We Create the Community
Inspired by the Live Well. Love Strong. Podcast episode with guest Dr. Lisa Graham-Garza
Before I began writing this blog, I looked up the definition of “community.” Honestly, I didn’t love what I found—but here it is, straight from Merriam-Webster:
Community: a unified body of individuals
a: the people with common interests living in a particular area
b: a group of people with a common characteristic or interest living together within a larger society
c: a body of persons of common and especially professional interests scattered through a larger society
d: a body of persons or nations having a common history or common social, economic, and political interests
e: a group linked by a common policy
f: an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (such as species) in a common location
It’s not that I disagree with the definitions—but they don’t come close to capturing what community truly means. Community is so much more than a description in a dictionary. It’s a feeling. It’s a sense of belonging. For many of us, it’s a lifeline. It can be the difference between isolation and connection, between barely getting by and feeling like you’re part of something bigger. For some, community isn’t just important—it’s everything.
Community, especially for parents raising children with disabilities, in my opinion, is a game changer. It’s the difference between drowning in isolation, and surviving, even thriving, with support. It’s knowing that someone else has been where you are, felt what you feel, and is walking a similar road. It’s the space where you don’t have to explain everything. It’s finding connection with others who have been there, done that, or are currently exactly where you are in the journey. It’s what I longed for as I was raising my daughter, and unfortunately never truly found.If I can help even one mom find her community while she navigates the ups and downs of parenting a child with a disability, I’ll feel like I’ve done something meaningful.
In the Live Well. Love Strong. podcast episode “We Create the Community,” Dr. Lisa Graham-Garza and host Sarah Washington explore this need for connection. Early in the episode, Sarah says something that stopped me in my tracks:
“The only way we can survive is by asking for help.”
That line hit me like a sucker punch. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more true. For those of us parenting children with disabilities, asking for help is essential—and yet, it’s often incredibly difficult. It’s hard for a couple of reasons. First, asking for help can just be plain hard. It requires vulnerability, and many of us have been conditioned to push through, to handle it ourselves. Generally speaking, most of us don’t like asking for help. Second, we often don’t even know who to ask or where to ask for whatever it is we need. There’s no handbook that comes with parenting a “normal” child, let alone, one with a disability diagnosis. Most of the time, we’re just trying to get through the day, the week, the meeting, the meltdown. And so often, we carry that weight alone. We’re told to “be strong,” to figure it out, to manage. And we do. But it comes at a cost. And so often, we carry that weight alone. We’re conditioned to “be strong,” to figure it out, to manage.
But the truth is—real strength comes from connection. And asking for help isn't a weakness. It's wisdom. It's trust. It's the first step toward building community. The more we are able to share our own story and our own need for help, the sooner we will find our community.
I didn’t always know how to ask for help. In fact, for many years, I didn’t even know who to ask. I didn’t have a community of moms who were going through anything similar. In fact, quite the opposite. I didn’t know other parents navigating IEPs, specialist visits, surgeries, stares, or just the emotional exhaustion that comes from constantly advocating for your child. I was doing the best I could, but it often felt like I was doing it in a vacuum on an island.
Looking back, I realize how much I longed for connection—not just for advice, but for understanding. For someone to say, “Yes, me too,” or “Here’s what helped us,” or even just, “I see you.” That’s what community gives us. It doesn’t solve everything, but it makes everything feel just a little more possible.
The truth is, community doesn’t have to be large. It can be one friend who checks in. A support group that meets once a month. A podcast in your ears that makes you feel seen. Or a blog post that reminds you someone else gets it. Community grows every time we choose to show up, share honestly, and listen with an open heart.
We may not always find the community we need right away. Sometimes, we have to create it ourselves. And in doing so, we make space for others to find it, too. Every time we share our story, every time we reach out, every time we respond with kindness or honesty, we are building something that someone else might one day lean on. And maybe that’s the point: we survive by asking for help, yes—but we thrive when we offer it, too.
