When I received a message from a student at Presentation High School inviting me to speak at their Disability Advocacy Week, I was immediately inspired. This wasn’t a request from an administrator or a corporate team—it was from a young person who wanted to create meaningful dialogue about disability inclusion on their campus. That kind of initiative is exactly what drives change, and I knew I had to be part of it.

Originally, we anticipated an intimate gathering of about 25 students, but as the event grew closer, word spread. By the time I rolled into the room on February 5th, more than 75 students and staff were in attendance, eager to engage in conversation. That kind of turnout reaffirmed why these discussions are so important. There is a hunger to learn, to understand, and to challenge the status quo when it comes to disability inclusion.

The questions students asked were thoughtful, insightful, and at times, deeply personal. They wanted to know what my daily routine looks like as a person with a disability. They asked what I wished everyone knew about living with a disability, and how media representation has evolved (and where it still falls short). They were curious about my journey to becoming a TEDx speaker, what advice I live by, and how I prepare for my talks.

One of the most meaningful moments came when I was asked about the most rewarding part of my work as an advocate. My answer? Moments like this. When young minds are engaged, when they’re not just passively listening but actively thinking about how they can be part of a more inclusive future—that is where change begins.

We also tackled misconceptions, discussing how society often underestimates the capabilities of people with disabilities. We explored what real inclusion should look like over the next decade, and what innovations could make the world more accessible. The students wanted to know how I stay motivated despite challenges, and what legacy I hope to leave behind.

And even after the panel discussion wrapped up, the questions kept coming. Students stayed behind to chat, to share their own stories, and to ask how they could be better allies. That, to me, is the real impact of these conversations—when awareness turns into action.

Walking (or in my case, rolling!) away from Presentation High School, I felt hopeful. If the next generation is willing to ask these questions, to challenge assumptions, and to push for a more inclusive world, then we are headed in the right direction.

Because at the end of the day, disability inclusion isn’t just a conversation—it’s a movement. And these students? They’re leading it.