When I started my internship at Giant Steps in Lisle, Illinois — a therapeutic day school serving students with autism and related developmental disabilities through coordinated education and therapy — I had no idea how much I would learn from the speech-language pathologists I worked alongside, especially when it came to AAC devices. Giant Steps’ multi-disciplinary approach combines individualized education with therapies like speech, occupational, and neurological music therapy as part of students’ daily learning and communication goals.
Those nine months, beginning in 2020, were my first real exposure to what it means to support communication beyond spoken language. I saw firsthand how AAC gives students a voice — and how powerful it can be when every professional in their world, not just SLPs, knows how to honor and use that voice.
As a board-certified music therapist at Prospect Music Therapy, I work with numerous students who utilize AAC devices. The lessons I learned during my internship continue to guide my practice every day.
AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication) devices aren’t just for speech sessions — they’re a vital part of a person’s language system. As music therapists, our role isn’t just to make music for our clients but to make music with them. And for many of our students, that means recognizing their device as an extension of who they are and how they communicate.
In sessions, I try to intentionally incorporate AAC use into our musical work. If we’re singing a song about emotions, I’ll pause to show the student where “happy,” “sad,” or “angry” lives on their device. If we’re doing a movement song, I’ll reference “go,” “stop,” or “dance.” Sharing those words connects the work we’re doing musically to the language they use daily — reinforcing both communication and comprehension in a motivating, natural way.
It’s not about turning music therapy into speech therapy; it’s about collaboration and respect for each student’s communication style. Sometimes that means modeling words without expecting output, sometimes it means celebrating when a student independently uses their device during a session, and always, it means making sure their AAC system is seen and valued as a legitimate voice in the room.
Learning to use AAC devices has made me a more intentional and inclusive therapist. It’s deepened how I approach connection, autonomy, and expression in my sessions. Over time, I’ve found that the best way to build confidence in using AAC as a music therapist is to stay curious and collaborative. I love checking in with a student’s SLP or teacher about their communication goals or vocabulary sets — it helps me ensure I’m modeling accurately and reinforcing what they’re learning elsewhere. I also try to use AAC naturally throughout sessions, pointing to or selecting words that fit the moment, like “play,” “stop,” “more,” or “loud.”
Just like with music, consistency and repetition matter. Modeling the same words across songs and experiences helps students form lasting connections. And when a student uses their device spontaneously — even if it’s not directly related to the activity — I respond and celebrate it. That moment of empowerment reminds them their words have purpose and power, no matter how they’re shared.
Every AAC system is a little different, but the heart of it is the same: communication is a right, not a reward. The more comfortable we become with these tools, the more we can bridge music and language in ways that promote true connection and independence.
Because music is communication — and every voice, whether sung, spoken, or selected, deserves to be heard.
