The roots of my work reach back to 1999, when I sorted mail for the University of Minnesota psychology department. A wall displaying photographs of more than fifty identical twins separated at birth left me with endless questions about nature and nurture. After leaving the mailroom, I became a research assistant in Nicki Crick’s lab, where I supported her research on physical and relational aggression in young children. The questions continued to pile up.
Those earlier experiences followed me through a bachelor’s degree in child psychology and into a number of part-time jobs working with children, families, and early childhood professionals. After graduation and without a job, I accepted a position at a therapeutic preschool in North Minneapolis. The preschool served children who had been separated from their families following abuse or neglect while their families navigated the court process toward reunification. There, I discovered how much I enjoyed working as part of a team and how coordinated support could strengthen the relationships and conditions surrounding an entire family.
A year later, I began a master’s degree in early childhood education and early childhood special education. While completing it, I earned a certificate in early childhood public policy through the Center for Early Education and Development and completed an internship under the guidance of Dr. Scott McConnell. These experiences connected child development, classroom practice, family relationships, research, and public policy.
For twelve years, early childhood classrooms were where I learned what trust, inclusion, and belonging required in practice. I worked alongside children, families, teachers, assistants, and specialists to create environments shaped by relationships, intentional play, and the knowledge each person contributed. Love Is a Classroom follows my tenth year in the classroom. Shattered and Becoming: A Teacher’s Journey Between Policy and Purpose recounts my twelfth, when decisions made beyond the classroom tested my professional judgment and sense of purpose. Together, the books show how everyday relationships support inclusion and how leadership, policies, and program conditions can strengthen or disrupt them. Those lessons continue to shape my work with educators and administrators today.
When I moved from early childhood classrooms into community college teaching, the need to earn trust remained. For four years as an associate professor of early childhood education at the Community College of Aurora, I taught immigrant, refugee, and historically marginalized students. The conversations and relationships shaped my dissertation. During the next eight years, and counting, as the Early Childhood Education department coordinator at Colorado Northwestern Community College, I have worked with students living and working in farm, mining, and resort communities across 40,000 miles of western Colorado. Their questions and experiences are teaching me to listen beyond the requirements of my assigned responsibilities and understand the concerns of mostly nontraditional students, their programs, and communities.
The questions that began in a psychology department mailroom was beginning. Over time, I began asking how relationships, leadership, policies, and program conditions shape what children, families, and professionals experience.
Those questions, eventually, led to the Growth Model for Inclusion. The model grew from my classroom experiences, dissertation research, and conversations with educators and administrators during visits to programs across Colorado. It helps programs examine the gap between what they value, how they define quality, what people experience, and how we can grow programs and schools that are truly inclusive to children, families, professionals, and the community.
I continue this work through professional trainings, writing, research, and partnerships with schools and organizations. My work still begins much as it did in 1999: with questions, close attention to the margins, and a willingness to let my experiences change what I thought I already understand.