By: Ginny Warner, NBCT – North Carolina
The path to understanding my own neurodivergence was a winding one, a journey marked by subtle inconsistencies and delayed realizations. As a child, the world felt slightly out of sync. Occupational therapy became a familiar companion, aiding me in navigating the challenges of fine motor skills, particularly the frustrating dance of handwriting. My neck, too, seemed to possess a mind of its own, often contorting into uncomfortable positions. There were whispers of ADD, but the label never quite fit. My focus was intense, almost obsessive, making it difficult to shift between tasks. Yet, years later, that same ADD diagnosis would resurface, this time with a sense of finality.
It was the dystonia diagnosis that finally illuminated the connections, gathering the scattered fragments of my experience into a cohesive whole. Dystonia, a neurological movement disorder, joined the ranks of its more well-known counterparts: Parkinson’s, stiff person syndrome, Tourette’s. While it doesn’t carry the same cognitive implications as Parkinson’s, it shares a kinship in its motor and non-motor manifestations. My body often betrays my intentions, muscles rebelling with uncontrolled movements, pain, and tremors. My neck, a frequent participant in this internal rebellion, twists into unnatural postures, and a visible tremor emerges whenever I attempt to concentrate. Dystonia, it seems, disrupts my brain’s ability to multitask, hindering its capacity to focus on a task while maintaining physical stillness. This explained my tendency to hyperfocus, the difficulty in shifting gears, and the agonizing writer’s cramp that seized my hand, accompanied by head spasms whenever I attempted to write, cut, or sort. Beyond the physical, the dysregulation of my nervous system painted a broader picture, encompassing sensitivities to overstimulation – the overwhelming assault of bright lights, loud noises, and frenetic activity.
These sensitivities, shared by many of my neurodivergent students, often made it challenging to maintain focus and complete tasks. Yet, amidst the specialist appointments and the ever-present hum of my nervous system, I embarked on a new challenge: pursuing my National Board Certification. The process was undeniably arduous, each surge of stress threatening to amplify my dystonia symptoms. But I persisted, navigating the tremors, the pain, and the unpredictable ebbs and flows of my nervous system.
The journey to NBCT was longer than anticipated, a two-year odyssey marked by escalating dystonic episodes and a growing struggle with focus. In the final months, doubts crept in. Was I still capable of teaching? Was I equipped to handle the demands of the classroom? Just days before the score release, an email from the National Board arrived, a reminder of the impending outcome. As I scrolled through the message, my eyes fell upon an article: "Neurodivergent Teachers."
Intrigued, I clicked the link, and in that moment, my perspective shifted. The article overflowed with stories of educators who had harnessed their neurodiversity, transforming it into a source of strength and empathy in their classrooms. A new world unfolded before me, a world where neurodiversity was not a limitation but a catalyst for creativity, connection, and a deeper understanding of my students’ needs.
As I embark on the path to recovery, I know I won’t be alone. My students, fellow travelers on the neurodivergent spectrum, will be there alongside me. Neurodivergence, I realized, wasn’t an ending but a beginning. It wouldn’t derail my career; it would enrich it. Two days later, the NBCT results arrived, a digital display of fireworks illuminating the screen. I now hold two new titles: NBCT and Neurodivergent Teacher. And I am equally proud of both.
