I wasn’t supposed to be here.
I was supposed to stay quiet, stay small, stay within the lines drawn for me. I was supposed to accept the world as it was, accept that the systems around me were immovable, accept that the way things have always been is the way they must always be.
But I never liked to follow the rules. 😉
I wrote my way out. Out of the silence. Out of the limits of what others told me was possible. Out of the narratives that tried to erase voices like mine – and now, even more so, the voices of too many students in classrooms all over America.
I am a PhD student in special education, but my work, like me, refuses to be put neatly into a single box. On one hand, I research how educational assessments decide who is (and, equally important, who is not) “proficient,” and therefore who is given access to opportunities. I examine how these assessments often fail the very students they are supposed to serve – particularly those who speak and write in ways that don’t conform to standardized expectations.
Another part of my work is pushing back against the idea that standardized assessments are neutral when they have never been designed for all students to succeed. The fields of social science and education rely heavily on the perception that data is objective—that the numbers tell the “truth,” and that our job as scientists or researchers is to uncover that truth.
However, the more I have learned about the history of educational assessments and special education, the more it has become clear to me that these so-called “objective” systems were not designed to be neutral. They were designed to categorize, sort, and exclude.
In fact, many of the assessments and tools we use today, such as IQ tests and standardized literacy tests, have roots in eugenics — a field of study that aimed to “prove” the superiority of certain races and abilities over others.
I was supposed to stay quiet, stay small, stay within the lines drawn for me. I was supposed to accept the world as it was, accept that the systems around me were immovable, accept that the way things have always been is the way they must always be.
But I never liked to follow the rules. 😉
I wrote my way out. Out of the silence. Out of the limits of what others told me was possible. Out of the narratives that tried to erase voices like mine – and now, even more so, the voices of too many students in classrooms all over America.
I am a PhD student in special education, but my work, like me, refuses to be put neatly into a single box. On one hand, I research how educational assessments decide who is (and, equally important, who is not) “proficient,” and therefore who is given access to opportunities. I examine how these assessments often fail the very students they are supposed to serve – particularly those who speak and write in ways that don’t conform to standardized expectations.
Another part of my work is pushing back against the idea that standardized assessments are neutral when they have never been designed for all students to succeed. The fields of social science and education rely heavily on the perception that data is objective—that the numbers tell the “truth,” and that our job as scientists or researchers is to uncover that truth.
However, the more I have learned about the history of educational assessments and special education, the more it has become clear to me that these so-called “objective” systems were not designed to be neutral. They were designed to categorize, sort, and exclude.
In fact, many of the assessments and tools we use today, such as IQ tests and standardized literacy tests, have roots in eugenics — a field of study that aimed to “prove” the superiority of certain races and abilities over others.
It’s important to recognize that the tools of social science, including the statistical methods that underpin our assessments, are complicit in systems of oppression. Just as early eugenics-based IQ tests were used to justify racial segregation and exclusion, modern standardized assessments continue to sort students based on narrow definitions of intelligence, often reinforcing racial, linguistic, and dis/ability biases.
Writing has become a powerful tool in my journey toward understanding these issues. It allows me to reflect on my positionality, my privilege, and my complicity in these systems. But it also serves as a means of resistance—a way to challenge the status quo and push for change.
In my writing, both academic and personal, my goal is to disrupt the idea that science, particularly social science, is objective and value-neutral. Instead, I want to lift up the voices and experiences of those who have been historically marginalized by these systems — students of Color, emerging multilingual learners, and students with dis/abilities.
In my writing, both academic and personal, my goal is to disrupt the idea that science, particularly social science, is objective and value-neutral. Instead, I want to lift up the voices and experiences of those who have been historically marginalized by these systems — students of Color, emerging multilingual learners, and students with dis/abilities.
This blog is a space where I can speak freely, without needing institutional approval or the peer-review process. It is a place where I can document the realities of navigating academia as a scholar who refuses to separate research from justice. It is a space where I can tell stories – my own and others’ – because if we’ve learned anything from history, it’s that the stories that get told determine whose voices shape the future.
I write because language is power.
I write because silence is complicity.
I write because the students I fight for deserve a system that sees them, values them, and meets them where they are – not one that labels them as failures for the way they speak, read, or write.
I wrote my way out.
And I’m also writing a way in – for all those who need to see that it can be done, for those whose stories need to be told, and so future students and scholars can write their own deliverance.
I write because language is power.
I write because silence is complicity.
I write because the students I fight for deserve a system that sees them, values them, and meets them where they are – not one that labels them as failures for the way they speak, read, or write.
I wrote my way out.
And I’m also writing a way in – for all those who need to see that it can be done, for those whose stories need to be told, and so future students and scholars can write their own deliverance.
If you’re here, welcome. Pick up a pen and let’s start writing.