Amy Allen’s path to the classroom wasn’t a straight line, but rather a winding road with detours through Walmart’s distribution center, lifeguard chairs, and cheerleading mats. Each stop carried a common thread—teaching, mentoring, guiding—which eventually led her into the heart of education. From chalkboards to classrooms, her journey shows how small shifts can reshape a life’s direction.

Allen grew up in Albion, in Edwards County, where her grandmother’s chalkboard sparked a childhood fascination with teaching. That interest simmered for years as she balanced work and family life, taking college classes off and on. It wasn’t until her daughter faced the possibility of being held back in elementary school that Amy had what she calls a “watershed moment.”

“I realized that just sending kids to school isn’t enough,” Allen recalls. “Parents have to be engaged too. Reading with your child, being there in those moments—it matters more than we sometimes realize.”

That shift in perspective pushed her to pursue teaching more seriously. By the time her daughter graduated summa cum laude from the University of Illinois with a degree in molecular and cellular biology, Allen could look back and see how her own renewed commitment had helped shape her daughter’s success.

Her professional story is one of persistence. It took nearly a decade to finish her bachelor’s degree. She juggled coursework with motherhood, long commutes, and even managing a building in Vincennes. At one point, she was suspended for a semester after trying to do too much. But each challenge pushed her closer to the place where she now feels most at home—special education.

Special education wasn’t her original plan. She imagined herself as an elementary teacher, but an aide’s position in Richland County opened a door she hadn’t expected. The role paid far less than her previous work, but Allen found meaning that money couldn’t match. “I recommend it to anyone thinking about teaching,” she says. “Being an aide, especially in special ed, gave me experience and perspective you just can’t learn from books.”

For Allen, special education isn’t about labels, paperwork, or statistics—it’s about seeing students differently. She delights in helping teachers reframe behaviors that might otherwise be frustrating. “A behavior isn’t an attack on an adult,” she explains. “It’s often a reaction to something the child can’t communicate. My role is to bridge that gap—help the teacher see the student in a new light, and help the student reconnect with learning.”

That bridging role has become second nature to her. Whether she’s tracking behaviors, easing classroom transitions, or simply building trust with a student, Allen thrives in the quiet victories. Sometimes, she says, she doesn’t even notice the “special needs” label anymore: “I’m just working with a kid who learns in their own way.”

Her arrival in Newton this past August felt like a homecoming. After years of commuting long distances, she now teaches close to her own community and within a culture that feels familiar. “It reminds me of Albion,” she says. “It’s smaller, connected. Everyone knows each other, and everyone supports one another.” That sense of belonging hit home the day she walked into a local restaurant and people she’d never met greeted her by name. “I thought, this is exactly what I grew up with.”

Colleagues describe her as a breath of fresh air—collaborative, energetic, and deeply committed to students. Allen herself points to Principal Jessica Guzman’s leadership as a reason the environment feels so positive. “Jessica has built something here that people want to be a part of,” Allen says.

Looking ahead, she admits she has ambitions for administration. But she is careful not to view her current work as a stepping stone. For her, special education is more than a career stage—it’s a calling. “The fun part is figuring out how to help a child succeed and building the bridge between what’s expected and what’s possible. That’s where the joy is.”

In Jasper County, where small-town values run deep, Amy Allen has found not just a job but a place where her life story and the district’s mission intersect. Her journey is proof that sometimes the most meaningful paths are the ones we didn’t plan to take.