Fighting Forced Graduation

Amanda Steele

Today, I understand who I am. Yet this hasn’t always been the case.

I’m a mom, a wife, a speech language pathologist assistant, a non-profit leader, and a school board member. But it wasn’t until I was formally diagnosed with autism and ADHD in 2021 that I began to understand myself fully.

Growing Up Undiagnosed

As a child, I exhibited clear signs of neurodivergence—sensory overload, social difficulty, and academic inconsistency. I struggled year after year, but no one asked why. My family and the school system could not recognize autism in girls. I didn’t know how to recognize it either.

Consequently, I was pushed along through school. Eventually, I was placed in remedial classes in high school. By the first quarter of my sophomore year, truancy officers were visiting my house. I had three study halls and was failing every class when Tempe High told me I couldn’t return. No one asked why I was failing; they just knew I couldn’t do it there.

So, my mom enrolled me at Arizona Career Academy, a school known for taking kids with behaviour issues. My junior year I was placed on a no-credit status within the first two weeks of the school year, I had just nine high school credits and was expecting a baby.

At 16, I dropped out of the very school district I now serve and earned my GED. The next year, I became a mother to my son Jordan. At 18, I was on my own as a young mother, but struggling. I sought a diagnosis because I knew something needed to change. The psychiatrist reported that I was bipolar and had social anxiety disorder, but never discussed autism and ADHD.

I still didn’t understand myself.

Jordan’s Journey

My son Jordan was diagnosed with autism and an intellectual disability at age three. For many parents, that diagnosis is devastating. I saw it as an opportunity to learn more. Finally, I had a framework to understand his strengths, needs, and unique way of interacting with the world. Rather than medicating Jordan, we focused on supporting him through services, structure, and advocacy.

Jordan thrived in many areas outside school, yet it was a different story in school. By middle school, it became painfully clear that the system was not meeting his needs. I did not understand all the laws and had assumed his teachers knew how to fight for his best interest and prepare him to be future ready. But they didn’t. It was up to me to advocate for his learning and growth.

Then at the end of Jordan’s Freshman year, I was invited to join the Mountain Pointe Special Education Parent Council. For the first time, I found my voice and had a forum for advocacy. I soon joined the organization Encircle Families formerly known as Raising Special Kids as a Parent Leader, and then graduated from the 2019 Arizona Partners in Leadership. I began to see that Jordan’s experience wasn’t isolated, and Arizona’s students with disabilities deserve better.

A Turning Point

Then something happened that changed everything.

Jordan was attending Mountain Pointe High School, when he became the victim of a serious privacy violation. A student surreptitiously videotaped him in a school bathroom and two other students distributed the video on social media.

In that moment, I could have taken legal action against the district. Instead, I made a public call for accountability and action. I wanted change for my son and for all students. So, I stayed–but not passively.

I joined committees and spoke up to ensure my voice was heard. Next, I received training from Leading for Change, an organization which develops leaders for civic engagement. I then co-founded the non-profit EPIC Disability Advocacy, which has since launched EmpowerU® to teach neurodivergent individuals about self-identity, self-advocacy, and self-determination.

Now, I serve as Vice President of the Tempe Union High School District Governing Board.

I worked within the system because I believed then, as I do now, that real change must come from within. When my son chose to remain in his school, I fought to ensure he received the support he deserved.

Embracing My Story

For years, I focused my advocacy on Jordan’s experience. Now I realize that my story matters just as much.

I was an undiagnosed neurodivergent student who fell through the cracks. I self-medicated as a teenager, trying to cope with a world that overwhelmed me. Only in adulthood did I find the information and support I needed to thrive.

My diagnoses brought liberation. They permitted me to stop masking, to respect my sensory needs, and to finally be myself.

My son Jordan is the light of my life and the catalyst of my why. But the truth is, we are the why.

Our stories are what drive me to fight for a better system. One that sees kids as capable. One that prepares teachers to understand neurodiversity. One that stops asking “What’s wrong with this child?” and starts asking “How can this child thrive?”

Because kids like Jordan—and kids like I once was—deserve champions.