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Learning Through Connection: A Journey into Inclusive Learning

From my earliest volunteering experiences to becoming a fully qualified teacher, I have learnt that inclusion is not just a policy—it is a mindset, a practice and a commitment to seeing every child. Working with children like M. and A. has shown me that learning becomes meaningful when it is accessible, celebrated, and owned by the child. It is in the quiet, tender moments of connection that the true magic of education comes alive.

In 2019, I started volunteering at a school, and in 2020, despite the disruptions caused by COVID-19, I continued my journey in the school environment, assisting at different schools and gaining broader experience in supporting children with diverse needs. By 2021, I became a teaching assistant, gaining first-hand experience in classrooms and learning how to connect with children in meaningful ways.

Two children, in particular, left a lasting impression on me. I worked briefly with M. in Year 3, and then moved to Reception to support A., a child who initially resisted any adult interaction. Severe tantrums, rigid routines, and guarded behavior were part of his world—but beneath it all was a remarkable mind waiting to be seen.

Over time, A. began calling me “Maa Mrs,” even though he knew me by my marital surname, Mrs. Yogalingam. To him, “Maa” was more than just a word—it meant mother, comfort, safety, and trust. The first time he whispered it, his small hand briefly touched mine, and in that instant, a quiet understanding passed between us. It was a silent acknowledgment that, in a world that sometimes felt overwhelming, he saw me as someone who cared deeply and would be there for him. Being part of his journey, helping him settle into a school environment, and witnessing him slowly open up to the world around him was a privilege I will always hold close to my heart.

I quickly learned that giving A. choices made a world of difference. I let him lead, offering options instead of instructions, allowing him to feel in control and confident in his learning. He loved to touch and feel my hand, seeking sensory reassurance in a way that many children with ASD naturally crave. Those quiet moments of connection—our shared space, the gentle squeeze of his fingers—were as meaningful as any lesson we completed together.

We also had our special reward ritual: a “B” moment. A small biscuit, sealed carefully in a tin marked with the letter “B,” became a symbol of achievement, comfort, and celebration. The little rustle of the tin lid, the look of anticipation on his face, and the joy in that tiny moment—these were the small victories that made all the effort worthwhile.

A. amazed me with his “photocopier memory” and fascination with maps—skills that revealed his extraordinary mind. Each time he shared his interests or recalled details with precision, I was reminded that every child carries unique gifts, often hidden behind layers of fear, frustration, or uncertainty. Supporting him taught me that trust, patience, and presence can unlock brilliance that words alone cannot capture. I even wrote a poem to honor what I was learning through our time together:

Listen to yourself and break out…
You need your space.
Look at a child's face and smile.
Hold his hand and see through his eye.
Feel his emotion and live in his world…
You will know what happiness is.

All of these experiences are incredibly valuable. They strengthened my patience, resilience, and understanding of what inclusive education truly requires.

Watching A. grow, trust, and navigate the classroom environment has been one of the most rewarding parts of my teaching journey. Even after moving on to continue my teacher training, I felt privileged to see him again during my PGCE year—a reminder that the bonds we form with children can endure and continue to inspire.

By the time I qualified as a teacher and completed my QTS, I understood something essential: inclusion is not about fitting children into a system—it’s about creating a system that fits them. It’s about connection, observation, and celebrating each child’s unique abilities. Every glance, every gesture, every moment of trust matters, creating a classroom where learning is accessible, meaningful, and truly owned by the child.

Being part of their journeys reminds me every day why I teach. It is in the small, quiet moments—holding a hand, sharing a 'b' moment, offering a choice, witnessing a smile blossom, or seeing their eyes light up with understanding—that the true magic of learning comes alive. These moments of trust, connection, and understanding are far more powerful than any lesson plan or curriculum. Helping children feel seen, heard, and valued is not just the heart of education—it is a privilege that touches me as deeply as I hope it touches them.



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