Learning Out Loud: Why I Let Myself Be a Student Again

There’s something humbling—and surprisingly freeing—about letting yourself be a beginner again.

Not just in the obvious ways, like starting a new job or hobby. But in the quieter, more vulnerable spaces where you’ve already put in the hours. Where something isn’t quite working, but you don’t yet know how to fix it. Where the stakes feel high because you’ve already invested time and heart—and you don’t want to ruin what’s there.

This week, I let myself draw over a painting I knew wasn’t finished—because I finally asked for help. I didn’t want to ruin what was already working, and I didn’t have the knowledge or clarity to move forward. But when my instructor gently suggested what was missing—and encouraged me to draw directly on top of the painting—I chose to trust the process. And that choice reminded me that being a student isn’t a step backward. It’s an act of courage and growth.

The Painting I Knew Wasn’t Finished

One of the pieces I brought to class was from my Lake Ontario series. I had put time and heart into it—but I knew something was off. It wasn’t done. I could feel it.

But I didn’t know how to finish it.

I didn’t want to overwork it or ruin what was already working. I lacked the knowledge, the clarity—and, honestly—the confidence. So I paused. I stopped pushing. I brought it, along with a few other unfinished pieces, to my workshop and asked for guidance.

My instructor gently showed me what I couldn’t see on my own yet. She pointed out where the composition fell flat, where the eye had nowhere to travel, and what might bring it back to life.

And then she said the thing that made me hesitate:
“You need to draw directly on top of it.”

I took a breath—and did it.

What followed was not a mess but a map. That drawing became a guide. I filled in the new shapes with paint. I added light and shadow. I rebalanced the composition. And just like that, the painting deepened, defined itself, and came together.

And isn’t that true of life?

So often, we stop short—not because we’re wrong, but because we’ve gone as far as we can with what we know. And in those moments, when we’re willing to ask for help and stay open to redirection, the next step reveals itself.

Sometimes, growth looks like drawing on top of something you thought was finished—and watching it transform into what it was meant to be.

Letting the Website Teach Me Too

It’s not just in art.

A few months ago, I hired someone to build my website. When it didn’t work out, I was frustrated—but calm. I regulated myself, watched tutorials, and got back to basics. It took longer than I wanted. It was messy. But it’s mine now. And I’m proud of it.

Just like in painting, I had to choose process over perfection. To stop fearing the mess and start learning from it.

In Parenting, Too: Student Energy Helps

Even as a teacher and parent, I’ve had to reclaim “student energy.” When my child is dysregulated, when strategies fail, when a meltdown happens in public—I have to remember I don’t need to have all the answers. I need to stay open, curious, and compassionate.

Being a student of parenting doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.
It means I know there’s always more to learn about this child, this moment, this need.

The Creative Load of Caregiving

And here’s something else I want to say—especially to the women and caregivers reading this:

You are already using the creative side of your brain all day long—and often all night, too.

I hear it often:
“I wish I had time to paint. Or write. Or knit. Or do anything creative.”

However, that sentiment often overlooks the entire truth. It’s not just about time—it’s about capacity.

After planning three meals a day (plus snacks) for multiple humans, holding everyone’s schedule in mind, and constantly reworking plans for school pickups, sports, doctor appointments, holidays, birthdays, and more—it’s no wonder there’s nothing left in the tank.

And that’s assuming everyone is healthy, the car doesn’t break down, and you’re getting help (spoiler: most of us aren’t).

I remember when my children were young, and people would say:
“You should start painting again.”
I’d think: “When? Midnight? After everyone’s asleep, and I’ve finished the homework for my graduate class after working all day?”

The mental load that mothers and caregivers carry isn’t just about logistics—it’s inherently creative. It’s constantly solving puzzles, adapting plans, and using the emotional and imaginative parts of the brain to keep your family’s world turning.

And science backs this up.

One study found that a high cognitive load significantly decreases creative output because those mental pathways are already in overdrive (source: ScienceDirect).

💬 Another study showed that mothers carry around 71% of their household’s cognitive and emotional management load (source: Psychology Today).

So, if you finally get a quiet moment and feel too brain-fried to write a sentence or pick up a brush? That’s not laziness. That’s a creative system asking for recovery.

You’re not unmotivated. You’re exhausted.
And that’s allowed.

Let your art, your journal, or your messy draft be a place where you receive, not perform.

Staying Open Is a Practice

We often discuss growth mindset, but it’s easy to forget that being open requires effort. It’s a choice. Sometimes, it means letting go of a finished draft, a favorite brushstroke, or an approach that once worked.

Staying open doesn’t mean we lack wisdom.
It means we’re wise enough to stay teachable.

If You’re in a Learning Season...

Here’s your permission to be in process.
Sketch over something you thought was done.
Revise. Reroute. Restart.

Let being a student again feel like a return to possibility—not a failure to master it.

Because learning out loud is brave—
and you’re not alone in it.

With you in the process,
creating from the chaos,
Kate

What Neurodivergent Kids Really Need

In a world overflowing with unsolicited advice, miracle cures, and one-size-fits-all parenting strategies, raising a neurodivergent child can feel like standing in a storm of opinions while holding a paper umbrella.

What our kids need most is adults willing to build a bridge of support for skill development.

Neurodivergent kids do not need fixing. They need support.

Not the kind of support that tries to mold them into someone else's definition of "normal." Not the kind that treats their differences as deficits. But the type that sees their full humanity and nurtures their unique strengths.

Whether your child or student is autistic, ADHD, or any of the many forms of neurodivergence, the presence of the following can be transformative:

Emotional Regulation & Co-Regulation

Like all children, neurodivergent kids benefit from adults who model how to move through big feelings without shame.

Co-regulation means:

• We don't expect kids to calm down alone.

• We stay close.

• We breathe with them.

• We offer grounding strategies and give their nervous systems a soft landing place.

Instead of saying, "You're fine," try:

"I'm here. I see you're having a big feeling. Let's sit together for a minute."

Or: "Would you like a hug?"

Did you know?

A 60-second hug is one of the most emotionally and physically regulating actions.

Once I learned this, I better understood why my young son would hug with such intensity. He needed deep input and was co-regulating with me. The longer the hug, the slower his breath became and the more relaxed his body.

Other times, he couldn't process physical touch and would react explosively to an accidental bump. John's brain and body were already overstimulated, so even the slightest touch caused an explosive reaction.

In those moments, I would sit with or hold him to prevent accidental harm. Sometimes, we sat for minutes; other times, for hours. It took patience and understanding.

In the most overwhelming moments, he would lose the ability to communicate with words. His brain would go into fight or flight. The frontal lobe shuts down. Language disappeared.

When your 6-year-old looks at you with terror in their eyes—like an animal being hunted—you know they are not doing this on purpose.

Safe, Predictable Environments

Kids thrive in safe spaces—physically, emotionally, and sensorily.

For a neurodivergent child, this might mean:

• A quiet corner to decompress.

• Noise-canceling headphones.

• A visual schedule to reduce the stress of the unknown.

Predictability doesn't mean rigidity. It means reliability.

Kids need to know what to expect—and that their needs will be met consistently.

Visual schedules are not just for the classroom.

Having a schedule at home can make a huge difference.

As the primary caregiver, we are the command center for our family's schedules. We know who needs to be where, when, and what equipment or supplies are required. We know everyone's hunger, sleep cycles, and the day's most joyful or challenging part. Yet we often carry all this information without always sharing it with those affected by daily hustle and bustle shifts.

Your child may do best with a daily schedule or perhaps just knowing their weekly activities. If your child shares time between households or caregivers have unpredictable schedules, a monthly calendar may be best. We combined all of these.

During our most significant struggles, we had a visual schedule for everything, so John always knew what to expect.

As adults, we often forget that the children we care for don't have decades of experience navigating daily activities. Anxiety increases are directly connected to heightened sensory sensitivities. It only takes a slight discomfort (a clothing tag, an unexpected schedule change, or an emotional challenge) to cause a child trying to hold it together to fall apart.

Creating a visual schedule is just one more task on your to-do list, but it works. It's one more bridge that helps children develop self-regulation and a sense of control.

Connection First, Always

When behavior is challenging, the child isn't giving us a hard time.

They are having a hard time.

As Dr. Ross Greene says, "Kids do well if they can."

Challenging behavior is often a sign of lagging skills—not willful misbehavior.

They need a bridge from where they are to where we ask them to go.

Before we teach, redirect, or correct, we need to connect.

We soften.

We listen.

Connection is the foundation of all learning, trust, and growth.

But here's the truth: offering that bridge isn't always easy.

As teachers, parents, and school leaders, we must approach behavior by asking, "What does this child need?"

When a child struggles, our first instinct should be to:

• Protect, not punish.

• Support, not shame.

Challenging behavior is often a signal:

"I need help, and I don't have the words."

But let's be honest—showing up with gentleness, patience, and care can feel impossible when we are overwhelmed, exhausted, or unsure of what to do.

That's why supporting neurodivergent children also means supporting the adults who care for them.

We must normalize emotion, model co-regulation, and make room for rest, reflection, and learning for ourselves, too.

This is why many parents say things like:

• "John has taught me so much."

• "I've learned more being his mom than I ever expected."

Parenting differently is a journey of deep reflection and courage.

It's often uncharted territory—and those around us aren't always supportive of methods that look "soft."

I remember saying to someone who insisted I parent with more discipline:

"I can beat him, but it won't change the fact that he can't handle the situation."

Our children don't need harsher consequences. They need stronger bridges.

Bridges built from compassion, understanding, and care.

Validation Over Correction

Neurodivergent kids often hear:

• "You're too sensitive."

• "You're overreacting."

• "What's wrong with you?"

• "That's not appropriate."

This isn't helpful for kids struggling to meet social expectations or communicate their needs.

We often expect young children—barely a decade old—to have more emotional and social skills than most adults.

Instead, we can:

• Acknowledge their experiences.

• Support them in developing new skills over time.

• Offer patience and perspective.

As adults, we can leave overwhelming situations.

We can use words to express discomfort.

We know how to meet basic needs like food, water, and rest.

Children are still learning.

Celebration of Their Unique Strengths

Every child has something that lights them up:

• Trains, animals, maps, or weather.

• Music, painting, storytelling, or imaginative play.

Special interests are not obsessions.

They are a child's way of understanding, organizing, and connecting with the world around them.

A child who memorizes metro maps or knows every bus route shouldn't be ridiculed—that's an amazing brain at work!

Our role as adults is to:

• Celebrate their passions.

• Help build bridges from special interests to skill-building opportunities.

• Create environments where their differences flourish—with dignity, respect, and love.

When we honor their strengths, we build the confidence and trust they need to develop the skills they struggle with.

Conclusion

Neurodivergent kids don't need to be fixed.

They need adults who are willing to:

• See their full humanity.

• Create safe, predictable environments.

• Offer co-regulation and validation.

• Support skill development through connection and understanding.

Most of all, they need strong bridges built with compassion, care, and patience to thrive as exactly who they are.