⭐️ On This Episode of “Leslie vs. the Dawgs…”

I didn’t wake up one morning magically confident. That’s not how any of this works. This story starts at my desk,

My AAC charger was tangled on one side, my iced coffee was sweating on the other, and I was rereading an email from UGA for the sixth time. They had offered me $150 for speaking on their youth panel. Old me would’ve said yes immediately. No questions. No counteroffer. Because the girl I used to be believed that being grateful meant being quiet. But the woman I’m becoming paused. Because that whole week leading up to Athens? It was pure chaos. A week before the trip, everything was already upside down, when I needed everything to be simple. My schedule was a mess. And my iPad, Lord help us, started acting like it needed deliverance. And of course, because it’s me, right before a practice run, a week before Athens, my iPad died. Just shut down like, “Good luck, girl.”

a girl working in her beautiful pink modern accent home office

By the time I finally made it to Athens, I was running on determination, adrenaline, prayer, and a semi-working iPad that only behaved when it felt like it. I arrived in the evening feeling every ounce of the week I’d just survived. The city lights were warm, the college-town energy was buzzing, and my nerves were already trying to outrun me. I remember slipping into the little bar by the lobby, still frazzled, still half convinced my iPad would explode if I looked at it wrong. The bartender with pink hair gave me this knowing smile. Not the fake customer-service smile either, but the “girl, I can tell you’ve had A DAY” kind. She handed me a peach drink without missing a beat, like it was exactly what my soul needed. Standing there with that peach drink in my hand, for the first time all week, I felt myself breathe again. Athens felt alive. And for a moment… so did I.

But here’s the part that still makes me laugh: Eric didn’t have his AAC either. His died too. At that point, I was fully convinced it was an Apple conspiracy. Two devices? Same trip? Same event? Bestie, be for real. Walking into that panel room the next morning, I carried all of it with me. The chaos, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, but I also carried something else: purpose. The lights, the voices, the shift in the room when the youth panel started. Even with everything that had gone wrong, we showed up anyway. Fully. Honestly. With humor and heart. We found ways to communicate, to participate, to tell our stories — with or without working devices because our voices aren’t limited to our tools. We aren’t either.

black and white picture of a white bulldog

So when I got home and sat at my desk again, looking at the $150 offer from UGA… I couldn’t pretend like this was some simple afternoon gig. The trip was a whole emotional roller coaster before I even hit the county line. The work was real. The preparation was real. The labor was real. And I showed up with my whole self. So I listened to that stronger voice inside me. The one I’m still getting used to, and I whispered back, “You can ask for what you’re worth.” So I wrote back. Respectfully. Professionally. Clearly. I explained my rate. I attached an invoice.

Then the guilt hit like Georgia humidity in July. That old whisper slid in: “Leslie… was that too much? Should you have just accepted it? Are they going to think you’re difficult?” Suddenly, I wasn’t the woman who navigated a chaotic week and still delivered with grace. I wasn’t the advocate who traveled, prepared, represented, and adapted on the spot. I wasn’t the person who held her own on that panel. I was the little girl again — raised to be polite, agreeable, and thankful for anything I was offered.

And sitting at my desk, it finally hit me: the guilt wasn’t coming from UGA. It was coming from years of learning. Southern girls are taught to be sweet. Disabled girls are taught to accept whatever they’re given. And society teaches women that talking about money is impolite. So yes, I asked for more than $150. And yes, I felt guilty. Not because the ask was wrong… but because the ask was new.

Then something wild happened: UGA said yes. Just… yes. No pushback. No attitude. No hesitation. And there I sat, staring at the screen like, “Oh. So it was actually okay to advocate for myself.” The guilt had lied. The fear had lied. Because the truth is simple: I did the work. I lived the story. I carried the emotional and physical load. I prepared. I traveled to represent. I showed up and delivered. Work deserves compensation.

The Athens trip wasn’t free for me, not emotionally, not physically, not mentally. So why shouldn’t the payment reflect the value? The guilt wasn’t a sign that I crossed a line. It was a sign that I crossed a threshold. A threshold into knowing my worth. A threshold to honoring my work. A threshold into the woman God is shaping me into, confident, steady, and unashamed to take up space.

Next time, I negotiate, I’ll sit there grounded. Clear. Unapologetic. Because I’m learning my worth and I’m done apologizing for it. Still standing. Still sassy. Still knowing my worth.