I am a special educator in a rural district, but my journey to teaching—and to effective instruction—was neither typical nor straightforward. I experienced my first depressive episode at age five. The weight of hopelessness and the physical collapse of deep depression overtook me. I wept and crumpled onto the linoleum floor in the cereal aisle at Kmart. Embarrassed, my mom asked, “What in the world is wrong with you?” That question echoed throughout my childhood as medical and education systems tried to root out and fix what they saw as broken. Therapists told me to “talk my way to happiness,” while psychiatrists adjusted doses of medication for a child. Over time, I internalized the belief that I was inherently defective. Unworthy.
As I grew older, I began to resist the rigidity of the education system. Creativity burned inside me, but traditional learning environments stifled my curiosity. When it came time to choose a postsecondary path, I resolved to help others like me—those with labels, minds that didn’t fit the mold, and hearts longing for belonging. On a mission to support exceptional learners, I became a special education teacher.
When I started my first year of teaching, I saw the world through rose-colored glasses. I was thrilled to teach a room full of students eager to learn. Reality quickly shattered this naive vision. I was gobsmacked when students didn’t even want to enter my special education classroom. My attempts at behavior management and enforcing compliance didn’t help, and I was left disillusioned. Why did students loathe being in my super fun and adorably decorated classroom? I went straight to the source, my students, to understand what was getting in the way of both their learning and my teaching.
Resoundingly, my students stated that being labeled “SpEd” was ruining their social lives. Walking over the threshold into my classroom put a target on their backs as “different.” The stigma tied to receiving special education services was deterring my students from getting the help they needed to grow academically, socially, emotionally, and behaviorally.
It was painful to realize I was unintentionally perpetuating the same deficit-based thinking that had harmed me as a child. The very systems I’d hoped to transform were now reinforcing old messages of inadequacy. But listening to my students share their anger, sadness, and shame about how they were treated because of their disability status gave me renewed purpose. I committed to building a space where they could truly belong.
The Stigma Around “SpEd”
Since the inception of institutionalized special education, a persistent stigma has shadowed the benefits of specialized instruction, services, accommodations, and modifications. Teachers’ perceptions of students’ potential—and their attitudes toward inclusion—directly influence learning outcomes. Yet many educators still view students with disabilities as less capable than their peers and resist inclusive practices (de Boer, Pijl, & Minnaert, 2011; Krämer & Zimmermann, 2025). Disability status often serves as both “an object of protection and a conduit for exclusion” (Artiles, Dorn, & Bal, 2016).
In trying to uphold students’ rights to a free and appropriate education, schools have embraced the medical model of disability as a way to label and swiftly connect students to services. But this model views difference as deficit, casting disability as a problem for teachers to fix (Mason & Connor, 2022). From the language educators use to label and categorize students to the subtle and overt exclusionary practices that permeate our schools, this deficit framing can severely limit access and opportunity (Shifrer, Callahan, & Muller, 2013).
One of the greatest challenges for students with disabilities is the shame and sense of otherness that can come with receiving special education services. The psychological toll is immense. Chronic stigmatization is linked to reduced self-regulation, increased disengagement, depression, anxiety, and even suicidal ideation—all of which undermine academic, social-emotional, and behavioral growth (Daley & Rappolt-Schlichtmann, 2018). Being pushed to the margins, shunned by peers, and labeled as deficient erodes students’ sense of belonging, their confidence as learners, and their overall self-worth.
Students at Syracuse-Dunbar-Avoca Middle School work collaboratively and independently in their middle school’s Learning Lab during study hall. Photo courtesy of Megan Pitrat.
Embracing Malleability
Schools are often seen as rigid systems—bureaucratic, slow to change, and especially in special education, a field steeped in legal oversight. But in my rural school, I searched for access points to malleability, and everything changed.
My original classroom felt like an architectural afterthought. It was tiny, had three doors, two floor-to-ceiling windows, and two skylights. We unlovingly dubbed it “the fishbowl.” Isolated from the rest of the school, the room and its pull-out model for services reinforced the stigma my students already faced. Each day, they had to walk past their peers in the main hallway to reach my classroom—a public reminder of their “different” status.
Then, two shifts opened a window of possibility. First, COVID-19 forced our rural district to invest in upgraded technology, using grant funding to provide Chromebooks to all students for the first time. Second, two students who were wheelchair users needed special education services but couldn’t easily access my classroom. They could only reach a desk just inside the door. This was a glaring equity issue.
As the desktop computer lab became obsolete because of the Chromebooks, I researched, planned, and advocated for moving my classroom into that space. This one change could address both the immediate accessibility issue for our students needing wheelchair access and the stigma tied to the isolated location of the special education room. The lab was centrally located, spacious, and offered the infrastructure and flexibility needed to support more innovative, inclusive, and sensory-friendly learning—especially important for addressing students’ emerging social-emotional and behavioral needs in our post-pandemic world.
Beyond a new room, we had a chance to rethink the role and presence of special education itself—shifting from a model rooted in deficit thinking to one grounded in student strengths (Ellis et al., 2020). It wasn’t just about logistics; it was about transformation.
Students who need support are no longer isolated but instead can grow in a community that invites everyone to come together.
A Day in the Learning Lab
Labels can be powerful, often negative, but they can also inspire positive change when we choose strengths-based language. Rejecting the term “SpEd Room,” I reimagined my classroom as the Learning Lab, a welcoming space for all students that values inclusion, creativity, collaboration, and student-driven inquiry. In this space, everyone can feel heard, build community, and use their strengths to succeed and belong.
The key to reducing stigma wasn’t just changing the name—it was changing who had access to the space. By opening the Learning Lab to all students during certain periods and making it a hub for creative collaboration, it shifted from a place where students were sent for “help” to one they chose to come to for enrichment and support.
Periods 1–4
General Access and Creative Collaboration
During the morning, the Learning Lab functions as a flexible, drop-in space available to any teacher who schedules time to bring their class for co-taught creative learning activities, student-driven inquiry projects, or assessment accommodations. As the special educator, I manage the space throughout the day, often collaborating with paraprofessionals and general education teachers during these periods. Students with IEPs receive their special education supports seamlessly within these collaborative activities. Additionally, students can use the space independently for quiet work, reading, or hands-on activities such as crafting or exploring the newly added makerspace. When students use the space independently, supervision is provided by staff on duty to ensure a safe and supportive environment. This open access means students with disabilities learn alongside peers who choose to be there, normalizing the space as one for all learners.
Period 5
Resource Study Hall
During study hall, students with disabilities receive focused academic support in the Learning Lab. Peers from general education can also join with teacher passes, further normalizing the space as a welcoming place for any student needing extra help. Activities include homework assistance, executive functioning skill-building, makerspace projects, or independent reading in the lounge area.
Syracuse-Dunbar-Avoca Middle School students capture their notes on the disability rights movement in their creative thinking journals. Photo courtesy of Megan Pitrat.
Period 6
Specialized Math and Skills Support
A small group of students receive targeted math instruction tailored to their needs. The space also supports students working on tasks such as preparing speeches, organizing creative writing, or creating presentations. Students needing help with executive functioning receive support in organizing materials, managing time, and metacognitive coaching for assignment completion.
Periods 7–8
Social-Emotional Regulation and Specialized Instruction
These sessions begin with a check-in and regulation activity using the Zones of Regulation framework (Kuypers, 2011), which helps students identify and communicate their emotional and energy states in a nonjudgmental way. Instruction then transitions to spiral math review and literacy work guided by the Creative Research Stages framework (D’Adamo, 2017), which promotes student agency through curiosity-driven inquiry, project-based learning, and creative self-expression.
We had a chance to rethink the role of special education—from a model rooted in deficit thinking to one grounded in student strengths.
Growing Your Own Learning Lab
Creating a Learning Lab starts with seeing the potential in spaces that might otherwise go unused. Maybe it’s an old computer lab that no longer fits today’s technological needs or a large classroom that can be reimagined. The important thing is to seize moments of malleability to create welcoming and accessible spaces where students who need support are no longer isolated but instead can grow in a community that invites everyone to come together.
Building strong partnerships between special and general education teachers is key. When multiple educators share a vision for a flexible and collaborative learning environment, it becomes easier to gain support and find creative ways to use the space.
Starting small is often the most practical approach. You might pilot flexible scheduling for one or two class periods, collaborate with general educators to explore how the space can support their curricula, or experiment with project-based learning by adding a makerspace. These small shifts lay the groundwork for bigger change, helping build student enthusiasm and staff buy-in over time.
Above all, keep an eye on how students feel about belonging, connection, and whether they choose to use the space for support. These signs show the real impact of breaking down stigma and creating a place where all learners feel welcome and empowered.
Hope for an Inclusive Future
A simple exchange between two students captured the Learning Lab’s impact. The first student, who has a disability, shared, “Yeah, I need the test read out loud to me. It’s one of my accommodations and it helps a lot.” Their peer remarked, “Oh wow! I had no idea you had an IEP. That’s cool man.” When special education supports are seamlessly embedded in shared spaces, disability becomes just another aspect of learner diversity, not a marker of difference.
Staff have seen the change, too. Our school psychologist Ashleigh Callahan describes the Learning Lab as “a come as you are and get what you need” space, and social studies teacher Sarah Burr notes that students “actually beg to go . . . because they know they’ll find not only academic support but also kindness, understanding, and a sense of community.”
The Learning Lab is a working model of what special education can become: a creative, inclusive hub that reframes disability through a strengths-based lens. All schools can build spaces that challenge stigma, embrace cognitive diversity, and dismantle ableist structures. When educators examine their environments and intentionally design for belonging, difference becomes not a deficit but a powerful asset.
Learning Lab Practices That Build Belonging
Creative Thinking Journals
Part sketchbook, part field notes, these journals allow students to document their learning visually and authentically. Whether through diagrams, doodles, or written reflections, students make their thinking visible in ways that honor their unique cognitive processes.
Circles
The Learning Lab integrates both proactive and restorative circles into everyday routines. These circles create structured space for open dialogue, mutual respect, and community building. Whether gathered around tables, on couches, or cross-legged on the floor, students use circles to process academic content, reflect on emotions, and collaboratively problem solve—building trust and empathy in the process.
Metacognition Through Visual Metaphor
Each year, students complete a Metacognitive Visual Metaphor Project, creating tangible representations of how their minds work. These strength-based visuals help students develop self-awareness and pride in their learning identities. Many even request that images of their metaphors accompany their IEPs—so teachers see their cognitive strengths before reading deficit-based paperwork. This shift has transformed how students perceive themselves and how teachers
understand them by reinforcing that all minds belong.
Reflect & Discuss
What aspects of your school’s current special education setup—including how learning spaces are used—might unintentionally contribute to stigma or isolation? How might those be reimagined to foster inclusion and belonging?
How might reframing disability through a strengths-based lens change your approach to teaching and learning?
