The Gray Area

There is a part of my daughter’s education that I wish more people understood.

She doesn’t fit neatly into one box.

She isn’t a student who is 100% in Special Education, where every part of her school day is automatically viewed through the lens of her disability. But she also isn’t a typical general education student who can simply walk into a classroom, keep up with the physical demands of the classroom, and navigate the school day without any additional consideration.

She exists somewhere in the middle.

And for some reason, that middle ground seems incredibly difficult for schools to understand.

My daughter is intelligent. She understands the material. She wants to learn. She wants to participate. She wants to be treated like every other student.

But she does need accommodations.

For example, she needs access to full class notes because she physically works at a slower pace than many of her classmates. That doesn't mean she doesn't understand the lesson. It doesn't mean she isn't capable of doing the work. It simply means that the physical process of writing, maneuvering, and keeping up with the pace of a classroom can take her longer.

Her disability affects how she accesses the classroom. It does not define her intelligence.

And that distinction seems to get lost sometimes.

There is a tendency to look at a student with a significant physical disability and assume that because they need accommodations, they must also need the same level of academic support as a student with a cognitive or learning disability.

That isn't my daughter.

She doesn't need someone to lower expectations for her.

She needs people to remove unnecessary physical barriers, so she has a fair opportunity to meet those expectations.

That's a very different thing.

Every semester and every year, we seem to find ourselves explaining this to new teachers.

We have to explain why she needs certain accommodations. Why she may need more time to physically complete something. Why full class notes are necessary. Why she can't simply “make do” with something that works for everyone else. Why an accommodation that may seem insignificant to someone else can make a huge difference in whether she can fully participate.

And sometimes it feels like because she isn't completely within Special Education, her needs don't automatically become a priority.

But accommodations aren't supposed to depend on whether a student fits neatly into someone's idea of “Special Education” or “regular education.”

There has to be room for the gray area.

Surely, she isn't the first student this school has ever had who is academically capable but physically requires accommodations.

Surely, she isn't the first student who can understand the lesson perfectly well but needs the information provided in a different way because she cannot physically keep pace with the classroom but does need the environment around her to be accessible.

This is what inclusion should look like.

It shouldn't be:

“She can do it, so she needs to figure out how to make it work.”

It should be:

“She can do it, so let's make sure her physical disability doesn't create unnecessary barriers to her ability to do it.”

I don't expect lower expectations for my daughter.

I don't expect special treatment.

I expect her accommodations to be understood and followed.

And most importantly, I expect people to recognize the difference between ability and accessibility.

My daughter is capable.

She is intelligent.

She has goals.

She has things she wants to accomplish.

She just happens to do some things differently and, sometimes, more slowly.

That doesn't put her in a lesser category. It puts her in the gray area—and maybe it's time schools got better at supporting the students who live there.

Because being somewhere in the middle does not mean her needs are somewhere in the middle.