Special-education teachers run two jobs. The first is teaching. The second is a paperwork practice a small law firm would recognize: IEPs, progress reports, behavior assessments, intervention plans, meeting notes, parent letters — per student, per year, on legally binding deadlines.
The moment it hurts is specific. It's 8pm on a school night, the annual review is Thursday, and the teacher is rebuilding one child's story from a filing cabinet, last year's PDF, and memory — then writing prose about it for hours, alone. The document has to be individualized, defensible, and consistent with everything ever written about that child. Nothing in the building helps with the writing; the district systems only care that the finished form gets filed.
And the obvious shortcut is off the table. None of this can be pasted into a chatbot, because it's protected student data. The one tool that could help with the writing is the one tool the writing isn't allowed to touch.