Navigating Success and Struggle as a Disabled Student at America's #1 High School
The one thing I admired about my primary education experience was the opportunity to grow into myself. However, that only occurred due to the disenfranchisement I faced as a disabled student with ADHD.
Adlai E Stevenson is considered one of the top public high schools in America, renowned for its grueling academics, numerous AP courses, championship sports teams, and a cutthroat environment that prides itself on success. As a student with high-functioning ADHD, I have always felt like an outsider in this competitive pressure cooker.
My experiences with disability started early, prior to the diagnosis of my neurodevelopmental differences. In fourth grade, I often found myself meandering the labyrinth of hallways, longing for stimulation beyond the confinement of my desk.
My teacher, who shall remain nameless, limited my speaking, moving, and ability to engage with my peers. She decided to give me - and only me and not any of the other special education children in the classroom - passes so that I could only get up from my chair and physically move three times a day. Three times a day out of a seven hour day.
Ms. Nameless poked fun at me and embarrassed me in front of other kids for being noticeably different. All that being said, I persevered and excelled academically, even though I missed classes frequently - to the point I still struggle with long division - because I hated who I was and how I was treated.
Despite having ADHD and no 504 plan, I channeled my energy into schoolwork. I struggled to socialize, so instead, I pumped out worksheets, essays, and projects. By high school, I had a 504 plan but took mostly AP classes. Academically I was thriving - 4.0 GPA, AP Scholar with Distinction, accepted to elite universities. But behind the veneer of success, I was disintegrating. The meds I took to control my ADHD behaviors often left me depleted. I focused so much energy on conforming to expectations that I lost myself. I would go home and combust into tears because all my brain power was usurped by the meds and face paced, rigorous coursework. Every morning at 7:15 on the dot, groggy and spooning my sugary cereal, I'd ingest my prescription, diminish myself, my humanity, my natural behaviors in order to make my teachers more fond of me. In order to make life easier for my teachers and my peers. In order to make life harder for myself.
In AP US History junior year, I immersed myself in the curriculum, deeply engaged in discussion and spoke up when I thought the grading was unfair. My diligence earned me "Hardest Working Student.” m/ainly because I had to advocate for myself. After countless weeks, years of struggles, I decided to transfer to a specialized school better suited for my needs. My student advisor resisted, claiming my test scores were too high to let me leave and refused to transfer my transcripts. I felt trapped in a system that saw me as a trophy, not a person. I was told my only other option was to go to special education.
To leave the top performing High School in the country was a big decision. My parents had moved to Buffalo Grove, which at the time was corn fields and empty lots to ensure my brother and I got the best education. However, the facade Stevenson portrayed pushed students rather than held them up. I was prodded to my breaking point and I was not given the opportunity to be seen, heard or listened to.
Stevenson prides itself on being one of the top-ranked public high schools in the nation. But inherent in that competitive culture is a failure to meet the needs of all students, especially those with disabilities and differences. My experience navigating the halls of Stevenson as a student with ADHD showed me that even well-funded, high-achieving schools can overlook the humanity of their students. In the pursuit of good test scores, GPAs, and college acceptances, my struggles were dismissed. The expectation was conformity, not support.
While some accommodations were granted, I was never truly valued as a student, as a person. The assumption was that I should be grateful for being allowed to achieve at Stevenson, rather than the school recognizing their responsibility to nurture me. It is easy to point to rankings and statistics as evidence of an educational institution's success. But the true measure lies in how the most vulnerable are treated - students with disabilities, mental health issues, and other challenges beyond just learning what is taught. All students have unique needs that should be fostered, not suppressed. Though I persevered at Stevenson, it was in spite of the system, not because of it. I hope my experience inspires increased advocacy, inclusion, and compassion at all schools, regardless of reputation, statistics, or ranking. Every student deserves to feel valued for exactly who they are as they navigate the halls of learning.
