Unmasking the "Perfect Student"

If you asked me a few years ago what autism looked like in a classroom, I would have given you a total and utter stereotype. I’d have described loud meltdowns or kids obsessed with train schedules. Then, I taught Alison.

Alison was what every teacher calls a "dream student,” a “perfect student.” She was quiet, polite, and had flawless handwriting. But looking back, the signs were right there. I just didn't know how to read them.

For one, she absolutely hated Physical Education class. Every single week like clockwork, she’d suddenly develop a mysterious stomach ache or a sore throat right before PE, doing anything she could to get sent to the nurse. On the flip side, she practically lived in the library. Going there after school was her absolute favorite thing in the world; it was probably her ultimate safe space.

Halfway through the year, her mom asked to meet and dropped a bombshell: Alison had just been diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum.

I’m not gonna lie, I was totally confused. "Are you sure?” I asked. Yes, I know now I shouldn’t have said that. "She’s so well-behaved."

Her mom gave me a knowing smile and explained masking, which turns out she was just learning herself and just trying to make sense of it all. She told me how autistic girls (sometimes more than boys) often copy social cues to blend into the background. Alison was probably using every ounce of her energy to mimic the other girls and act, what she thought was "normal" all day. While she looked perfectly peaceful at her desk, her brain was working in overdrive. The second she got home, she would experience a total shutdown, completely crashing and immersing herself in alone time just to cope.

That conversation completely changed how I teach. I realized autism isn't a one-size-fits-all stereotype. It's a massive spectrum, and girls often fly under the radar because they are suffering in silence.

Once I understood, I made changes. I stopped forcing her into chaotic team sports or P.E. class that triggered her anxiety. Instead, I let her walk briskly or run laps around the school track. Sometimes yoga classes were offered, and she seemed to do great there as well. She still got to move her body, but on easier terms without the sensory nightmare. Alison taught me that just because a student isn't making noise, it doesn't mean they don't need your help.

Teacher Mrs. Nowknowsbetter (not a real name 🤓)