Small Steps

Life changes on a dime. We are never prepared for it. Thursday, December 19, one week after we took this walk, Theresa Kowcheck’s husband, Mark, was killed in a tragic accident at work. It still seems unreal to say those words. The world turns differently on its axis without Mark. In his quiet, unassuming way he changed lives throughout the 56 years he walked this earth. He made you feel safe, loved. This was true for anyone who crossed his path, but none so much as Theresa and his daughters.

With Mark, Theresa makes you want to be a better person just by being in their orbit. The outpouring of love surprised her after Mark died. I wish it wouldn’t have. I wish we were all better about sharing our feelings of gratitude, inspiration, support, and regret.

I couldn’t write this blog at first. And then it became clear to me I needed Theresa to know that her joy, her service, her leadership and her friendship has meant the world to me and to so many others. We tell ourselves there is nothing I can do to curb her pain. Maybe there is. Maybe we need to tell each other how we feel … how great their impact has been… offer ourselves as our most genuine and authentic selves.  And so I will.

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Theresa Kowcheck was born March 14, 1967 in Wheeling Hospital. Why does that matter to this walk? I was born March 13, 1967 in Wheeling Hospital. We have joked we were separated at birth and then spent over 40 years trying to find each other again…a joke my father never found very funny. 

We embody the complementary forces of yin and yang in our shared mission to transform children’s lives who have learning differences. Neither of us could have been as effective alone as we were together. We were two vital forces working as one at Wheeling Country Day School until the spring of 2024 when we both separately decided to follow a new path.

On December 11, 2024, we found ourselves in Scottsdale, AZ to attend a Community of Action to Educate All Learners. I asked her to walk with me.  As we climbed Camelback Mountain, we came to a very steep section. The vertical path seemed overwhelming. It is the perfect metaphor for where we find ourselves at this point in time.

Liz: It’s killing me right now to not tackle this challenge that’s in front of us.

Theresa: Oh, are you serious?

Liz: But I think I have to say no.

Theresa: I would probably say no for you because I don’t think that would be in your best interest. You got two days ahead of you and meeting a lot of people, and networking. And I don’t want you sick in bed.  

Liz: Well, I’m saying no… I don’t know… I’m struggling… I think we have to start it at least. Taking no step forward is not good. Taking some steps is good. So I think we have to at least start it and see how we do.

Theresa: You want to start it? Okay. See what it feels like? Are you sure?

Liz: Yeah. Some steps, right?

Theresa: So small steps? 

There we are. At the base of an unexpected, difficult path, we had to summon the courage to take the next step. We questioned it. We wanted to turn back. Even though we were alone on that hike, we felt like the children were watching. We have to walk the walk – if we are going to ask them to do hard things, we have to do hard things. We had to take the first step up the mountain even if it scared us – especially so. Keep moving forward…take small steps, but don’t give up on the task or on yourself. 

Theresa does that with utter joy like no one else whom I have met. Her spirit is contagious and knows no strangers.

Liz: We got out of the Uber and I think you made a new best friend.

Theresa: Oh, yeah. Love that guy.

Liz: How do you have the spirit for everybody in every moment?

Theresa: What a fascinating question. It’s funny that you actually just asked that question because I was in church Monday for the Feast Day of the Immaculate Conception. For some reason, there was a peace that came over me that I had not experienced for a long, long time. 

I literally said to myself, and I never thought this in my 57 years, but “Thank you for my gift. You have graced me with the gift of joy.”

The fact that you just asked me that question truly blows me away because I can walk in a room, and I’m so excited, but I can also gauge that room and know when people are like, “What’s she on?” But I just get this excitement when I’m around people.

I had one of my daughter’s friends say to me one day, “You know what I like about you? You always make people feel good.”

I don’t think I recognized it throughout my life. I always just want people to feel happy and to feel good. 

Liz: Does it give you energy to be that way? It doesn’t drain you.

Theresa: Oh, no. No. It feeds my energy.  I think that’s been my success as a teacher with the kids. I always found something in them that was special. I don’t know. I don’t think they realize they excite me. 

In the process of these walks, I’ve observed how deeply people appreciate being truly seen. The gratitude radiates when someone feels authentically acknowledged – when their presence, struggles, and humanity are truly recognized. This recognition becomes transformative – it validates not just what someone can do, but who they fundamentally are.  Once you get a taste for it, you are both changed for the better. This is exactly what Theresa has been doing as she works with young people.

Watching Theresa tutor students with dyslexia is something special. She steps into their world with this quiet knowing, seeing both their battles and their brilliance. You can feel how she lights up when they arrive and how she celebrates their success – like she can already see the greatness unfolding in them. I’ve been watching her work this magic for years now, though she’d probably just shrug it off as doing her job. But there’s nothing ordinary about how she spots that spark in each kid and fans it into a flame.

Theresa: I have a gift of looking into the eyes of an individual and knowing, seeing their potential, and seeing how great they are. And I get excited to see that person. 

Liz: So your excitement brings them back because they want to see the person that wants to see them. It doesn’t seem like that hard of an equation.

Theresa: That’s a good point.

Liz: What was the Maya Angelou quote? Do your eyes light up when you see your child?

Theresa: I wish someone would have looked at me and believed that when I struggled.

Liz: They didn’t?

Theresa: They didn’t.

Liz: Who did? Somebody had to have.

Theresa: Yeah, but it wasn’t until my adult life. It wasn’t until I met Keely Baronak. She was the first person, and I was 32 years old. I kept failing and failing and couldn’t get certified as a teacher. 

Liz: Failing the Praxis?

Theresa: Yes. I used to not be able to say that, but I do now.  I tell people that it’s actually the greatest thing that ever happened to me, that I failed that Praxis over and over and over. Because now that I’m into the research and reading as to why, I understand why. I didn’t know how to crack the code. I could read, but I didn’t understand how to gyet the meaning. Now I know why I failed. But it wasn’t until I met her – she’s the first person that looked at me and said, “You have let for too long that one test define you as a person.” She said, ”The praxis is your definition of who you think you are.” I was embarrassed. In my mind, I built my own army of the people that thought I was a failure, that thought I was stupid. But I wasn’t.

Liz: And they were in your head?

Theresa: Oh, yeah. It was all in my head.

As I’ve become older, I always try to really sit and think. If there’s a situation, I try not to create battlefields, creating my own scenarios.

I did it a lot. I might have felt an emotion. Oh, man. If I didn’t have the proof of it, I created a battlefield. Well, guess what? It became one battle after another.

I like her metaphor of creating an army against her in her mind. It manifests how overpowering doubt can be. It wasn’t just a voice in her head, it was so overwhelming that it felt like an army mounting evidence against her. Joy wasn’t enough to silence the cacophony. Her story is so similar to others who struggle with traditional learning and assessments.  The actual barriers to learning further develop into thought patterns of failure – a mindset ripe for a battle that silences your voice. You don’t have the words to ask for help, to self-advocate, to speak your truth. You become blind to your potential, unable to see the depth of your own worth. 

Theresa: Leadership was never something that I saw on my radar. I didn’t see leadership for me. I am a person of “tell me what to do, and I will do it, and I will do it to the best of my ability to meet your expectation.” That’s who I am. But leadership was hard for me because I never liked the sound of my voice …and I don’t mean just tone and pitch and intonation. I mean I never felt that what I said really could move the school or move whatever it is we’re trying to do. I just didn’t think my opinion mattered.

Until I felt part of a team. The people that I was on leadership with, I trusted. I knew they weren’t going to… They valued what I said. If I got a nod from you or an affirmation from Julie or Brenda or Stephanie or somebody, whatever. If I got an affirmation, it actually just raised my voice.

These walks keep teaching me  – every single person’s story hits differently, carries its own weight.  Every story matters. Every voice needs to be heard. Leadership and wisdom show up in unexpected moments. But here’s the thing – you’ve got to really be there. As my sister told me, “Your mind needs to be where your feet are.” Not just nodding along, but genuinely listening. Learning who they are, what makes them tick. The second we start rushing, thinking about what we’re going to say or ask next instead of really listening… that’s when all the good stuff slips right through our fingers.

When you actually slow down and tune in and ask, “Tell me more,” that’s when you catch those golden moments of truth that you would’ve missed. She never told me how she felt about leadership even though we worked side by side. I never asked. I wish I would have.

I did know how hard it was for her at first to bring teachers on board when we first started the Center for Multisensory Learning. The woman of joy was brought to tears.

Theresa: Teaching teachers. That’s not easy. You get a lot of opinions and a lot of people that think, who do you think you are? 

Liz: Did people say that to you or was that in your head?

Theresa: Over the years, I’ve had my experience of teachers that did not buy into the Science of Reading because it was going to require them to change their teaching practices. And for those that didn’t buy in, that was okay. I did my best, but I can definitely tell you, those that bought in outweighed those that did not buy in.

Liz: But did someone actually say, who do you think you are? 

Theresa: No. No one ever actually said those words. That was probably an army I built in my head again. When teachers dropped the class, that was the story I started in my own mind.

Then she walked the walk. She started listening to their truths and not considering what she would say or imaging their judgment of her.

Theresa: You have to be careful when people get defensive, sometimes they’re scared. So I like to look at it like that… that person is scared because they don’t know. They didn’t learn this in college. Those teachers that fought back, they weren’t taught. Just like a child who starts to be aggressive in a classroom… or throw a chair… or be the class clown, they’re fighting back because they don’t know. Because they are scared.

Fear. So fear. 

We are back at the refrain. We are back to fear when the path ahead, the task in front of us, seems too hard. It is overwhelming, but you have to start and you need someone who believes in your potential but listens to your fears. You have to climb the unexpected path in front of you even if it scares you – especially if it scares you. Keep moving forward… with small steps. 

Liz: Yeah. Some steps, right? Yeah.

Theresa: So small steps? Small steps. That’s how I got into leadership. Small steps.

Liz: Isn’t that what we teach people?  Incremental change.

Theresa: Relating it to a child who’s sitting in a first-grade classroom learning how to read… Why are you making me do all this? Or math. Now, how many times have we heard an older kid say, Why are you teaching me this? I’ll never use it again.

Liz: Right. So if we don’t walk the walk, no matter how hard the climb, then it’s not fair to ask the kids to.

Theresa: Absolutely. You have to walk the walk, we have to feel it. We have to feel what they feel.

Fear is overcome by compassion. Courage is rooted in affirmation. The woman of joy who didn’t like the sound of her own voice learned to amplify her voice because there was a team who valued her and children who needed her radical empathy. It started with small steps. One student, Gus, who you will meet in the next walk, remembers:

Liz: What do you remember about those hours with Mrs. Kowcheck?

Gus: Angry at first. And really, the whole time I was there, I always loved Mrs. Kowcheck. She was just the one person there that made me do what I didn’t want to do. She just had to be that person. But no, she helped me out tremendously. And once I did start, because towards the end of my sixth grade year, I actually really started picking up reading better. Before I got where, man, I couldn’t hardly read it all. Actually, she was good about turning stuff into a game for someone like me. We would do the flash cards and stuff and then see how quick we could them and stuff, and I started to get into it. I still got all my books and stuff from when I did all that stuff with her. I love her and I can’t thank her enough for what she did for me and had to put up with me when I was grumpy about it.

Her joy changed him. He reached back to her faith in his potential often. He never wanted to let her down. At the funeral home, Gus said, “I am trying to hold it together for her. I have never seen her without a smile.” His ache was palpable. She had touched his heart and he wanted to carry hers through this grief. Like others he wanted to do something. Mark and Theresa Kowcheck might suggest something like this: 

• Feed a hot meal to someone who needs to feel the love that comes from the nourishment. 
• Read to a child. 
• Act in a way that shows compassion to another. 
• Make someone’s day with a sincere compliment and authentic conversation.

Now more than ever we need to share our humanity. You never know if the person you are passing on the trail is channeling every bit of courage and grace to climb an unexpected path in front of them. 

Small steps.

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