As far back as I can remember, this time of year was exciting for me. I loved going shopping for new school supplies. I picked out new folders and art supplies. I still remember how excited I was when my mom found a WALL·E backpack while shopping at Rite Aid before I started third grade.
My favorite subject was English. I looked forward to going to school and loved to learn. I wasn’t very social, but I loved my teachers. Summer vacations weren’t fun for me. I missed going to school.
As I grew up and my disability became more of a factor in my daily life, going back to school started to feel more complicated. The excitement was still there. However, it came with other emotions like anxiety, uncertainty, and sometimes fear.
It wasn’t just about fresh notebooks and a new backpack anymore. I began to wonder whether my needs would be understood, or if I would have to fight for accommodations again. There was always a little voice in the back of my mind asking if this year would be harder than the last.
That kind of anxiety didn’t always come loudly. Sometimes it felt quiet and constant. Would the elevator be working? Would a teacher remember my accommodations? Would I be able to keep up on the days my body or mind was exhausted? These weren’t distant what-ifs. They were real experiences from past years, and the fear of repeating them made each new school year feel uncertain.
Even in classrooms full of people, I often felt alone. It was hard when I had to think about pain, accessibility and fatigue, while others just moved through the day. I worried that people would see my disability before they saw me. I didn’t want special treatment or attention. I just wanted to belong. But that feeling of being different stayed with me, even when no one said anything at all.
There were days I had to smile through pain or pretend I was okay when I wasn’t. I learned how to act like everything was fine so that other people wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. That kind of emotional effort can be exhausting. It wasn’t just about managing my chronic pain. It was about managing other people’s expectations too.
Still, I kept showing up. Not always perfectly. Not always consistently. But I showed up. That took strength, even if no one else noticed it. Every time I spoke up for myself, every time I pushed through a difficult day, I was doing something strong. It didn’t always feel like strength at the time, but it was.
In the middle of the hard moments, there were also moments of real joy. Sometimes a teacher truly listened. Sometimes I shared a laugh with my physical therapists. Sometimes I just made it through the week and felt proud of that. These moments didn’t look flashy or dramatic, but they were deeply meaningful to me. They reminded me that I could still have good days and that learning was still something I loved.
I have learned that it is okay to feel everything. You can be proud and tired at the same time. You can feel excited for the new year and still be scared of what it might bring. There is no single way to feel about going back to school with a disability, and there is no need to hide your feelings about your experience.
Heading back to school can bring up feelings of excitement, anxiety, pressure, hope. As a disabled student, it often means navigating more than just academics. It can mean advocating for your needs, managing systems that aren’t always built with you in mind, and carrying emotional weight others may not see.
For me, some of the greatest lessons I learned in school were not taught in the classroom. I learned about advocacy and inner strength. Every year, as the journey back to school began for me, the unwavering support of others and the deep love of family became a powerful source of comfort and hope helping to light the darkest moments.