In eighth grade, I was named “Lion of the Week” at my middle school. One question on the form asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. My answer: occupational therapist. Another question, if I remember correctly, was about long-term goals. At that time, I had just learned about an orphanage for children with disabilities that Steven Curtis Chapman had opened in honor of his two adopted daughters. I believe I answered that I wanted to work there someday.
While these exact dreams haven’t come to fruition, I’m proud that their spirit lives on in my life. I didn’t become an occupational therapist, but I have dedicated myself to advocacy for the disability community through volunteering, presenting at conferences, and curating information. Education remains a top priority for me, as it’s a way to give back and keep my mind active. In the short term, my goal is to start and complete a master’s degree, with the goal of earning a PhD in health sciences in the future.
Interestingly, the “Lion of the Week” form never asked if I wanted to have children. If it had, I would have said yes—a sentiment that’s remained constant throughout my life. As a middle schooler, I believed that academic and family pursuits were equally important. I thought my family felt the same, but I now see I might have been alone in that belief. Learning has always been my safe haven, but it’s also been my bridge to connect with others and give back.
As I moved into my mid-twenties, completed another bachelor’s degree, and explored graduate programs, I noticed a shift in what people asked me about. Suddenly, everyone wondered if I planned to start a family, referencing my “biological clock.” More recently, I took a leap of faith by submitting proposals to regional conferences for the first time. These presentations matter deeply to me, as my goal is to lessen others’ suffering through advocacy and education.
Now, as marriage and motherhood draw nearer, I face a new question: If I marry and have children, will that become my sole identity? Will my years of writing, advocacy, and professional work be overshadowed by my roles as wife and mother?
The truth is, I love spending time with children and value them deeply. I don’t plan to give up my career simply because I become a mother—but I also don’t know exactly what the balance will look like. I’ve heard well-meaning advice from all sides: some say I should put my newborn in full-time daycare and return to work immediately; others insist I should quit working altogether to stay home. Rarely does anyone ask what I want, or whether my partner might wish to be the primary caregiver. It’s assumed my entire life will either remain unchanged or be completely upended. I don’t believe either extreme is healthy.
I look forward to motherhood, but I’ve also led a full and meaningful life up to this point. While I expect significant changes, I also anticipate continuing many aspects of my life—attending church, seeing friends, and staying involved in advocacy. Until my child is old enough to express preferences, I envision bringing my baby along, even imagining them nestled in a sling as I present at conferences. The work I do—and the work that needs to be done—won’t stop simply because I have a family.
Family will always come first for me. I’ve made intentional choices about my graduate program and career path to stay available and less stressed, so I can prioritize my family. But I refuse to accept the idea that I cannot have both a fulfilling career and a meaningful family life. I need both to feel whole, and I believe both are equally important. Children come first because they can’t advocate for themselves, and family is the foundation from which all else grows. Still, I wish my accomplishments outside of marriage and motherhood received as much recognition.
I’m proud to be the third generation of college-educated women in my family. My hope is that over time women will be asked about their professional accomplishments more than their personal relationships and their children. We are whole people, and our dreams don’t end just because we enter new phases of life.
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