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Why mothers of children with disabilities are quietly becoming some of the most powerful changemakers of our time
By Christine E. Staple Ebanks
All over the world, some of the most powerful leadership is happening far from the spotlight—in living rooms, hospital corridors, and school meetings—where mothers of children with disabilities are quietly writing new models of leadership that are creating social change and lasting impact. We may not make headlines, but we are the heartbeat of a quiet revolution rooted in mama bear love, resilience, and purpose.
I know this life intimately—because I live it too. Like so many other mothers raising children with disabilities, I’ve felt both the weight and the wonder of this journey.
What we face goes beyond the typical parenting playbook—it’s a crash course in advocacy, inclusive systems design, and thriving.
Beyond the everyday demands of parenting, we’re navigating something far more complex. A diagnosis reshapes everything. So, we quickly become care coordinators, medical researchers, advocates, billing specialists, financial planners, and therapists—often all at once. We build entire support systems from scratch, sometimes with nothing more than instinct and sheer determination.
We chase down providers, track paperwork, and stay on hold more than we care to admit—all while trying to stay present for our child and family.
Many of us do all of this while working full-time jobs, and often caring for other children in our family. We’re on call 24/7, with little or no access to respite. It is, without exaggeration, an all-consuming responsibility.
And yes—it takes a toll.
A 2023 study published in Frontiers in Psychiatry affirmed what many of us already know: our family’s well-being is closely tied to our child’s needs and our capacity to manage the ongoing pressures of caregiving. The stress is real. The fatigue is deep. And the weight? Some days, it feels like too much.
Cheng, A. W. Y., & Lai, C. Y. Y. (2023). Parental stress in families of children with special educational needs: A systematic review. Frontiers in Psychiatry, 14, Article 1198302. https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/psychiatry/articles/10.3389/fpsyt.2024.1409294/full
But here’s the part that rarely gets talked about:
Even in the midst of that pressure, something powerful is emerging.
We are the Special Needs Mama Bears—everyday women becoming extraordinary leaders for our children and our communities, transforming our roles from caregivers to changemakers. In stepping up, we’re not just advocating—we’re leading the systems, the conversations, the interventions, and the charge for change that supports them. This is a new kind of leadership—one that doesn’t rise from boardrooms or campaign trails, but from kitchen tables, therapy rooms, and the meetings that shape our children’s lives: Individualized Education Program (IEP) meetings during the school years, and Individualized Service Plan (ISP) meetings as they move into adulthood.
We are showing up, speaking out, and challenging systems that were never designed with our children in mind.
Our leadership doesn’t come with titles or microphones.
It begins in quiet resolve—in those soul-stirring moments when we realize we can’t accept “this is just how it is.”
It’s in the school meetings when we ask, “Why not?”
In the 2 a.m. Google searches, crafting the right questions for doctors.
In the tenacity to keep going, even when the doors keep closing.
And sometimes, that fight becomes something more.
It grows beyond our own families.
It creates ripples—sparking change in our communities and opening doors for others.
This is our rise—the rise of the Special Needs Mama Bear.
And while every story is unique, the shift from surviving to leading is something we’re seeing more and more. One of those stories belongs to Dawn Wangard—a fellow Mama Bear whose journey shows what this transformation looks like in real life.
Dawn Wangard is one of those quiet, powerful leaders. Her journey reflects what so many of us experience—uncertainty, resilience, and a deep refusal to give up.
We first connected in an online support group. I had just moved to the U.S. from Jamaica and was still learning how the system worked. When I posted a question about transition planning, Dawn didn’t just reply—she sent me a private message and we connected by phone. A few days after our conversation, a self-care package arrived in the mail with a handwritten note reminding me to care for myself, too.
That simple marked a shift—from survival to solidarity.
I sat down with Dawn recently, and this was our conversation.
From Surviving to Leading: Dawn Wangard’s Mama Bear Journey
Q: Take us back to the beginning. What was it like when your journey as a special needs mama started?
Dawn:
My son, Dylan, was born at just 23 weeks. He’s our only child. I still remember how tiny he was—so fragile, surrounded by machines. My sister’s baby was born on the same day. While her child went home, mine stayed in the hospital. I was happy for her, but heartbroken for my own. The NICU machines, the fear, the endless uncertainty—we were in survival mode.
As if the prematurity wasn’t enough, Dylan also developed retinal detachments in both eyes—not at the same time—and had to undergo surgeries to repair them.
Dylan came home at 37 weeks, and my husband Craig and I were beside ourselves with joy. But just before his first birthday, we started noticing that something was different in his development. After a series of evaluations, we were told that Dylan was blind. I still remember how the specialist delivered the news: “Your son is blind,” and then left the room. Just like that. No explanation. No guidance. We were left alone to figure it out.
By the time Dylan was in kindergarten, a teacher gently suggested we see a neurologist. That’s when we received the autism diagnosis. Before we could begin to process what that meant, we were hit with yet another—epilepsy.
What I remember most during that time was the feeling of isolation. I was heartbroken—for my child and for us. Even though we live in a supportive state, I still felt so alone. But deep down, I knew: I had to figure this out. For Dylan. For us.
Q: What helped you shift from surviving to finding your footing?
Dawn:
It didn’t happen overnight. I tried to hold onto my 9-to-5 job, but it just didn’t work. I needed something of my own—not to escape, but to remember who I was beyond the crisis.
That’s when Mary Kay entered my life. It gave me more than flexibility. It gave me purpose, independence, sisterhood. I found myself again. I started leading—not in a corporate sense, but in my family, in my community.
Self-care became part of that journey, too. And I realized other special needs moms needed that reminder.
Q: You’re known for uplifting other moms. Can you talk about that?
Dawn:
When I meet a mom who reminds me of where I once was—scared, overwhelmed—I try to do something meaningful. Sometimes I send skincare packages with notes that say, “You matter. I see you.”
When I connected with you, Christine, I immediately felt a kindred spirit. That’s why, when I learned about your books, I didn’t hesitate—I bought copies. I even ordered multiple copies of your children’s book, I’m Just Like You But Different: A Story about Living with Cerebral Palsy, which shares your son’s early education journey. I donated them to my local libraries and shared them with friends who are teachers. It was my way of supporting you and helping to spread awareness in my community.
Another thing I love to do is to turn joyful photos of moms and their children into postcards of celebration. I believe healing happens when we show up for each other.
Q: Tell us a little bit about Dylan. What’s he like today?
Dawn:
Dylan is 26. He’s full of life. He absolutely loves living life to the limit. He’s the kind of kid who’s up for adventure—he goes sail boating, snowboarding, and loves riding a bike with others. His favorite thing to do is sail with one of our close friends who owns a boat. That’s his happy place.
We’ve been really blessed to have friends, teachers, and supporters who are willing to go out of their comfort zones with us. They help make it possible for Dylan to try new things and experience life fully. For that, I’m incredibly thankful.
Q: What would you tell your younger self, the one just starting out on this journey?
Dawn:
I’d say, “You are enough. You don’t have to do this perfectly. Dylan will be okay—and so will you.”
Q: Do you consider yourself a leader now?
Dawn:
Yes. Not in the traditional sense, but in the everyday kind of way. I lead by loving. By showing up. By helping others find their voice. That’s what being a Special Needs Mama Bear means for me.
Dawn’s story is one of thousands—each unique, but all echoing the same truth: special needs mothers are not just surviving. They are thriving, building, leading, and transforming the world around them.
In our next feature, we’ll meet another Special Needs Mama Bear—a woman whose journey, like Dawn’s, began in the margins and grew into a movement.
Be Part of the Mama Bear Movement
If you’re a special needs mama with a story to tell—or if you know someone who is—reach out. We’re featuring powerful, real-life stories like Dawn’s in this magazine, and in our new series: The Special Needs Mama Bear Den on our YouTube channel and blog.
Want to be interviewed or recommend someone?
Email us: contact@thespecialneedsmamabear.com with “Mama Bear Feature” in the subject line.
Need encouragement for the journey?
Join the Movement:
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Share this article, tag a fellow Mama Bear, and use the hashtag #SpecialNeedsMamaBear so we can celebrate your journey too.