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Our children bring immense beauty and value to the world, yet they are too often underestimated and hindered by policies that fail to recognize their potential. Whether you have had to battle for your child’s right to a free and fair education, a spot in daycare, behavior health services, medical equipment, therapies, or for meaningful inclusion in all aspects of life, you have lived experiences that can help legislators understand the impact of these decisions.

DEI is not a meaningless acronym, It protects our children from discrimination. It is all too common of a reality for us. People take for granted things like summer camps, daycare access, and inclusion in sports and extracurricular activities. People with disabilities face discrimination in the workplace and in many settings. Policies exist to fight those barriers. These are policies that were met with bipartisan support when they were introduced.

Medicaid isn’t a program that can just be cut on a spreadsheet for a tax break for the wealthy. Medicaid is Sienna’s therapies, her speech device, her walker, Safety Sleeper, her orthotics, her checkups and prescription medication. This life can make every day experiences more challenging. We have been so grateful that access to healthcare has not been one of those challenges.

Sienna’s education has been a constant uphill battle from the very first IEP meeting. She is in second grade and has been in 3 different schools already. She finally is at her neighborhood public school, and it faces closure due to funding issues that stem from charter schools and school voucher programs. The current administration wants to grow those programs, and simultaneously eliminate her rights which are currently protected on a federal level at the Department of Education.

This current administration is attacking the disability community. My rage has motivated me to action. If you are interested in joining a group of families interested in protecting our children, please reach out to me on social media or here. We will organize, educate, and take action to demand better policies that uplift and support individuals with disabilities. Through collaboration, shared lived experiences, and collective advocacy, we will hold policymakers accountable and push for meaningful change.

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Disabling Trump’s Rhetoric

Yesterday, Donald Trump stood in front of the nation and blamed disabled people for a tragic plane crash. Instead of discussing the victims, their families, and how to prevent such tragedies in the future, advocates were forced to process yet another attack on our community. In just two weeks, I have had to defend my daughter’s worth more times than I care to count. She stands to lose her education, her access to medicaid, and now her dignity and rights as an adult. No mother should be forced to feel this way.

Sienna is a gift to this world. She is beautiful, smart, loving, feisty, and empathetic. She has much to contribute, and she experiences emotions on a depth that Trump will never comprehend. She may have an intellectual disability but she has more emotional intelligence than our current President. She feels my sorrow right now, just as she feels joy, love, and frustration with the same fierce intensity.

Yesterday, I talked to my therapist about my struggle with consuming information versus letting it consume me. When Biden was elected, I was finally able to turn off the fight-or-flight mode I had been living in. I redirected that energy toward my community, focusing on local politics and how they impact Sienna’s education and our neighborhood.

I live in a vibrant and diverse pocket of Pittsburgh. Every day, I see a melting pot of people—college students from all backgrounds, senior citizens, families with two moms or dads, and individuals with different abilities. This is the kind of community where I want my daughter to grow up. People often ask why we haven’t left the city for the suburbs and a “better” school district. What they don’t see is that when Sienna becomes an independent adult, this will be her home. Here, she will have access to public transportation, support services, inclusive employment opportunities, and a community that embraces her fully. This is the space where we want to live, surrounded by people whose hearts are full of acceptance.

Yes, our school district struggles with funding, but it also has one of the best transition programs in the state. Fierce advocates in the disability community ensure that students like Sienna are not forgotten.

Our family has endured crisis after crisis over the past four years. Grief has surrounded us, and we are still navigating its aftermath. But just as we started to find stability, we were reminded of the fears that come with Trump’s presence in power.

Trump’s latest remarks weren’t just another case of casual bullying. They were targeted, dehumanizing, and historically dangerous. By explicitly stating that disabled people should not exist in certain jobs, he reinforced the idea that disabled individuals are inherently incapable of participating in society. This is not just an attack on disabled people; it is a deliberate strategy of scapegoating and social conditioning.

We’ve seen this playbook before. Extremists don’t start with genocide. They start by convincing the public that certain groups are burdens—unworthy of existence, unfit to contribute, and ultimately, disposable. One of the first groups they target is always disabled people. The Nazi T4 program, which led to the mass murder of disabled individuals, was justified through the same rhetoric Trump is using now—that certain people lack intelligence, productivity, or value.

The goal is simple: Normalize dehumanization. Convince the public that some people are “defective” and should be excluded, and you can justify anything. This isn’t just history—it’s happening now.

This is a real-time strategy unfolding before our eyes. The linking of disabled people to incompetence and societal failure is how leaders manufacture public approval for discrimination, exclusion, and eventually, violence. And Trump is not alone in this. RFK Jr. has spread ableist and transphobic conspiracies, positioning disabled people and LGBTQIA+ individuals as “problems” to be contained or eradicated. Now, he has been given power over public health.

This is not an accident. It is a broadening of the scapegoat.

Privilege allows people to ignore injustice. I know because I did—until I became Sienna’s mom. Through this lens, I have learned so much about why leadership matters, why policies impact our most vulnerable citizens, and why fighting injustice is not optional. I have wept over systemic failures, and I have fought battles with all my strength. I will never stop fighting.

My aunt once told me that anger is a holy act when it is harnessed for change. I struggle with balancing that anger—how to use it without letting it consume me. I struggle with not blaming those who voted in ways that threaten my daughter’s future, but blame won’t change anything. Instead, we must act.

So What Can We Do?

Stay informed. Recognize when history is repeating itself.
Amplify disabled voices. Support activists, filmmakers, and educators speaking out.
Push back against dehumanization. Challenge harmful rhetoric whenever you hear it.
Defend legal protections. Disability rights laws exist for a reason—don’t let them be eroded.
Build coalitions. Marginalized communities must stand together because when one group is targeted, others follow. Follow groups like the ACLU.

We cannot afford to be silent. The cost is far too high.

Call and email Congress every week. Find your representatives at congress.gov. Tell them no cuts to Medicaid, education, or DEI programs. Demand that they vote against every unqualified cabinet pick—if they truly care about meritocracy as they claim to, they must act accordingly.

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The Push and Pull of Advocacy

I turn my camera off after recording the coach going through the routine for the cheer competition and look back at Sienna.


She has melted to the ground and her eyes are puddling with tears. What had I missed?
I step towards her and ask her what’s wrong as the tears stream down her face. I try to get her to stand and do the routine with her peers, but her body is like a pile of bricks. She pulls me down to the ground with her. The other kids are staring at us. I scoop her up and she wraps her body around me and hides her tear stained face and fogged up glasses in my shoulder. I walk towards the bathroom.


I help her get seated on the potty and I crouch down to face her. Sienna is quiet and stoic with her emotions. Most people never even notice she’s upset. I’m not most people.

“Are you okay sweet girl? Listen, you have been sick and missed the last few practices. It’s okay that you don’t know the routine. Miss Amy (her physical therapist) is going to help you learn that. This is supposed to be fun.”

She looks up at me, her bottom lip extended in a fierce pout. I question myself. Is this why she’s upset? Is something else at play? I know she knows she’s being treated differently than her peers at school. She leaves earlier than everyone and is removed from the typical class often. It’s been quite the dissent from preschool last year where she was fully included in everything.

This is kindergarten. She is 6 years old now. Her emotions are more complex, layered, and mature. What must be going through her mind? Does she realize things are harder for her? This is a gut wrenching moment for us both. We are no longer in a place where her differences in development can be overlooked. We stand at the precipice of a canyon that has just begun to erode. The gap is widening and with each passing step, the gorge grows in depth. I know time will only push the other side further from our line of vision. We can’t pause or stop. We have to keep going.

I am utterly broken. Is there anything harder than watching your child struggle? I wanted her to participate in this, so she would have interactions with peers. Her favorite movie is Zombies and it includes a ton of dance and cheerleading. She imitates the moves and has fun. It’s that simple. Am I forcing this on her? And if I am, who am I doing it for…her or me? There is no guidebook to this. I can’t rely on her verbally telling me what she wants. I have to trust my mom gut wholeheartedly, and lately my gut has been unreliable.

This is the push and pull I speak about so often. There’s a voice inside me willing myself to push for her to be treated the same as everyone and to be given all the same opportunities as her peers. “Advocate for her place in this world! She is capable.” it says. Then there’s the pull, “But this is too hard for her. She can’t keep up and you are causing her anxiety by pushing.” Back and forth they go and the mental tug of war in my mind escalates. It leads to a special kind of exhaustion that bleeds into your cognition, your emotions, and your body. It’s an exhaustion that only other mothers can understand. Quiet moments are no longer sacred. The push and pull can invade your safe space at any given time.

And then, just like that, as we are washing our hands, the voices of her peers can be heard from the bathroom shouting a cheer she knows. It’s one she has learned and a giggle erupts from her and the pout has been replaced with a fierce smile.

“Should we go back and cheer with your friends?”, I say.

“Friends.”, she responds with a smile.

We walk out and the little girl she stands next to in line yells for her to come and wraps her arms around her in a warm embrace.

Sienna’s smile widens in spite of the canyon. Erosion may be an unstoppable force, but so is Sienna. The push returns to my mind and lets me know we are exactly where we should be. I let the peace in this moment soak in, because even though I know the pull can return at any moment, I know to hold onto the tranquility as long as I can.

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