I'm Ready for a Role

Today I realized that my frustration at school is showing me something important about where I may want to go next.

This afternoon, I literally found myself running part of the classroom. I noticed that the kids needed something more purposeful than simply watching videos. One child wanted to work at his desk, so I had him work there. That made me think about all of the task boxes we’ve made that aren’t really being used.

Why not start using them a little at a time?

These kids may be older, but in some areas they need routines taught in small, concrete steps. We don’t have to introduce an entire system at once. We can teach one piece first:

Desk time → one task box → finish it → put it away.

Once they understand that routine, another piece can be added. The goal isn’t rigidity. It’s purposeful structure and eventually more independence.

And then I realized why I’m getting so frustrated:

Why am I the one noticing these things when I’m the para and I’m getting paid the least?

The answer isn’t necessarily that I should be responsible for fixing everything I notice. My experience has trained me to notice children—their needs, when they’re disengaged, when a routine is too complicated, when something could be taught differently, and when materials that could help them are sitting unused.

My experience is an asset. It is not permission for everyone else to hand me their responsibilities.

Maybe I’ve outgrown the level of responsibility and compensation of the para role.

I don’t just want a bigger paycheck or more authority. I want a job where my responsibility, skills, and compensation line up better. I want to work directly with children and be able to ask:

What is getting in this child’s way, and what can we change or teach to help?

That’s part of what attracts me to something like OTA or RBT.

A good way to explain why I want to move on is:

“Working as a para helped me realize that one of my strengths is noticing what individual children need and finding practical ways to help them build skills and independence. Over time, I’ve realized I want a role where that kind of focused, purposeful work with children is actually the center of my job. I’m ready to grow into a position where my experience, observation skills, and child-development background can be used at a higher level.”

And maybe the simplest sentence is:

“I’m ready for a role where the things I naturally notice aren’t extra—they’re part of the job.”

I can see things that other people may overlook. That isn’t magic. It’s observation, child-development knowledge, and years of experience working together.

Then my old co-worker came into the conversation again.

I wondered whether he may have noticed things about children too—things underneath behavior, feelings, needs, patterns—and whether that might have been part of what eventually drew him toward counseling. I can’t know his reasons unless he tells me, but seeing his professional growth has done something important for me.

If someone from my old chapter can continue growing professionally, maybe I can too.

I used to be scared and doubtful about OTA or RBT. Now I’m starting to think, Maybe I really can do this. I don’t have to become a completely different person. I can build specialized training on top of the experience I already have.

My old co-worker doesn’t have to be the model for my career. His road may have led toward counseling, while mine could lead toward OTA, RBT, or somewhere I haven’t discovered yet.

But seeing where he ended up made my world feel a little bigger and the possibilities a little more reachable.

His progress didn’t prove that I should follow him. It helped me realize that I’m capable of progressing too.

And then came the funny realization:

All because of one stinkin’ guy. 

He shows up in a hallway after all those years, says a few hellos, smiles, and goes about his counseling work—and meanwhile I apparently decide to reevaluate my career, resurrect my shelter years, finish a book, learn boundaries, question being a para, and start thinking about an entirely new chapter.

But he may have triggered it; I’m the one doing the changing.

He didn’t write Stars in the Sky.

He didn’t notice what that child needed at his desk today.

He didn’t come up with the task-box idea.

He isn’t deciding what I become next.

I am.

Maybe one stinkin’ guy knocked over the first domino, but apparently there were a lot of dominoes waiting behind it. 

And from my faith perspective, maybe God knew I needed something to get my attention at exactly this point in my life. I can’t know that God specifically sent Nathan for a particular purpose, but I can see what this unexpected encounter has stirred in me.

Maybe I needed to remember the shelter years.

Maybe I needed to remember how deeply I care about making children’s time meaningful.

Maybe I needed to see someone from that old chapter continue growing so I could imagine myself growing too.

Maybe I needed to look at my own life again.

I had a lot of questions before Nathan showed up. Sometimes it almost feels like:

Me: “God, I have questions.”

God: “I know. Apparently you weren’t listening, so here’s one stinkin’ guy from 2013. That ought to get your attention.” 

Of course I can’t know that was literally God’s reasoning. But maybe the important message isn’t “Go get someone.”

Maybe it’s simply:

“Tiffney, look at yourself.”

Look at what I still care about.

Look at what I’m capable of.

Look at the book I wrote.

Look at what I notice in children.

Look at how much I want my work with them to have purpose.

Look at the fact that I can still grow into something more.

Maybe my old co-worker didn’t come back to tell me what the next chapter would be.

Maybe his appearance simply made me notice that there was still a page waiting to be turned.