When Sienna was born eight years ago, I struggled to be her mom.
That’s not easy to admit—but it’s part of the story for many of us.
The answers I needed weren’t in the parenting books on my shelf.
The moms I knew didn’t know how to wake a sleeping baby with Down syndrome.
They didn’t know how to walk me through the grief—or the fierce, overwhelming love that came with it.
So I found my way to the disability community.
Back then, politics weren’t part of the conversation.
We were a patchwork of parents bound by something deeper—love for our children and a shared desire to make the world better for them.
Words like advocacy, inclusion, and equity weren’t political.
They were lifelines.
They held hope.
They held power.
They were the anchors I clung to when I was still learning how to dream for Sienna.
They grounded me in the belief that this country—imperfect as it is—was still a place where those values mattered.
As I stepped deeper into advocacy, politics became harder to avoid.
But even when we disagreed on policies, the parents I met—across party lines—shared one truth:
Our kids matter.
They deserve to be seen.
To be included.
And that inclusion doesn’t just benefit them—it strengthens their peers and communities.
But now?
Those once-hopeful words have been twisted.
Tainted.
Turned into dog whistles instead of beacons.
Let me be clear: I’m raising both kinds of children.
And the only one limited by the erasure of those values is Sienna.
She needs those words.
She deserves those words.
And so do her peers.
I began doing school advocacy in private schools because those children—through no fault of their own—weren’t being exposed to disability.
The questions they asked me were honest. Unfiltered. And deeply needed.
Inclusion isn’t political—it’s human. It’s essential.
And yet—here we are.
We are watching words once tied to morality and justice be transformed into weapons.
We are watching an administration dismantle the very language our children rely on:
Diversity. Equity. Inclusion. Accessibility.
Those words are being stripped from legislation, erased from agency mission statements, and deleted from school policies.
And at the same time, those in power are celebrating their ability to say the R-word out loud again.
Joe Rogan cheers it on like it’s a return to the good old days.
I’ve heard that word more in the last four months than I did in the last four years.
That tells me everything I need to know.
One set of words is being silenced.
The other is being amplified.
Ableism is no longer a whisper.
It’s an emblem proudly displayed by the emboldened.
It’s a battle cry followed by laughter.
And while RFK Jr. promises a “cure” for autism, this administration is quietly suffocating the very programs that foster independence and dignity:
Medicaid. Public education. DEI initiatives. Social Security.
Gone, piece by piece.
And while we fight each other—about autism’s causes, about vaccines, about school choice—they’re counting on us to miss the real danger.
And the most heartbreaking part?
It’s working.
I’m tired.
Tired of the conflict—a conflict that didn’t exist in this community until Trump.
Tired of the silence that masquerades as civility.
Tired of watching a country that once promised inclusion turn its back on my daughter.
I’m tired of having to prove Sienna’s worth in a world that doesn’t seem worthy of her.
I’m tired of rage. Of guilt. Of misinformation.
I’m tired of listening to people who have never walked this path tell me what Sienna deserves—when they don’t know her needs, her dreams, or her brilliance.
But I’m not done.
Call to Action:
If this resonates with you, speak up.
Share this post.
→ Call out ableism. Loudly. Often. Relentlessly.
→ Call your legislators.
→ Submit public comments on policies that strip away disability protections: Education cuts, Medicaid cuts, Social Security, DEI Initiatives.
→ Stop apologizing for advocating.
Because one day, your child may need the very supports they’re trying to destroy.
And by then, it might be too late.
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