Built from Fire

I grew up hearing, “Keep your head down. Be grateful. Don’t rock the boat. "Meanwhile, I was thinking—why would I keep my head down when I was born to stand up for something?

It showed up in big and small ways. People would tilt their heads and ask, “What’s she gonna do with her life?” The “safe” answer was always something simple—office work, steady paycheck, plant roots, stay put. And layered on top of that was the unspoken rule: “Find a husband and a stable job, and you’ll be set.”

But here’s the thing—those rules were never written for me.

The world still has a funny way of setting the bar. It used to be believed that success meant staying in one job for forty years, keeping quiet, and never shaking things up. For people with disabilities, that bar was set low before we even got the chance to reach it. The world didn’t expect me to climb the ladder; it expected me to sit quietly at the bottom of it. Some assumed I couldn’t work at all. Others thought the best I could do was something “safe,” something quiet, something that didn’t ruffle feathers. But that’s never been me. I was born with feathers that were made to fly.

A deer standing in a wildfire

These days, my work looks a lot different than what people imagined. I work alongside I DECIDE Georgia to promote supported decision-making and show that people with disabilities deserve the same right to lead their own lives as anyone else. I serve on the Georgia Council on Developmental Disabilities, bringing rural and coastal perspectives into statewide conversations that shape real policy. I collaborate with Speaker Connection, sharing my story and helping others see that advocacy belongs on every stage, not just behind a desk. And through my blog, Sassy Frass with Class, I write about life, faith, and inclusion with a little bit of humor and a whole lot of heart. That platform has become more than a blog—it’s a movement, a reminder that disability isn’t a limitation. It’s a lens that makes the world sharper, realer, and stronger.

That’s work. That’s purpose. And let’s be honest, it takes hustle. I’ve built a life out of late-night writing sessions, early-morning meetings, and endless cups of caffeine and ambition. I may not have a punch clock, but I know how to grind. I inherited it. It’s in my blood—passed down from people who knew how to work hard, pray harder, and make something out of nothing.

And maybe that’s why I don’t blend in. I’m gasoline in a world that’s already on fire. The difference is, I’m not here to watch it burn—I’m here to light the way. When systems stall, I spark a conversation. When doors don’t open, I help build new ones. When people whisper, “Stay safe,” I remind them that comfort never created change.

Because the truth is, the disability world is on fire right now. Policies are shifting, funding is uncertain, and people are fighting every single day just to keep the support they already earned. It’s heavy. It’s frustrating. But it’s also awakening something powerful. Advocates are louder. Self-advocates are leading. Families are learning what true inclusion means, and younger generations are realizing that their voices carry weight. We might be standing in the flames—but we’re also the reason the light is spreading.

A fellow advocate once told me, “I can’t give you my torch, but I can light yours.” I think about that a lot. Because that’s what this work is—one spark lighting another. Every story, every act of courage, every person who refuses to stay quiet adds fuel to the movement. And together, we’re not just surviving the fire—we’re shaping it into something that can’t be put out.

We don’t move forward by staying quiet. We move forward when someone is bold enough to say, This isn’t working anymore. If that makes me “too much,” then good—because “too much” is how progress starts.

As we celebrate National Disability Employment Awareness Month, I think about how far we’ve come and how far we still have to go. Employment isn’t just about paychecks—it’s about pride. It’s about choice, creativity, and community. It’s about knowing that people with disabilities can lead, create, manage, and innovate—not someday, but right now.

So when people tell me to be grateful and keep my head down, I smile. Because I am grateful—but not quiet. I’m grateful for purpose, for people who believe in progress, and for every young self-advocate watching and realizing they can build a life that doesn’t have to fit anyone’s checklist. I’m grateful for the work that keeps me hustling, the mission that keeps me fired up, and the platform that lets me do it all with style and substance.

My head’s not down. It’s high, proud, and pointed toward everything God’s still writing in my story. 💙