Dead iPads and Detours: My UGA Adventure”

Some weeks, you wake up ready to conquer the world. Other weeks, the world wakes up ready to test your Wi-Fi, your patience, and your debit card.

A few days before the Disability History Symposium at the University of Georgia, I was deep in boss girl mode — scheduling posts, packing like I was going on tour, and organizing my notes for the panel. As a Youth Ambassador for I DECIDE Georgia, this was a big moment. We were gathering to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act — and share our own stories about inclusion, belonging, and how far we’ve come.

I was ready. Hair done, outfit planned, speech prepped. Full-fledged boss girl mode. You couldn’t tell me nothing.

And then… my iPad died.

Not just “needs a quick charge” kind of dead — I’m talking full-on R.I.P. device. Black screen, no warning, no pulse. My AAC sidekick had left the chat. I sat there staring at it like it had just broken up with me over text.

Now, most people might’ve panicked. But not me. I flipped straight into what I call emergency boss babe operations mode.

I had chargers laid out like I was running NASA. I googled every trick in the book. All while trying to keep my hair intact and my faith in technology alive.

Then came the bank drama. Because apparently, when you don’t travel often, your bank thinks you’ve been kidnapped the minute you leave your zip code. Every time I tried to buy coffee or pay for lunch, I got flagged like a security risk. “Suspicious activity,” they said. Honey, the only suspicious activity happening was me trying to survive this trip with a frozen card and a fried iPad.

By the time I made it to Athens, I was running on caffeine, determination, and about three hours of sleep. But I showed up — and that’s what matters.

And can we talk about how boss babes wear backpacks now?

Forget briefcases and those purses that barely hold a lip gloss. We’ve evolved. The modern boss girl doesn’t carry stress — she carries snacks, chargers, and a notebook full of world domination plans. My backpack isn’t just storage; it’s survival. It holds my goals, my granola bar, and sometimes my sanity. It’s giving CEO of chaos, executive of efficiency, and founder of “I’ve got this.”

Because honestly? Nothing says “professional woman on a mission” like power walking into a symposium with your backpack swinging and your iced coffee in hand.

The symposium itself was incredible. Sitting alongside fellow Youth Ambassadors and hearing everyone share their school experiences — the good, the hard, the hopeful — was powerful. We weren’t just talking about disability history; we were living it. Every story shared was proof that inclusion doesn’t just happen on paper. It happens when people believe we belong — in classrooms, on panels, and in leadership.

And as I sat there, I thought about my own story. About the time I wasn’t allowed to walk at graduation because I didn’t have heels. About the moments when inclusion wasn’t offered — and the ones when I had to demand it. That’s what makes being a Youth Ambassador matter to me: turning every “no” into a reason to speak louder.

So yeah, my iPad gave up, my bank freaked out, and my nerves tried to join the party. But I still showed up. With my voice, my humor, and my message: inclusion isn’t optional. It’s history in motion.

Because being a Youth Ambassador isn’t about having everything go right — it’s about showing up when everything goes wrong.

And if that means rolling into UGA with a dead iPad, a locked debit card, and a backpack full of ambition and emergency snacks? So be it.

History doesn’t wait for Wi-Fi. And neither do I.