Our Stories: Turning the Page

CLARE KELLY:
Hello, everyone. Welcome to Our Stories, Turning the Page. A storytellingseries hosted by Disability Lead. My name is Clare Kelly. I'm the education andlearning services manager at Disability Lead. I use she, her pronouns. And I'ma white woman, with curly brown and gray hair, wearing a black shirt, andsitting in front of a blurred background. Today's program includes ASLinterpretation, and CART or real time captions. You can access captionsdirectly in zoom by clicking show captions at the bottom of your screen or youcan utilize the streamtext link in the chat if you prefer to view captions in aseparate browser. If you have any questions or require technical assistance,please send a direct chat to dis lead support. Lastly, while the chat is setfor messaging hosts and panelists only, we encourage you to utilize thereactions icon at the bottom of your screen throughout the program to showsupport and encouragement for our storytellers today. Feel free to test thatout now if you'd like to show us a reaction about how excited you are to behere today with us in Our Storytellers. Thank you.

We're so pleased to welcome you for one of our most belovedprograms, Storytelling with Disability Lead Members. In the words of AliceWong, storytelling is a chance to know ourselves better, to really question whowe are, where we've been, and who we want to be. We are so fortunate to havethree incredible and talented disability lead members featured today, LauraIsaacs, Chaitanya Manchanda, and Tina Lowry. I want to thank each of them fortheir willingness to share their personal experiences of navigating differentdisabilities in an ableist world. And their own personal journeys ofself-acceptance. Finding the right words requires labor and vulnerability butthe results can be a catalyst for change. Stories of disabled people, thoughthey may not be widely told or known, are universal. They are human and theyconnect all of us, those who identify as disabled and those who do not. Youjoined us today to listen to stories of humanity.To support Laura, Chaitanyaand Tina because they're your friends, your colleagues, your neighbors, yourloved ones.

Maybe they're total strangers but you are interested inhearing their ideas, and the journeys that they've endured. At this time, I'mpleased to welcome our first storyteller to join me on screen. Please welcomeLaura Isaacs. We'll give a moment here for Laura to get on screen. Great. Thankyou. Welcome, Laura. We look forward to hearing your story.

LAURA ISAACS:
Thank you, Clare. And my name is Laura Isaacs. My pronouns are she, her. I am aplus sized black woman with dark brown and gray curly hair that is all piled ontop in a puff today. I am wearing a green shirt, with black glasses with whitetrim across the top and my background is blurred. And this is my story. I was aspoiled child. While my cousins were getting school clothes on layaway fromKmart, mine came from places like Marshall Field's and Nordstrom. Spring andsummer brought trips to Woodfield Mall for new clothes. I especially lovedgoing to the Jessica McClintock store for gunnysacks dresses. Beautiful prairiestyle dresses with delicate lace details and pearl buttons. Almost every outfithad a matching coat. My senior year of high school, we went to a culturalevent. While I don't remember if it was the ballet or theater, I rememberexactly what I wore. A navy blue and red plaid pleated skirt with a red blazerand a white blouse with a navy blue ankle length coat with a red lining.

Even as a small child, every occasion brought a new outfit.Easter, Christmas, Mother's day. I especially loved Easter outfits as myfavorite color is pink. And it was always a pink dress with a matching coat. Iremember one Christmas I got the most beautiful organza tiered dress. It wasoff white with green silk trim around the tiers and was covered in tiny goldstars. The twirl ability was off the charts. One day, my mom, two of herfriends, and I spent the morning, and afternoon shopping on North MichiganAvenue for dresses for luncheon and high school graduation. I remember being inthe Marshall Field's shoe department and seeing the most beautiful black patentleather flats. They had a slightly pointed toe with slim cutouts on the sideand tiny gold buckles. The minute I saw them I knew I had to have them but theywere over $100 and my mother was hesitant to spend that amount of money. I lostit and basically had a 17 year old tantrum in the shoe department and sheconceded. I loved those shoes.

They were so soft and comfortable in the way that priciershoes sometimes are. I held on to those shoes for years. I was a spoiled childor so I was told. There was never a shortage of new clothes or toys or even anAtari video game system. But I didn't feel spoiled. Instead, I felt terrifiedspecifically of my parents. The one thing I wanted most was emotional support.I needed verbal confirmation that I was loved and cared for and that I wassafe. I remember I was about six years old and had a nightmare that my motherhad abandoned me. I woke up screaming for my mother and I asked her if sheloved me. Her response was, stop being silly and don't scare me like thatagain. She was unpredictable. One day she'd be tolerant and wanting to dothings together. Other times it seemed like she hated that I even existed. If Igot four A's and a B, I was berated for the B. If I had cleaned the entireapartment but forgot to vacuum, I got yelled at for not vacuuming. Her approvalwas always just out of reach.

She would call when she was on her way home from work and Iwas distressed the entire hour or more it took her to drive from Schaumburgback to the west side of Chicago. What was gonna get me in trouble next? Mymother has this uncanny ability to look at you like something on the bottom ofher shoe. I have very few memories of my life before the age of 26. But Iremember those looks. My father didn't live with us and he was abusive in hisown but different way. I had no safe space. No, I know that what I experienced,the pit of dread in my stomach and pacing until she got home, was anxiety.After several years of therapy, a string of failed relationships and apsychiatric hospitalization, I was finally diagnosed with borderlinepersonality disorder seven years ago. Borderline personality disorder or BPD isa mental health condition characterized by difficulties regulating emotion,unstable relationships and a distorted self-image. Individuals with BPD mayexperience intense mood swings, fear of abandonment and impulsive behaviors.

Getting this diagnosis and doing the work helped meunderstand why I went from bad relationship to bad relationship. I was longingfor the emotional validation that had been lacking in my life for so long. Iwas desperate for someone to tell me they loved me and would never leave me.But none of it was real. It was all transactional. And when I stoppedsacrificing my needs for their happiness, the relationships inevitably ended. Inow understand how impulsivity is also a struggle for me. I would spend all mymoney on things for dopamine rush but not be able to pay rent or utilities. Icannot count the number of times my electricity was disconnected because Idecided to take a vacation or go on a shopping spree instead of paying bills.And I had a temper. I could go from calm to enraged in seconds. I'll neverforget a situation where I had a coworker who antagonized me beginning the dayI started working there. She'd make comments about my ability to do my job. Shewould call me Lori instead of Laura, which I hate.

Almost weekly, she was doing or saying something to getunder my skin. On this particular day, I was incredibly busy and not in themood. She made a comment about me not wanting to do my job when I was unable toanswer someone's question as it was outside the scope of my job. I lost it. Iflew into a profanity laced rage and called her everything but a child of God.I was, of course, fired. And it wasn't the first or last time something likethat would happen. Since then, I've worked on a weekly basis with my therapistdoing dialectical behavioral therapy to help manage my emotions andimpulsiveness, as well as just learning who I am as a person and learning tolive as that person. I learned that my sensitivity was not a bad thing. Ilearned that I had the right to stand up for myself and set boundaries formyself. I've learned that I actually was a good parent and I have a son wholoves me just as I am. I learned that I'm deserving of the love and care that Iwas so desperate for all those years ago.

And I've learned that sharing the story of my mental healthjourney has been so helpful to countless people with mental health conditionsand the people who love them. I also take medication to help manage myconditions. I have since learned to look for cues that a crisis may be comingand how to manage them so that I don't damage my reputation at work and moreimportantly, my personal relationships. A few months ago I was on Facebooklooking for an old friend and noticed that I had a message from a former highschool classmate. All it said was, happy birthday, and it was four months old.I almost ignored it but decided to thank him instead. He responded almostimmediately and we began chatting on a regular basis and really connected. Asit turns out, he'd had a crush on me back in high school and was stillinterested in pursuing a relationship. It has been a whirlwind but it is also atruly authentic friendship. And then, BPD came down on me like a tsunami. Idon't even remember what he said to trigger the outburst but the tirade was ofepic proportions.

It's like an out of body experience. I can see it happeningbut there's nothing I can do to stop it. I actually don't remember exactly whatI said but he was hurt and was ready to end our relationship. I apologized assincerely as I could but it was out of my hands. One thing therapy has taughtme is that, just like no one else can control my emotions, I couldn't controlhis. A few days later, the day before Mother's Day, he forgave me. He said thatI reminded him that real love is choosing each other again and again even whenit's hard. He's in the process of moving back to Chicago from Atlanta so we canbe together. And I now feel loved and safe. Not just because of him but becauseI have so much more trust in myself, and my choices. I can't predict the outcomeof our relationship. But I hope we will continue to choose each other and byextension ourselves for many years to come. Thank you.

CLARE KELLY:
Laura, thank you so much for sharing your story with us. Appreciate you.

LAURA ISAACS:
Thanks, Clare.

CLARE KELLY:
Lots of loves coming your way from the audience here that we can see. Thankyou, thank you. At this time, I would like to invite our next storyteller tojoin me on screen, Chaitanya Manchanda.

CHAITANYA MANCHANDA:
Thank you, Clare.

CLARE KELLY:
Hi. Welcome, Chaitanya.

CHAITANYA MANCHANDA:
Hello, everyone. Good afternoon. My name is Chaitanya Manchanda. And mypronouns are he and him. I'm a South Asian male with black gray hair, wearing ablue shirt and sitting against a blurred white background. I also wear darkspectacles and a black cochlear implants. This is my story, Let them Stare myjourney to acceptance. Let them stare endlessly to the heart's content, not thefirst time and won't be the last, until they truly realize why inclusion andacceptance of others creates stronger bonds and brings harmony in society. Anew semester begins in September and my college campus looks colorful withleaves changing every passing day. I wake up feeling more excited with theweather the crisp the changing colors, and bright sunny days. As I gear up tostart my senior year in college in Windsor Canada. It is a Tuesday. I amwalking to campus with coffee in my hand and a light bag with books rushing tograb one of the front row seats. Climbing plants snaked through the century oldwindows of the Environmental Science Building, where a small classroom withoutdated furniture was quickly filling up with 50 odd students eager to learntheir algorithms.

As we all begin to settle down, the door opens when a tallelderly man in his 60s enters, sporting curly hair, and a long gray beard. Hisdark cardigan gave me the glimpse of a renowned physicist exhausted from allthe research he did over the years and suddenly decided to get back intoteaching. I made my way to the podium to meet with that professor, one on oneand quickly introduce myself with excitement and handed him a sealed envelope.It was a crisp white envelope with the university seal and the receiver's nameon the front. My professor demonstrated a sense of urgency as he quickly readthrough the contents of the letter. I feel optimistic and revitalized, preparedto commence the semester with a fresh perspective. The preceding years werenotably demanding. I learned over the semester has gone by that myaccommodations were not a one size fits all and needed continuous tweaking.Since every class setting and method of teaching was unique, I had to deal withnew challenges. For example, working on labs independently, versus working ingroups of four to five students.

As someone heavily reliant on lip reading, professors didnot know they had to keep the lights on or face me when speaking. Each scenariorequired a new untested tactical solution and it was an uphill challenge for myprofessors who were sometimes very reluctant to cooperate and adapt. One way Icould get them to understand was through role play. I would ask my professor tojoin me in an empty classroom for ten minutes and when the roles were reversed,they suddenly understood the challenges. But today, I possess a renewed senseof confidence, enabling me to navigate my challenges more effectively. As I satdown in the front row, the class began with an introduction and overview andcustomary housekeeping rules. Subsequently, the professor made an abrupt announcementto the class. He politely stated the need for note take on discourse,specifically pointing to me where I sat. As he concluded his statement, Inoticed other students were looking directly at me. My heart was racing. Mymind was confused and I did not know how to react.

Considering that all, in all the courses taken so far,Professors would make this request without identifying me. I was angry andupset at this point. I felt like I committed a crime or did something shameful.And before the punishment was handed out, I was getting continuous tests. Whatdid I do wrong? Why is everyone behaving as if they have never seen a deafperson before? Now that my identity was out in the open, I yearn for somenormalcy. Like someone tapping me on the shoulder and wanting to be French orsomeone mentioning that they would like to help. I choked trying to process allthat had happened. A few minutes later, I glanced at my watch wondering howmuch time remained for this class. It was one of the longest 75 minutes of mylife, sitting patiently and waiting for this to be over. My mind was buzzing. Iwas trying to come up with ways to escape this situation. With all thesethoughts in my mind, I still did not have a life note taker. My hearing waslimited. And I could barely lip read along bearded professor.

That night, as I looked through my window at the sunsettling down, I wondered where I truly belonged. The widening gulf between howI experienced the world and how others did. With my family 8,000 miles away inIndia. I felt isolated with no one to share my frustrations with. The newfriends I made in Canada didn't know I'm deaf. Though it might have beenapparent with my speech but not what they were used to. So, how did I get therein the first place? I was a happy kid with a lot of curiosity and a strongdesire to learn. When I suddenly lost my hearing at age of five, it came as ashock to my parents. I grew up in India and was mainstreamed in a Catholicschool. There were no reasonable accommodations for individualized educationprograms, IEPs. In India, the word deaf unfortunately acquired a negativeconnotation. This was rooted in societal misconceptions about deaf personsfunctional abilities and a general lack of awareness. Instead of appreciatingthe inherent strengths of deaf individuals, deafness was primarily understoodas a medical impairment that couldn't be fixed.

Every April, when the new school year began, not only was Iburdened by the weight of my backpack, but also by the difficulty of listeningand comprehending new things and situations. In each of my classes, my gaze wasfixed on the facial expressions and gestures of my teachers. Making sure Icould lip read word by word and construct a sentence quickly. And it wasexhausting. It took my parents a couple of years to come to terms with mydisability and witnessed my development. And I could not fully grasp the impactmy disability would have on my life as an independent individual. Living in anycountry poses numerous challenges, from cultural nuances to languages, tonorms, now is no different. I grew up in India, studied in Canada and am nowworking in the United States. When I left India for Canada after high school, Idid not recognize the various aspects of my identity. And how I was beingperceived. I'm a person of color, a person of South Asian origin and a personwith a disability.

The excitement of starting college in Canada and embracing anew culture was quickly overshadowed by a significant fear. Wearing my hearingaid in and public and figuring out how to disclose. I often sit in the frontrow or if a friend approached, I had discreetly remove and hide my hearingaids. My confidence, I often sit alone in the front row with a new friendapproach. I discreetly remove and hide my hearing aid. My confidence incommunicating without them or without disclosing my disability was absolute.Yet this conviction was fueled by a deep seated fear of losing my friends orbeing judged and isolated. The extrovert wouldn't mean to thrive on socialconnection who is unknowingly battling against this self-imposed isolation. Myparents had sent me to Canada for the hope of acceptance. As soon as Igraduated high school, they boldly threw me into the ocean and sent me acrossone, watching me battle the strong currents and swim to the shore, safely andindependently. Equality in education and inclusivity was something my parentsbelieved would only be possible when one is in the right environment.

Yet there I was, afraid for my college friends to know I wasdeaf. And reeling after having been outed by my professor in front of the wholeclass. I decided to take stock of the situation and act Instead of crying. Thenext day I visited a professor and confronted him politely for clarificationand closure knowing well that dwelling in the past was futile. He looked up,his eyes wide open, and paused for a moment before softly apologizing, for whathappened the previous day. His words were, I'm preparing you for the harshrealities of the world. You will face many more challenging situations and youneed to be strong. You are hearing loss will always be a part of you but whatmatters is how you navigate life. Be open, vocal, and proud of your identity.My hearing loss is an inherent piece of me today. A constant. I'm stepping outof this experience not just different, but stronger, assured and ready for morehurdles. It dawned on me, unless I embraced self-acceptance, I cannot demandthat from anyone else.

This was the first pivotal step I needed to take. After thesemester wore on, bringing colder winds and dwindling daylight, I stood alittle taller, tempered by this whole journey. The buzz of new algorithms andadvanced theories evaporated leaving a quiet, firm determination in its wake.My initial excitement might have vanished but the shift inside me felt morepermanent. Those meaningful words spoken by the long bearded professor left amark on me, and I was irrevocably changed. He was the defining moment of whatmy life would be today. I no longer felt like I had something to be ashamed of.Let them stare. Those continuous stares that were once like burning holesgradually lost their heat and flickered out like old embers. While lip readingprovided me with a lifeline and conversations, I felt I needed more than justthe partial solution. I yearned for that immersive classroom experience, thatothers had. The effortless ease of collaborating on group work, and to trulybelong within social circles.

I needed a broader strategy, for genuine engagement. So, Ilearned to navigate conversations by the current of visual cues. The nuancedfacial expressions and perceptive hand gestures to truly see what others weresaying. My internal compass for empathy and cultural context became my mostreliable guide, transforming listening from a challenge into a rich,multi-layered experience. Learning to use this holistic approach tounderstanding conversations, is what it took for me to evolve into the person Iam today. While I'm still sometimes struggle in group conversations, thecrushing weight of accepting myself has evaporated. It wasn't until I learnedto listen, with more than just my ears, that I truly began to understand theworld around me. Thank you.

CLARE KELLY:
Thank you so much, Chaitanya. Lots of support pouring in for you as well. Weappreciate you. Thank you for sharing your story. At this time, I'm pleased towelcome our next storyteller, Tina Lowry, to join me on screen. Give a momentfor Tina. There we go. Tina welcome, we look forward to hearing your story.

TINA MARIE LOWRY:
Thank you, Claire. Hello. My name is Tina Marie Lowery. I go by the pronounsshe, her. I am a white woman, with brown hair and dark glasses. Today mybackground is blurred. Here's my story. This story didn't begin as mine. Itstarted as a book. A book written about me but not by me. A thick book thatkept getting bigger each year, filled with observations, full of labels, fullof pages that said who I was, how I acted, and what I struggled with. And noneof it was written in my handwriting or my words. One page praised me for beinggifted, for solving problems faster than anyone else, for using words thatadults weren't expecting from someone of my age. I was a little professor or awalking encyclopedia. But turn the page and I became difficult, non-compliant,disruptive. I was the contradiction no one knew what to do with. I saw patternsothers missed. I spoke with precision. I asked why and then why again. But whenI saw as insight, others saw as attitude. What I called focus, others calledobsession.

What I felt was too much noise, others said was just life.Each year, the book grew. It didn't just hold test scores and goals, it wasfilled with behavior charts, meeting notes, and the words I never got tochoose. The words stay with me longer than any grade or diagnosis. Everyoneelse is dealing with the noise and lights. Why can't you? You're too smart toact like this. It's not that big of a deal, you're overreacting. You need tostop using autism as an excuse. You don't look autistic. If you can memorizeall those facts, you can learn to behave too. If you just tried harder, you'dfit in. You know, I'm going to have to document this. Behind all of the wordsis the documentation in my book. They said it was a roadmap to success but tome, it felt like a record of everything I was told not to be. I would saysomething wrong, out came the book. A classmate could say the same thing andthey didn't have a book. I would flinch at a loud noise, out came the book. Aclassmate that made the loud noise didn't have a book.

I got frustrated because everyone was so loud during mathclass, out came the book. The classmates being loud, none of them have a book.I just want to do math. Why are you taking out my book? Please put my bookaway, please. I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean to do that. I just wantit to be quiet while I'm doing my math. Can I just work on this by myself? Therest of the people in the group aren't going to be nice to me, please. I'msorry. I am so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Every morning,I woke up trying my hardest to fit in. And every night I went to bed knowing Ihadn't. One afternoon, after coming home in tears, exhausted and defeated, myPapa looked at me and said gently, you can do anything as long as you put yourmind to it. He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. For me, itlit a flame. I didn't want to apologize anymore. I wanted people to see what Icould do. I wanted them to see what I was capable of. I wanted them to know howmuch I tried each and every day.

That night I started a list. A list of all the things Iwanted to put my mind to. A list of things I wanted to accomplish. First up, Idecided I would give a speech at my eighth grade graduation. I spent yearsbeing a good student, earning awards to be a straight A student. I earnedawards for being one of the top students in math, science, computers, andmusic. Eventually, the school asked for students to submit speeches. Isubmitted mine and was accepted as the student speaker. But soon after, the bookshowed up again. Noting how I failed to be part of the group assigned infreshman year biology lab to identify different leaves. That was one of thefirst projects that year. I decided I wanted to be a drum major. I watched howthe current drum majors conducted themselves and let the marching band. I couldplay multiple instruments and quickly worked my way to section leader. And thenI got stuck there until my senior year. I was finally picked. I finally waschosen to lead the marching band.

We won so many awards that year and best drum majors atstate But the book showed up again, documenting how I plugged my ears whenclassmates were talking too loud. It didn't matter what I did, the book wasthere. When the Science Fair, book. Make National Honor Society, book. So, Ifelt a sense of relief when high school graduation came as that was the end ofmy supports and with it, the book. I put my mind to going towards my bachelor'sdegree, Marquette University, here I come. Then a master's degree, NorthwesternUniversity, let's go. College was the first time I felt like the book might beclosed. There was no more checking in or meetings, no more people writingparagraphs, or tracking data about me. No more forms reminding me of where Ifelt or fell short. For the first time, I got to decide what my life lookedlike. Mass was on Tuesday nights at Saint Joan of Arc Chapel because the chapelwas smaller or I went on Sundays at 4:00 pm because that was farther FatherFast. That wasn't his actual name.

You could get in and out in 30 minutes or less, or you gotyour donation back. Studying things that fascinated me and made my brain comealive, I got to form habits, of eating when I was hungry, sleeping when I wastired, and exercising when I wanted to. Because the gym was open 24 hours. Igot to study anywhere I wanted to, from under a tree, where I had to share mylunch with a squirrel to a quiet corner in the stacks of the library, to thepicnic tables at the local pub. Sitting in lecture halls knowing I belonged. Istarted to believe I can do this. I'm putting my mind to it and I can really dothis. I thought the book was gone for good but then it showed up again. Not asschool support, not as a file in the front office but it's something called aperformance review. I was excited to be working, finally putting all thateducation and effort into something meaningful. But then, I read the commentsabout me. Wonderful, potential. She's not socially savvy. Great with technologybut struggles with social dynamics of work.

Doesn't understand the politics of the workplace and willbulldoze others priorities. Suddenly, I was seven again, stimming under thefluorescent lights. I was 11 again, giving away all of my crayons so peoplewould like me. I was 15 again, hiding between the band room doors at lunchbecause, people. But now I'm an adult. Now, the noise wasn't just in thelunchroom, it was in the workplace. Yet the same people that are loud are theones who tell me to be quiet. Now, it's unexpected phone calls that make my skincrawl, like an unexpected doorbell at night. The same people calling me are theones who tell me to only use email or chat to get a hold of them. Now, it'sunexplained calendar invites that send my heart racing. The same people whosend me unclear, unexpected meeting notices, require me to be detailed in myexplanations of why I scheduled a meeting. I am told to take time composingemails, to be thoughtful, to think about the recipient but others file emailsback and forth in conversation like the email inbox is a chat room.

Why can't I just be me? This personality, this focus, thisintensity, they are not flaws. They are the reason I succeed. Why can't I be incharge of my own book? This is my story. And like my papa always told me, I cando anything, as long as I put my mind to it. So, I'll write the next chaptermyself, in my own voice because I've learned that I am not a problem to besolved. I am a person to be understood and understanding doesn't start withfixing me. It starts with listening to me. I don't want to spend my lifemanaging other people's discomfort. I want to live in a world where differentways of thinking aren't just tolerated, they are valued. Where passion isn'tmistaken for rudeness, where silence isn't mistaken for disinterest, wherefocus isn't mistaken for arrogance. I've spent years trying to shrink myself tofit in. Now, I'm expanding. I'm taking up space. I'm using my voice. Notbecause this is easy but because it matters. I've found people who care andsupport me. I've found a job that values all of me.

The truth is, I'm not less. I'm not broken. I'm not amistake. I'm a story still unfolding, still growing and still becoming. And thetruth is, there are so many versions of the book. All have glances, labels andwords that start a story. A story we carry that someone else started. Storiesthat start with, this is how a student acts. This is what success looks like.This is how you're supposed to dress. This is when you're supposed to speak.This is what a person is supposed to do. Just because it is a receivednarrative does not make it right. And maybe as you listen to my story, youstarted seeing the outlines of your own book. Maybe it isn't in the schoolsfile but rather in the way people expect you to always smile and be agreeable.It's society's expectations and even possibly your own families. Maybe you'vebeen trying to fit someone else's outline, for so long you forgot that you areallowed to write your own story. So, let me ask you, what book is followingyou? Who's writing your lines?

Whose expectations are shaping your story? And mostimportantly, when are you going to be taking back the pen? Thank you.

CLARE KELLY:
Tina, thank you so much. Wonderful story and the crowd is showing you, theaudience is showing you here lots of support. Rolling in, I'd like to keep Tinaspotlit, and I'd like to invite Chaitanya and Laura to join me on screen so wehave all of our storytellers with us here. I'll give everyone a moment torejoin. Thank you, thank you. What a lovely hour. Laura, Chaitanya and Tina,thank you so much for your vulnerability, your authenticity. The audience isshowing you so much support here, and we are so proud to have you as members ofthe Disability Lead Network. So, thank you, sincerely. I hope each of you knowthat someone, if not many people in this audience today, have been saved orhealed or changed in some way by hearing your story. Fabulous job to each ofyou. I also want to thank our disability lead members, Techie Lomnicki andMegan Doherty, for their coaching, support and expertise in helping ourstorytellers prepare their stories for today. Today's gathering is aboutholding people that you know or maybe don't know in your hearts and making roomfor their voices and their needs.

This storytelling, is the only way we will achieve theequitable and inclusive communities each of us yearns for. It's what isrequired of us as compassionate, and caring citizens of this world. So thankyou all for being a part of this moment with us today. To our audience, I hopeyou will all stay connected with us at disabilitylead,org. Please save the datefor our next public program which is the continuation of our Disability Powerseries, coming up on August 14th at noon Central Time. And also, save the datefor our Disability Leadership Summit that's coming back in February, on the24th and 25th of 2026. And I am extremely thrilled to share that applicationsare currently open for Disability Leads 2026 Institute. An annual fellowship,for emerging leaders with disabilities. If you or someone you know identify asa disabled leader, who lives or works in either Chicago or SouthwesternPennsylvania, please click the link in the chat to learn more about thisexciting opportunity. Please also utilize the survey found in the chat to giveus feedback about today's program.

We would love to hear your thoughts. And at this time, Iwanna extend a final thanks to all of our storytellers, to our audience, to ourASL interpreter and to our CART provider, Joe Gale. Thank you all for attendingon behalf of the Disability Lead Team. We hope you have a wonderful afternoon.Thank you.

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