Seventeen years ago, around this time, I stepped onto a university campus for the first time ever. I can still remember those feelings of anxiety, being overwhelmed and extreme nervousness. As a first generation and low-income college student, I didn’t know what to expect and had zero acquaintances to lean on. Over the next six years, I struggled to pay tuition fees and rent, keep up with homework while working full time, and all the while acquiring a ridiculous amount of debt. Admittedly, I was late to class quite a bit over the course of those six years. Reasons varied from being cut late from my shift, or perhaps I just needed to skip that class because working that day meant making rent. My department professors easily categorized me as a mess up and slacker, and I was treated as such. I think, at the time, I held such resentment towards them for giving me those labels that I didn’t feel it even necessary to “complain” about my situation. I still wonder if things would have been different if I had said something. More often I wonder why no one said anything to me. I think about these missed opportunities, on both the side of the student and teacher, and I very much hope I can fill this gap where moments of connection can happen. The road to inclusive pedagogy, for me, starts with my ability to connect with each student, which is a challenge. Maybe inclusion begins with empathy. And hopefully with empathy comes the ability to create and foster an inclusive environment.