As both a student and an educator, the concept of inclusion has shaped how I see learning communities—whether I’m in a classroom supporting neurodiverse children or in a university seminar refining my own practice. For me, inclusion means more than access; it’s about creating spaces where learners feel seen, valued, and capable of participating in ways that align with their strengths. Shelley Moore’s idea of inclusion as “a shift in how we design, not who we design for” resonates deeply with me. It challenges the tendency to retrofit accessibility onto rigid systems, reminding me that true inclusion begins in the planning stage.

The One Step at a Time article on Universal Design for Learning (UDL) reinforced this. It described UDL as a proactive framework—one that anticipates difference rather than reacts to it. As a support worker for children with autism, I’ve seen how flexible instructional design can turn potential barriers into opportunities for engagement. Simple adaptations—visual aids, movement breaks, or multiple ways to demonstrate understanding—often make learning richer for everyone, not just those with identified needs. The article’s emphasis on “incorporating the different needs of learners into design” mirrors what I strive to do in my daily work: meet students where they are instead of expecting them to conform to a single way of learning.

At the same time, as a post-secondary student navigating my own digital spaces, I’ve come to see how Personal Learning Networks (PLNs) play a role in inclusion, too. My PLN—through OpenEd blogs, social media educators like Jesse Miller, and online communities of teachers and learners—offers diverse perspectives that continually reshape my understanding of equity and access. Following educators like Shelley Moore or Catlin Tucker has shown me that inclusion extends beyond physical or cognitive accessibility; it’s about voice, agency, and connection. When I engage with others who design flexible, student-led learning, it reminds me that personalization and inclusion are intertwined.

Week 6’s focus on PLNs in practice also made me reflect on how these networks need structure and openness. The most valuable professional connections I’ve formed are those that invite dialogue rather than prescribe “right answers.” Building an inclusive PLN means intentionally seeking out educators, advocates, and communities whose lived experiences differ from my own—whether that’s through disability advocacy, Indigenous education, or multilingual classrooms. These relationships help me imagine what inclusion looks like in contexts beyond my own and keep me accountable to the values I hope to model in my future classroom.

Ultimately, I see my PLN as a living ecosystem—one that grows as I do. It reminds me that inclusion isn’t a fixed outcome but a continual process of listening, adapting, and learning from others, one connection at a time.