Disability Isn’t a Single Story—And Neither Are We

Let’s start with a truth I’ve learned over 20 years in this work: People are complex. That’s what makes us beautiful. But too often, systems are built to handle simplicity—one identity at a time, one need at a time, one “service category” at a time.

That model has never worked for the people I love and fight for.

As someone who’s spent my life supporting, parenting, and advocating for disabled youth and adults—especially in BIPOC communities—I’ve seen how deeply flawed our systems are when it comes to holding real people. But I’ve also seen how powerful it is when we design from the margins and lead with curiosity.

What Happens When We Stop Separating the Struggles?

There’s a young person I care about deeply. Black, neurodivergent, disabled—and brilliant. They light up a room, but systems couldn’t seem to see their light. They were bounced between programs, told “we’re not equipped,” or worse, “they’re too much.” But it wasn’t them that was too much—it was the systems that were too little. Too narrow. Too siloed.

This is the pattern I’ve witnessed over and over in the Twin Cities and beyond: people living at the intersection of race and disability being pushed out because our programs were never meant to hold them in the first place.

And the thing is, it doesn’t have to be this way.

We Can Build Something Better—Because I’ve Seen It

Across two decades—working as a case manager, a program supervisor, a coalition organizer, and a mom—I’ve watched what happens when we do things differently. I’ve been in rooms where providers sat back and listened instead of leading with assumptions. I’ve helped create environments where a young adult with behavioral support needs wasn’t a “problem to solve” but a person with power and ideas.

When people feel seen for all of who they are—not just a diagnosis, not just a race, not just a barrier—that’s when real transformation starts.

Ask Yourself “So What Now?”

We have a chance to change how inclusion works—not just by expanding what’s “accessible,” but by redesigning our systems with intersectionality at the core. That means listening to disabled BIPOC folks. Funding them. Hiring them. Letting them lead. It also means that those of us who are not disabled—myself included—show up with humility, build trust, and use our roles to open doors that have been closed for too long.

This isn’t about checking more boxes. It’s about creating a culture of belonging so rich and rooted that everyone finds space to thrive. What are YOU going to do about it?