If you’d ever asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer would have been teacher. I was surrounded by teachers as a child and knew that was it. I remember attempting to teach my cousins to read, write and do maths after school. Like most kids, they weren’t the most eager to sit still and listen. I remember asking my Nanna, “What’s their problem?” and “What magic do teachers have to make the kids listen?”
If only I’d known back then what I know now.
As I got older, I helped at my mum’s school, working with children with learning or behavioural difficulties. I began to realise it wasn’t as simple as solving “the problem”. These children were doing the best they could with the tools they had. When teachers took the time to understand a child and adapt their approach, something wonderful happened. The “problem” didn’t necessarily disappear, but learning became possible in new ways. It felt like magic. Perhaps it was my Harry Potter obsession, but I knew that was the magic I wanted to create.
This magic continued to spark when I began working in disability. I learnt that supporting someone wasn’t as simple as matching a problem with a solution. Tools, strategies and supports could make more possible, but the real magic came from understanding the person beyond their disability: their interests, motivations and goals.
Now, I’ve learnt that what looks like a “problem” might simply be something we haven’t yet understood. When we approach people with curiosity rather than judgement, we create space for learning, growth and possibility. Sometimes, the right strategy can open doors. Other times, the magic lies in listening, validating someone’s experience and helping them feel understood.
I still believe in magic. Now I know it isn’t about solving ‘problems,’ but about the magic of understanding why they exist.
