Middle school can be challenging, and having a Nonverbal Learning Disability (NVLD), a condition that affects social skills, body language interpretation, and spatial awareness, added its own complexities. (Neither did being a foot taller than half the grade or having acne, but I digress.) When you are younger, some quirks might seem cute or charming, but often by middle school, they are no longer seen that way. I quickly realized that struggling to read body language or differentiate sarcasm was isolating. I found myself outside the cliques forming around me.
I always had friends and embraced my unique humor and personality, even when I was known as the “funny” or “oblivious” one. Therefore, I often used humor to mask insecurities about the challenges I faced with NVLD, such as reading social cues or navigating physical spaces. At the same time, I relied on my strong verbal skills and self-advocacy, strengths often associated with NVLD, which made it difficult to openly discuss disability. Since I was expressive and articulate, people often assumed I did not need support. This balance of resilience and complexity shaped how I engaged with the world around me. Gym class was overwhelming, as coordination and spatial awareness required constant effort. Multi-step algebra problems were complex puzzles I could seemingly never fully grasp, no matter how many mornings I spent coming in for extra help. That frustration was real, but it fueled my determination.
Yet, despite these efforts, one of the hardest parts of school was not just the work itself but feeling unseen in the stories and books I read. When it came to schoolwork, I did not see myself reflected in the books or stories in my English classes. High school became more relatable when I took classes like Child Development, where I worked with local preschoolers, many with disabilities. Still, my required courses largely lacked representation of experiences like mine. Being verbal and able to advocate for myself, I focused on my strengths while managing challenges that were often not talked about openly. I navigated these complexities with determination and resilience.
Now, as a teacher, I am not an expert on NVLD or disability education, but I am deeply committed to changing how we talk about and represent disability in schools. One tool I find especially useful is teaching the difference between the medical and social models of disability. The medical model focuses on “fixing” impairments and often leads schools to emphasize what students “cannot do.” In contrast, the social model highlights how society’s structures and attitudes create disabling barriers far more than the impairments themselves. For example, a student experiencing sensory overload is not “broken” or incorrect in having this experience. Rather, the noisy, crowded classroom environment creates barriers that can and should be adjusted.
This shift is essential because the social model encourages educators to create supportive environments that embrace diverse ways of learning and being. It reframes disability from an internal “problem” to a difference shaped by environment and attitudes.
So, what can teachers do? Here are practical steps I recommend and practice:
1) Choose literature that reflects diverse, authentic experiences. For example, my senior class read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time this spring. Though it centers on Autism, the novel vividly portrays sensory overload and social struggles familiar to many with NVLD. Watching the play adaptation enriched students’ understanding. Seeing themselves in stories fosters belonging and empowerment.
2) Teach the difference between medical and social models of disability. This helps students and educators reframe disability and recognize how environments and attitudes shape experiences.
3) Use varied teaching methods. Break down complex tasks, incorporate visuals and discussions, and include creative projects like having students become newscasters reporting on disability topics. Active learning supports all students in engaging and processing material in ways that suit them best.
4) Foster a classroom culture that embraces imperfection, respect, and difference. Encourage honest conversations about social cues, learning challenges, and abilities. By sharing my own experiences with reading body language and math, I model that everyone faces challenges and that is a natural part of learning. This approach fosters respect and comfort for all students.
5) Offer practical support when necessary. Extra time, clear step-by-step instructions, and private check-ins make a significant difference. When I sought extra math help, it was about accessing what I needed to succeed, not about being “different.”
6) Commit to ongoing learning and adaptation. There is no single “right way” to do this. Asking students what helps and being open to adjustments creates a responsive classroom. Remember to be patient with yourself and your students; we are all learning together.
It is essential to remember that the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) was passed only in 1990. Since then, we have made meaningful progress supporting students with disabilities, yet much remains to be done to achieve true disability justice in schools. Research shows many students still face barriers to full inclusion and representation. We can and should celebrate progress while recognizing the work ahead; both realities can coexist.
Disability representation is more than visibility. It transforms how we understand ability and design learning spaces. It means moving beyond trying to “fix” students toward removing barriers and embracing all kinds of learners. That is the change I wish I had seen growing up and what every student deserves.
As educators, reflecting on our biases, experiences, and collaborating with students to create inclusive environments can have a great impact. Together, we can build classrooms where
every student confidently sees themselves in the story. I am very proud of the work I have done so far and look forward to developing, learning, and growing in my first full year of teaching!
Becca
Becca is a dynamic freelance writer and English educator, who is currently pursuing her Master’s degree at Columbia University in New York City. Beyond crafting narratives that blend culture, identity, and personal history, Becca aims to weave communities together and foster empathy, understanding, and action. Becca’s works have been featured in Tablet Magazine, The Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Blending Magazine, To Write Love on Her Arms, and the evocative poetry anthology “From Angels to Rebels.” When she is not teaching or piecing together her first novel, she can be found typing away at a cafe, devoting herself to the daily crossword, traveling, hiking, or tackling her next puzzle.
