Early Struggles and Advocacy

My son was born premature, at thirty weeks, and spent his first months in a neonatal ICU. By the time he was ten months old, doctors had diagnosed him with a language disorder, and later autism and chronic asthma. He struggled to speak, eat, and breathe, but he fought. I applied for Supplemental Security Income (SSI) through the Social Security Administration because I needed Medicaid coverage to pay for the endless therapies, specialists, and speech sessions that private insurance never fully covered. For families raising children with disabilities, SSI is a lifeline; it doesn't make you rich; it helps keep your child alive.

But Mississippi didn’t offer the therapies my son needed, so I moved our family to Texas, hoping for better support. Instead, I found a system that punished parents who fought too hard.

Fighting the School System

When my son began public school, the bullying was constant. I was called away from work because of behavioral incidents, asthma attacks, and meltdowns that the staff didn’t understand. Eventually, after being let go from several jobs, my husband and I decided I needed to stay home to manage his care. I kept believing that the school system would eventually help.

Yet when I demanded proper speech, occupational, and behavioral therapy through an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), I was told, “Your son doesn’t qualify.”

I filed grievances, only to face retaliation. A school board member, a white woman, looked me in the eye and asked, “Why are you fighting so hard? Are you afraid of losing your benefits?”

That question broke something in me. I realized how families like mine, Black families, families of color, single mothers, and parents of disabled children were being systematically discouraged and denied. I discovered that the district spent hundreds of thousands of dollars fighting parents instead of funding services for children.

The Turning Point

I won that fight, but not easily. It came with a cost. Suddenly, I felt watched. I experienced investigations that didn’t make sense. I faced accusations that didn’t match reality. What started as advocacy turned into retaliation.

When the federal investigation came, it didn’t come gently. They arrested me, my husband, and my mother, despite me being the only one involved in applying for my son’s care. We were taken into custody at the Austin airport, humiliated in front of strangers, our lives reduced to mugshots.

There were things they never said on the news: the case did not end the way those early stories suggested, key charges did not stand, and the investigation was deeply flawed, built on assumptions and driven by one investigator who made it personal.

My husband had no involvement. My mother was dragged into it unfairly. Yet, our names and even my husband’s job were blasted across every local news outlet.

The Human Cost

For outsiders, it was a headline. For me, it was years of trauma.

My son lost the only stability he knew.

My husband’s career suffered because of false associations.

My mom was criminalized for being my mom.

What I truly wanted was what every mother wants: for her child to be seen and supported, not to become a cautionary tale of what happens when you fight back against broken systems.

Why I’m Speaking Out Now

Eight years later, I’m still rebuilding. But I’m no longer silent. I am creating this blog and documentary to reclaim my story, not through lawyers or government statements, but through truth and lived experience. I want to speak for the parents who were accused when all they did was care too much, and for the families whose public records tell only one side. My goal is not revenge. It’s restoration.

Because I wasn’t guilty of fraud. I was guilty of standing up.

If you’ve ever been judged by a headline or punished for fighting for your child, I invite you to follow this blog, share it, and stand with me as we reclaim our names and our stories.