The Things We Shouldn’t Have to Fight For

A lot of people don't understand the constant battles we face when it comes to giving our daughter access to things that most people simply take for granted.

For most families, a new school year means buying school supplies, meeting teachers, getting schedules figured out, and settling into a new routine.

For our family, it also means preparing to advocate.

Every year, it seems like we have to fight, remind, explain, request, and sometimes push just to make sure our daughter has the same opportunities and access as everyone else.

And we're only in the first full week of school.

I've already had to send four separate emails.

Four.

Her teachers have instructions regarding her 504/IEP plan. The accommodations and supports are there for a reason. They aren't suggestions. Yet somehow, every semester and every school year, we find ourselves having to explain them again, remind people of them, and sometimes push back when someone decides to test the boundaries.

And right now, we're dealing with something as basic as a desk.

One of my daughter's classrooms has desks with chairs attached. Because of her disability, she doesn't need to be transferring in and out of the classroom chair. She needs to remain in her wheelchair.

The solution that was offered was for her to simply angle her wheelchair toward the desk so she could use it.

Think about that for a moment.

We're asking a student to maneuver and position her wheelchair around a desk that wasn't designed to accommodate her, rather than simply providing her with a desk that allows her to participate in the classroom like every other student.

And now, one week into school, she still doesn't have a proper desk.

This is exactly the kind of thing people don't see.

They see a student sitting in a classroom and assume she's included. What they don't see is the extra effort, the awkward positioning, the barriers, and the constant conversations happening behind the scenes just to make that classroom accessible to her.

To someone else, it may just be a desk.

To us, it's another reminder that accessibility often doesn't happen unless someone fights for it.

And honestly?

It's exhausting.

It is exhausting to constantly have to be the person asking, "Why can't she have access to this?"

To be the person reminding someone that something was already addressed.

To have to explain why an accommodation matters.

To advocate over and over again for something that should already be understood.

But here's the thing:

I won't stop.

Being tired doesn't mean I'm going to stop advocating for my daughter.

Since my daughter's diagnosis, I've started seeing the world differently. I notice things now that I never had to think about before.

I notice vehicles parked in front of ramps.

I notice people blocking accessible entrances.

I notice buildings that don't have proper ADA accessibility.

I notice situations where someone in a wheelchair has to take a completely different route just to get somewhere everyone else can walk straight into.

I notice the little things.

The things I used to walk right past without a second thought.

And sometimes I wish everyone could see the world the way I do now.

Because I don't think accessibility is asking too much.

I don't think making a ramp accessible, leaving room for a wheelchair, providing an accommodation, or simply thinking about how someone else experiences the world is too difficult.

Most of the time, it would take very little effort.

It just takes awareness.

It takes stopping for a moment and thinking, "What if this were my child? What if this were me? Would I want to be treated this way?"

I know I may be asking too much from some people.

But I'm going to keep asking.

I'm going to keep reminding.

I'm going to keep pushing.

And I'm going to keep advocating—not only for my daughter, but for every person who has ever had to fight for access to something that should have been accessible in the first place.

Accessibility shouldn't depend on how persistent a parent is.

A child shouldn't have to have a parent who knows the laws, knows the accommodations, sends the emails, makes the phone calls, and refuses to accept "no" just to receive what they are already entitled to.

We shouldn't have to fight this hard for inclusion.

But until the day comes when we don't have to, I'll keep fighting.

Because my daughter deserves access.

She deserves opportunities.

She deserves to be included.

And she deserves the same chance as everyone else.

So no, I won't stop advocating just because I'm tired.

I'm tired because I care.

And I'll keep going because she matters.