from my family to yours

foundation

Ceiba Nova was born as the begrudging—but beloved—result of a very personal journey.

I’ve spent years trying to increase access not just to education, but to rigorous, high-quality learning—the kind that adapts to the learner, not the other way around.

As a 2E learner growing up in the U.S. with unrecognized learning disabilities, I experienced both poverty and stability, invisibility and fierce advocacy. In my early years, I lived in a single-parent, low-income household. Later, with a second parent and greater financial stability, I watched my mother work 2–3 jobs while pursuing her education and relentlessly advocating for mine. That contrast gave me deep insight into how socioeconomic status, culture, norms, and teacher perspective can irrevocably shape a child’s path.

I had one incredible teacher who saw beyond my behaviors, differentiated instruction, and offered challenge and support when I needed it. I also had a sixth-grade teacher who made me believe I was “bad at math”—until my mom hired a private tutor. At the end of our first session, he told me the puzzles I solved with joy were multivariable algebra problems from his old college textbook. He continued to come weekly and teach me math that sparked my curiosity.

Later, when Geometry left me stuck and discouraged, a teacher finally noticed a pattern: perfect homework, failing quizzes. He discovered I was orally solving problems with ease, but on paper, I was inverting symbols and numbers due to undiagnosed dyslexia. Math wasn’t the issue—unseen barriers were.

My story isn’t rare. It’s heartbreakingly common.

So imagine my dismay as both a parent and an educator to discover that public schools still lack consistent screening for dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia, and dyspraxia. Unless a child is lucky enough to have a perfect storm of informed teachers and vigilant caregivers, they’re often left to fall through the cracks—brilliant, capable, and unseen.

Ceiba Nova exists to change that.

formation

Ceiba Nova is not just a response to educational gaps — it is a refusal to let them continue unchecked.

Over the decades, I’ve witnessed the same pattern repeat: individual struggles dismissed or misdiagnosed because of social intolerance, systemic ignorance of neurodiversity, and a fear of difference that leads to labeling, exclusion, and othering. Education systems — both public and private — are too often shaped by political convenience and cultural narrowness rather than true inclusion or equity.

Years after my own K–12 journey, I became a parent — and I was not prepared for the slow, exquisite pain of watching my children’s self-worth and sense of identity be eroded by the very institutions meant to uplift them. We tried everything we could access and afford: elite private schools in both the U.S. and Costa Rica (which I still feel ethically conflicted about), public schools in California with supposedly enforceable IEP support, and even a non-traditional, emotionally supportive microschool that nurtured the heart but not the mind.

We homeschooled, which worked best, but at a personal cost: I had to leave a career I loved and a meaningful income behind. Eventually, my spouse and I quit our jobs entirely, sold our house, and drove from California through Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica, interviewing schools the entire way. We were searching — not for prestige, but for a place where our children could simply belong and thrive.

Now, our children’s intellectual needs and emotional needs have grown too far apart to be met by any single traditional model. A 7-year-old needs 7-year-old games, friends, and joy — but may also crave academic challenge far beyond their peers. A 10-year-old might be reading at a high school level but cannot (and should not) be placed in a high school classroom. Developmentally, socially, and emotionally, this kind of mismatch can do real harm. And yet, that is what most systems expect gifted, neurodivergent, or asynchronous learners to endure.

When my oldest was just three and attended a preschool founded on Reggio Emilia principles — a program that claimed inclusion as its foundation — a teacher pulled me aside and whispered with sympathy, “Have you considered having him evaluated? He’s... different.”

He was excited to make friends.
They were prepared only for sameness.

My children have experienced abuse, discrimination, and neglect in some of the most theoretically prestigious schools available. And during my time as a high school teacher in California’s public system, I saw the same pain in the eyes of teenagers whose families lacked the time, tools, or resources to advocate for them. I tried to be a safe place — offering food, listening, reading to them, simply holding space — but by year’s end, I was emotionally spent. Because the system wasn’t broken; it was working exactly as designed.

Ceiba Nova is my answer to that system.

H was born nearly 3 months premature, alert & strong. Here he is 2 months old, just home from the NICU, dressed as baby Harry Potter.	H & C in their chef's outfits, ready to bake something (or just pretend). This photo was taken weeks before schools shutdown, in H's kindergarten year & C's first year at Montessori. Neither got to say goodbye & the transition was traumatic.
H at La Palacia de la Cultura in Nicaragua in 2018. We were scheduled to move prior to the political upheaval, which resulted in our employing school to cancel all foreign contracts.	C's style fluxuates with her interests & texture needs for the moment but consistently incorporates colors. Orange is her favorite color & has been since she could point. Here she is waiting for the bus to go to Kindergarten. Shortly after, I had to drive her because the school was unable to prevent ongoing harassment & abuse on the bus. C became very defensive & would respond aggressively to perceived threats after this & is still struggling to remember that most people's intentions are good.
C is all energy & exploration. Movement is required for her to think. She is bright colors & big ideas & big emotions. Her empathy knows no bounds & neither does her sense of justice.	H briefly lost his confidence & independence when he entered 3rd grade in public school. We didn't see him express himself this freely outside of the house for some time.
H would wear a different suit every day if he could. He is either boho beach kid in wild prints or unintentional model with a pensive look. H can spend hours in silence building LEGOs or planning something or he can be the noisy kid directing a pop-up dance party (with him as the DJ, of course).

These are my children.
Their photos aren’t shared on social media, and I never photograph them without their consent — nor do I ask or encourage them to pose (I tell them we want authentic memories of authentic moments & people).

Consent and agency are not just values — they’re essential skills. Especially for children who are vulnerable, misunderstood, or still learning how to own their space in the world, practicing choice and voice in everyday moments matters.

future

Can I fix the system alone? Of course not.

And I won’t pretend Ceiba Nova is the perfect fit for every family. I can’t promise that it will be everything you need — but I can promise this: I will always do my best for your child.

Sometimes that means welcoming them with open arms. Sometimes it may mean recognizing my own limitations and helping you find a better fit elsewhere. Because Ceiba Nova was not created to serve profit — it was created to serve people.

Yes, I need to earn enough to support my family, to keep the lights on, and to remain in this country we now call home. But my goal is not a high salary or personal gain. It's to find the balance between financial survival and keeping tuition as low as possible — so that more children, not fewer, have a place where they can belong, be challenged, and be seen.

That is my why.
And this is the beginning of something I hope will matter.

foundation

formation

H was born nearly 3 months premature, alert & strong. Here he is 2 months old, just home from the NICU, dressed as baby Harry Potter.

H & C in their chef's outfits, ready to bake something (or just pretend). This photo was taken weeks before schools shutdown, in H's kindergarten year & C's first year at Montessori. Neither got to say goodbye & the transition was traumatic.

H at La Palacia de la Cultura in Nicaragua in 2018. We were scheduled to move prior to the political upheaval, which resulted in our employing school to cancel all foreign contracts.

C is all energy & exploration. Movement is required for her to think. She is bright colors & big ideas & big emotions. Her empathy knows no bounds & neither does her sense of justice.

H briefly lost his confidence & independence when he entered 3rd grade in public school. We didn't see him express himself this freely outside of the house for some time.

H would wear a different suit every day if he could. He is either boho beach kid in wild prints or unintentional model with a pensive look. H can spend hours in silence building LEGOs or planning something or he can be the noisy kid directing a pop-up dance party (with him as the DJ, of course).

future