strengths rather than deficits and foster a sense of belonging for all students.

Looking back, I see how the lack of an IEP after 5th grade shaped my journey. It forced me to become my own advocate, to fight for understanding in a world that didn’t always offer it. But it also gave me the drive to ensure that no other student has to face the same struggles alone.

I’m Rebecca Engle, and my story is one of resilience, advocacy, and the belief that every student deserves the chance to thrive. I’m here to create a world where neurodivergent voices are not just heard but celebrated. Together, we can build a future where differences are not barriers but strengths.

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Becca Engle is a dedicated special education teacher, author, and advocate for inclusive education. As a neurodivergent educator with a personal understanding of the challenges and strengths of autism, she offers unique insights into creating supportive and equitable learning environments. Her journey from overcoming discrimination to empowering students has shaped her passion for advocacy and education reform.

As our guest blogger, Becca provides a neurodivergent teacher’s perspective, sharing her experiences, strategies, and reflections to inspire and guide others in building classrooms that celebrate diversity and foster success for all learners.