By Cathy Heyliger
VOICES Radio Hour
Have you ever had a serendipitous moment when you suddenly feel you are exactly where you’re supposed to be — where the air shifts, the world quiets and something inside you says pay attention? I had one of those moments, and it changed the entire course of my life.
It was 1985. I was 25 years old, sitting in the adobe-style home of my fiancé’s brother in Penrose, Colorado. We had driven from Grand Junction for the visit. The house was extraordinary — hand‑crafted adobe bricks, warm southwestern décor, soft lighting and a palpable sense of love from the family who lived there. As I listened to my fiancé laughing in the kitchen, teasing his niece and nephew, I found myself imagining what a wonderful father he would be someday.
While admiring the cozy room, my eyes landed on a magazine on the end table. On the cover was Maria Montessori. Her name was familiar; years earlier I had enrolled in an early childhood education program at Colorado Mountain College because I wanted to be a preschool teacher. My desire to work with young children came from my difficult early school experiences.
I hadn’t attended preschool, and kindergarten in the sixties was mostly play — except for group time, when our teacher challenged us with verbal activities. One assignment changed everything: she asked each child to memorize the day, month and year of their birthday. Day after day, children proudly recited theirs. Day after day, I froze. Despite practicing at home, I failed publicly, repeatedly. That was when I first realized I had a learning disability — one that would follow me through school, leave me feeling left out and shatter my self‑esteem.
After leaving CMC, I worked briefly in a daycare center but felt overwhelmed and unprepared. My learning disability made the job harder, and I didn’t get what I needed from my education to succeed. I left and moved into restaurant work, eventually bartending at Los Desperados in West Glenwood, where I met my fiancé. And now here I was, across the state, staring at Maria Montessori’s gentle face — and feeling something inside me shift.
My relationship with my fiancé didn’t work out, even though he was one of the kindest people I had ever known. He was ready to settle down; he was 10 years older. But I had experienced a life‑changing moment. I knew with absolute certainty that Montessori was my future.
Soon after, I found myself driving east on I‑70 in my packed Buick Regal, heading back to Denver with my tail between my legs. My mom and I had already bought a wedding dress and ordered invitations. Canceling everything was painful. She had hoped I would settle down and give her grandchildren. She also worried about me pursuing another educational path after my earlier struggles. But I couldn’t be convinced to change my mind.
I applied for a teacher’s assistant position at a local Montessori school. More magical moments followed. The owner was a tiny powerhouse — intimidating, sharp and deeply knowledgeable. My resume was mostly restaurant work, and I was nervous during the interview. So, when she called days later to offer me the job, I was stunned.
After my first day, I knew I was exactly where I belonged. I could already see that if Montessori had been my first educational experience, I wouldn’t have suffered so much. The owner guided me into the Montessori world — teaching me how to move and speak in the classroom, how each material worked and why it mattered. I was in awe.
The next hurdle was applying to the training program. To graduate with a permanent certificate, you needed a bachelor’s degree. I barely had an associate’s degree and had struggled academically. My recommendation letter was from my bar manager — kind, glowing, but unrelated to children. I knew acceptance was a long shot.
And yet, another magical moment: I received my acceptance letter. I was over the moon.
Some classes were supported by the University of Colorado in Boulder, and I earned CU credits and grades. For the first time in my life, I was acing everything. Straight A’s. It was transformative.
The most magical part of becoming a Montessori educator was discovering that with the right teaching method, I could learn. I spent much of the program emotional, finally understanding that I was not stupid — a belief I had carried my entire life. Montessori is about children learning through materials, not teacher intervention. They learn essential concepts through their own discovery. And through that philosophy, I discovered myself.
Eventually, I had my own classroom in a prestigious Montessori school in Boulder. I loved my students and have countless memories of their accomplishments. One stands out: a four‑year‑old girl who had mastered the beginning reader series. She asked me to sit across from her, then turned the book upside down so I could see the pictures. She proceeded to read every word flawlessly — upside down. She was only four.
I had climbed a mountain I once thought impossible. Not only had I completed the program, but I was teaching in my own classroom. I was invited to speak at two national conferences on peace education. I developed a curriculum focused on self‑love and respect for others, which eventually became my book, “Everyone Has a Heartlight,” published in 2020.
Finding my true path was a winding road filled with unexpected turns, heartbreak, discovery and magic. And I am grateful for every step that led me to Montessori — and to myself.
Cathy Heyliger is a retired Montessori preschool teacher. She has lived in the Roaring Fork Valley since 1977. Cathy has been married for 35 years and they have raised three children. She now spends most of her time hiking with her two shelter mutts and her husband.