System disruption is a fascinating consideration when, in public education, we are so often tasked with remaining stable and steady. I want to balance this notion with the reality that, while fiscal pressures are beyond tight, there is still much we can and do to address the needs of students, staff, and families. No supportive conversation should begin with we don't have the resources. At its core, public education is an exercise in innovation and creativity, understanding human needs and designing strategically and compassionately to do better. We make lemonade from lemons and, for the most part, I think we do it well. While our lemonade may occasionally be a little too sweet, or perhaps a bit sour, we serve it with the best of intentions, hopeful that the next jug will be a little closer to the right mix.

Educators are well known for their creativity, care, and conscientiousness. We take what we have, work within the conditions before us, and do our best to make the most of what is. We adapt. We problem-solve. We find ways forward, often amid limited resources and increasing complexity. It is one of the profession's greatest strengths.

Yet sometimes I wonder whether our ability to make excellent lemonade also makes it more difficult to notice when we should be questioning the conditions that keep delivering lemons in the first place.

Inclusive education is not about making lemonade. It cannot be an exercise in stretching limited resources in the hope of creating something merely palatable. It must be intentional, not left to accidental design or chance. I have long been curious about how we do better in our public education system to serve all learners. I think about this daily in my work as my colleagues and I try to stay true to the course of inclusivity and student support when resources are not always stretching to scale.

My doctoral research was a qualitative study that explored the process of designing transformational change in a Canadian secondary school. I worked alongside a leadership team charged with developing a plan to (re)design the school's inclusive educational practices. Together, we engaged in this work over four months.

Four major themes emerged from my research: (a) human capability grounds inclusive education; (b) designs for inclusive learning; (c) tools for inclusive mindsets and practices; and (d) centering human dignity in inclusive practice.

What I came to appreciate through this work is that there are many different entry points on the journey toward inclusivity in our schools. If this conversation is to be one of honouring human variation, then we must acknowledge that system change is difficult and can be scary. I want to be sure to create space for growth and not be finite in how we position inclusive education.

We cannot afford to create further barriers to ensuring that all individuals have space and place in our schools. The cost of exclusion is dire and unacceptable.

We still spend significant resources on separating students and implementing one-to-one support models that, for the most part, will not continue in the outside world. There are better ways to resource and serve our schools. There are better ways to think about how we support future readiness and honour student growth toward independence. It starts with disruption and a willingness to push for change so that systems are organized to be flexible and responsive.

Inspired last week by Dr. Shelley Moore and the Outside Pin Conference on Bowen Island, I am writing this early summer spin to frame the work we are doing in our school district. Our commitment to all means all is not simply one of lip service or branding. It is rooted in hope and possibility, and in a deep belief in humanity.

Let's put the problem on the system, not the student. Let's put the problem on the system, not the staff who are trying their best. Let's think differently about our invitations to learn, how we create the conditions for successful learning and what is possible. Let's disrupt and invoke change for the better.

Kids are not the problem. Children are ready. The question is: are we?

Do schools belong to all?

Disruption #1: The Language

If we are serious about inclusive education, we may need to begin by examining the language we use to describe students, learning, support, and success. Educators who value human capability are able to see students as unique individuals who are capable of learning, contributing, and living in community. The language we use to describe learning, and, in turn, to design learning, matters.

Many of us who have spent decades in public education can clearly reflect on the evolution of inclusion. This evolution speaks to a growing understanding of the importance and nuance of communication. It also reflects an ever-evolving landscape and the ways ableist language continues to permeate much of popular culture.

I am hopeful that, as a result of the ongoing work in public education, there is a shift in awareness and sensitivity around our selection of language, labels, definitions, and related supports in ways that honour human variation. I appreciate the challenge put forward by advocates and professionals such as Inclusive Experiences to "make uncomfortable conversations more uncomfortable."

Resetting how we see the world around us influences the language we choose to describe what humans need and how we shape respectful advocacy. In doing so, we can empower all learners to thrive, belong, and excel in our schools.

This reset requires both discomfort and ownership. At times, the lens through which we view the world is anchored in our own lived experiences, which may include privilege, ability, and power. Not many people feel comfortable acknowledging these realities. Let's be honest, examining our privilege is rarely a preferred space for those who possess it.

Too often, the belief that "I worked hard to be where I am" can overshadow a deeper understanding of the inequities that shape opportunities and outcomes for others. It can make it difficult to recognize the barriers that extend beyond individual effort and intersect with ability, disability, identity, and access.

This is where language matters deeply. How we express our respect for diversity and our appreciation for human variation influences what we prioritize, what we advocate for, and how we define success. Ultimately, it shapes the conditions we create for learners to feel valued, supported, and successful in our schools.

In a professional learning session with Hina Mahmood, M.OT, last week, I was moved by her framing of preverbal versus nonverbal. This small but mighty shift in language positions capacity rather than limitation. It reminds us that the words we choose matter; they shape how we see learners, their potential, and their dignity.

Positioning capacity is critical if we are committed to ensuring all learners are seen as capable. Language can either reinforce assumptions or open possibilities. It can create barriers, or it can create space for growth, belonging, and participation.

Our students are ready to learn. The question is: are we ready to learn from them?

Disruption #2: The Environment

Designing for inclusivity involves both the physical and the metaphysical. Some might say I'm leaning into the "airy fairy" space, but the longer I do this work, the more I realize how important it is to honour the emotional and spiritual side of inclusion. Feelings matter, and they are personal. No one can tell you to feel differently until you feel differently.

All humans have feelings. How we express them, and how we feel about where we are, matters. There is a core tenet in behaviour regulation: if you want to change behaviour, change the environment. Sounds simple, and maybe, just maybe, it is. Think about what happens when you walk into a busy store. For some, it might be the sweet spot to settle and feel calm as they browse the racks looking for the bargain they've been hoping for. For others, the fluorescent lights, noise, and rows of merchandise can be stress-inducing and deeply dysregulating.

Compare this experience to schooling, where we have traditionally designed for all. One size, one room, one building, with maybe a few options, but generally the blueprint is the same. We know differently now. Research is inviting educators to consider the landscape of neurodiversity and how to better tailor learning environments to meet students where they are, rather than where we think they should be.

Please don't misconstrue what I am saying. Safety and security are pivotal for all learners. Schools are tasked with the complex mission of meeting diverse needs and keeping students safe in community, which means sometimes we get it right and sometimes we don't. I carry the discomfort of knowing that we may not get it right for every learner at every moment. I could become bogged down by that systemic weight, and, if I'm honest, sometimes I do. Still, our commitment to continuous improvement continues to lift us up and move us forward in public education.

I will be candid. I have long believed that self-contained classrooms and the notion that students must earn their way back to community are practices that need to end. Conditions tied to behaviour, apologies, and compliance-based expectations are not helpful when we are entrusted with designing learning for all. Monitoring for regulation and ensuring that students have both space and place invites educators, families, and support teams to think differently about how we blend safe school and community learning experiences.

While the reality is that some students may need smaller, alternative settings and different compositions of classmates at various points in their educational journey, I struggle with models of education that position belonging as something to be earned rather than something to be protected. Community should not be conditional.

Our aim must be to ensure that all students have opportunities to learn alongside their same-age peers, connect with other preferred age groups, and safely participate in environments where they feel they belong.

I've written about environmental design in previous spins, so I won't repeat myself here. What I will highlight is how crucial it is to think about the physical environment, the invitations it extends, and the barriers it creates, in relation to student learning. There is so much we can reset at little to no cost to ensure our learning environments are more welcoming and inclusive for all types of learners. We need to do a better job of showcasing these shifts in physical design, alongside the instructional practices and learning materials we intentionally select to honour student diversity.

At the Outside Pin Conference, I was deeply inspired by the work of Cathi Davis and left having made a personal commitment to better showcase the incredible work happening in schools across my district. Davis, the 2025 Washington State Elementary Principal of the Year, a National Distinguished Principal, and the founding principal of Ruby Bridges Elementary, shared a powerful story of what is possible when schools are intentionally designed for belonging and inclusion.

Her school's video story, All of Us, premiered at the conference and offered a moving glimpse into the ongoing work at Ruby Bridges Elementary. Through the voices of students, families, and staff, it highlighted a shared commitment to creating equitable learning experiences for all learners. The documentary, which is scheduled for public release in fall 2026, captures the school's journey and vision for fully inclusive education.

Speaking about her school in Woodinville, Washington, Davis described the intentional redesign of systems, spaces, and practices to meet students where they are. Her message was both inspiring and affirming. More than that, it was a reminder that inclusion is not simply a program or initiative, it is a design choice. It is a commitment to creating schools where every learner belongs, participates, and is valued for exactly who they are.

Disruption #3: The Tools

It is easy to get lost in the stuff. Educational mantras such as, "I need this to do that," "I don't have that, so I can't do this," or "I don't know enough, so I can't go there," can quickly become barriers of their own. Like most things in life, the search for instructions is often shaped by our individual experiences, assumptions, and comfort levels.

Looking for the playbook for inclusivity in schools can become a rabbit hole of should-haves, would-haves, and could-haves, a spin cycle that never ends, often fueled by commercialism, marketing, and the promise of the next best thing. Maybe it is my middle-aged status speaking, but I have learned, over and over again, that the most important tools for inclusion lie in our ability to listen, truly listen, to what others need.

IEPs are a playbook of sorts. They are a tool that has been systematically designed to ensure that students who need more, get more. Throughout my career, I have positioned them as essential documents that clearly outline individualized learning plans, embedded progress monitoring, and shared responsibilities for supporting student success. I am learning that one of my New Year's crystal ball predictions, a renewed focus on IEP quality, was not misplaced; however, the work ahead will require time, recommitment, and a reset of expectations around what these documents can and should be for students, families, and educators.

Recently, during a conversation with a family, I found myself talking about IEPs and realizing, in real time, that what I was describing was not their experience. They nodded politely as I spoke and then respectfully shared that none of what I was describing reflected their child's reality. With some embarrassment, I can admit that I was pontificating, and frankly, I was wrong in my assumptions about IEPs as living, responsive educational documents.

Their child's IEP had remained largely unchanged for several years. In fact, it had not even been updated until midway through the school year and still lacked clear progress monitoring and defined instructional responsibilities. As I listened, I felt sick to my stomach.

While I know this family's experience is not a comprehensive reflection of our system, nor representative of the incredible work happening every day as thoughtful educators partner with families to create meaningful IEPs, it did provide the jolt I needed. It compelled me to revisit our expectations and look more deeply at our systems and practices.

IEPs require a reset every school year. That reset cannot happen in November or December, three or four months after the school year has begun. If we are serious about designing for inclusivity, we need to be equally serious about how we prioritize the creation and implementation of IEPs as foundational documents that guide classroom instruction, specialized supports, and student growth.

The tool itself is not the answer. The answer lies in how we use it, how we honour the voices of students and families within it, and how we ensure it remains a living reflection of a learner's strengths, needs, aspirations, and progress.

This work is about changing our aim and starting with the outside pin. There are some people who need you the most, there are some people who need you more than others. This is equity. So, now are you going to change your aim to make an impact on doing better? Our goal is show and feel what is possible, so that you discover there is no other way except moving forward to do better. (Dr. Shelley Moore, July 2026)

Disruption #4: The Soul

Professionals often shy away from the spiritual side of our work in schools. While we readily talk and write about the heart and mind in learning, there is a spiritual dimension to this work that deserves acknowledgement. How we centre human dignity in educational practice is the soul of our work.

Asking yourself whether you truly believe that all means all, without exception, is a significant consideration. One that is deeply personal.

Collective efficacy and emotional safety are interconnected. When people do not feel safe, the enormity of what is possible becomes constrained. The world grows smaller as possibilities seem unreachable, or even dangerous to imagine. Collective efficacy requires feeling that you are part of something bigger than yourself, that there is a community committed to doing things differently. In schools, collective efficacy demands a shared belief that, by working differently together, we can overcome challenges and positively impact student learning.

The promise of public education is that every learner has the right to grow, learn, and belong. Our challenge is ensuring that promise becomes reality for all students.

There is something profound in what becomes possible when we commit to ensuring all students have access to rich, meaningful, and impactful learning experiences. When I first entered this profession, my father introduced me to the work of Parker Palmer. That learning was pivotal and continues to shape my beliefs about education today.

This is not to say that I don't sometimes grapple with the systemic realities of the work. I do. There are days when the complexity feels heavy and the path forward less clear than I would like. What I have come to understand, however, is that public education is work of both the heart, the mind, and the soul. It is work that calls us to continually do better, to remain hopeful in the face of challenge, and to carry the responsibility of those moments when we fall short for some of the learners entrusted to our care.

In closing, I recognize that the timing of this spin may resonate with some readers, while others have fully settled into summer mode. Wherever you may find yourself, I hope you can put a pin in this spin and return to it when the time is right to reset and reimagine what is possible in our schools as we commit to all meaning all.

Author's Note: When I write, my goal is to open conversations, not close them. I hope this latest spin offers an invitation for reflection. I welcome your feedback and always strive to be respectful of the public education system I serve in my day-to-day work, while creating space for thoughtful conversations about how we can do better for all.

Once again, in the spirit of author integrity, I note that my Copilot AI thought partner assisted with light editing and grammatical revisions in support of publication.