How an ugly cake helped me find my life’s work in special education

Yes, this cake helped me find my life’s work.

Whenever things start to feel wonky—and things have been pretty wonky for the special education world lately—I look back. To the encouraging conversations I had with veteran teachers during my first year teaching. To the moments when my students experienced total joy in their successes. To the beautiful dreams that families had for their children. When I reflect on these moments shared with me as a new teacher, I feel so full of hope and purpose again.

I would encourage you to reflect on the memories that make you feel hopeful—or even the ones that make you laugh. Reflecting as a community can give us the strength we need to continue working to ensure the future of special education is an equitable and inclusive one—even though it feels like it's all being pulled apart right now.

But, we’ll come back to all that later. For now, let’s reflect on an ugly cake.

Recently, I was looking through some photos from my early days as a teacher, 15 years ago. I came across this cake my students and I made in life skills class. This isn’t the first time chocolate cake has stopped me in my tracks, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

The cake community.

This cake may not look like much. And to be honest, I can’t remember if anyone even ate it. But, when I tell you that it was made by high school students with significant intellectual and physical disabilities, you might feel proud. I know I sure did, especially when they cheered each other on throughout the (very) long cake-making process. Ok, I was more than proud—I cried, but only a little, and I assured my students that these were happy tears.

This cake was not made by one person. It took nine students, five instructional aides, a long bus ride to the grocery store—and an even longer one back—and one anxious new teacher (me) the better part of that incredibly hot summer school day to make. All to say, this cake took a lot of hands and saw a lot of faces—some worried (me) and some eager (everyone else)—in life skills class that day. But, as a community determined to make a cake, we banded together and worked toward a common goal: a major sugar rush.

The final (sticky) touch!

We worked in small groups, we worked in pairs, I even worked with one student solo because he often needed more space to engage in big movements—jumping and flapping were his favorites—when he was feeling dysregulated. But, for this moment, his movements were small and sure. He was so intent on doing his part, on being a member of the community—the cake community—that day. He helped me with the final touch: the ooey gooey strawberries, and he laughed as each sticky strawberry landed on top of the cake.

We took our whipped topping very seriously.

No, I hadn’t cried yet.

I remember leaving campus that day feeling like I’d found my community, my people, my place in this world. It felt big and scary (sound familiar?), but it also felt like the anchor I’d been looking for. I’d found my center. Working in classrooms with these incredible students and instructional aides, and building a community with parents, caregivers, and families became the very thing that gave me purpose in life. 

Over the years, when I feel I’ve lost my center, when the world feels big and scary, I come back to this purpose, and I reflect back on our cake community that day. Having a community to lean into—to reflect with—when I’ve lost my center has always set me back on course. It’s that need for community that brought me to this space; that need to have community for myself, but it’s more than that—it’s that need to build community for others to lean into.

Just like our little cake community leaned into each other to get to the end result we all wanted, I want to build a community with you—parents, caregivers, families, educators (and maybe even cake enthusiasts!). I see a community full of conversations, dreams, and moments—moments of success and even some moments of failure. I see a community full of the strength, solace, and healing I know I’m seeking, and maybe you are too.

The final product!

As a member of this community, I offer my experiences, skills, and education. I offer the promise to ensure you remain centered as we navigate often complex educational systems and structures together, work to understand the ever-changing policies directly impacting your child’s classrooms and services, and make sure your voice is heard through it all. In short, I can offer to bake the cake with you.

I hope you’ll join me here as I share stories and resources with you each week, and if you find yourself needing more support, more tools, or more cake puns (not likely, I know), we can find a time to connect and chat. The website is coming soon, so for now, feel free to send me a message and we’ll go from there!

Stay centered out there, friends.

Mischa