If you’ve been following The Arc’s work this year, you’ve already felt Meredith Sadoulet’s steady influence. She stepped into the role of Board President in January, and while she’s not new to the job anymore, many in our community may still be getting to know her. Meredith is thoughtful, values-driven, and deeply committed to creating a future where disability doesn’t limit opportunity. She’s a member of the disability community herself, a family member to people with disabilities, and a professional with years of experience leading workforce strategy and inclusion at Fortune 100 companies.

Before she officially took the helm, Meredith shared a powerful message at our National Convention—part reflection, part vision-setting, and a reminder of why The Arc exists in the first place. We’re sharing her message here with you. If you haven’t met Meredith yet, now’s your chance to get to know her.

“Having assumed the role of National Board President for the 2025-2026 term, I am deeply honored by the privilege and responsibility to serve an organization with a rich history of advocacy and a steadfast commitment to protecting and advancing the rights of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. For 75 years, The Arc has been a driving force for inclusion, and I am in awe of the collective impact of our nearly 600 chapters, their leaders and staff, and the communities we serve every day.”

“I imagine that each of us on this journey of advocacy with The Arc has a personal story about when our advocacy began. I can pinpoint the moment when the advocacy flame was lit inside of me. I recall being presented with a diagnosis and a fact sheet from the World Health Organization that accompanied it. The facts remain nearly the same as the ones I read over a decade ago: people with disabilities have poorer health outcomes, experience stigma, discrimination, poverty, and exclusion from education and employment, and more. This information being presented to me as fact—as a certain future—was the moment that lit my fire. Not just as an advocate for one, but as an advocate for all. I became someone who wanted to dedicate as much of my energy and skills as possible toward changing these outcomes.”

“As a person with disabilities (OCD and anxiety disorder), I’m a proud member of the disability community, and I’m grateful that my journey brought me to The Arc.

I’d like to imagine a new set of facts for the disability community.

What if a new fact sheet said:
‘Welcome to your community. You are part of one of the most powerful, connected communities on the planet. Your future is bright. Why? Because people with disabilities are likely to experience inclusive education, employment with robust pay and benefits, personal growth, security, and joy. Oh, and not just that. You’re more likely to help solve big, gnarly problems because this world wasn’t designed with you in mind, and yet you know how to navigate it. You’re more likely to spark innovation with products, services, and spaces—not just for yourself, but for everyone—because YOU bring value and insight to this world. Because you’re a person with a disability, you’re more likely to be a changemaker, both through the work you do and through the insight you bring to others.’

This is the world I wake up to every day trying to help build. And I’m honored to be on the journey with all of you.

So, how will we get there?

I’ve chosen three guiding values for my term as President:

1. Leadership by People With Disabilities
   We must ensure more people with disabilities, including those with intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD), are in positions of leadership and influence at a local, state, national, and global level. People with disabilities should not only have a seat at the table, but at the head of it, making decisions, influencing outcomes, and leading. We need systems shaped by lived experience, and we must commit to moving self-determination from theory to practice.
2. Strategic Focus to Make Meaningful Change
   From my time in large Fortune 100 companies, I’ve seen how easily priorities competing for attention can pile up and momentum gets lost. I hope we don’t try to tackle 50 things over the next 2 years. I hope we stay focused where we can make meaningful change, so that 2 years from now, we can point to real, permanent change we made together on a nationwide level. With one voice, one consistent and memorable introduction of who we are and what we do, one aligned strategy and focused set of priorities, I know we can make impact together.
3. Many Chapters & Constituents of The Arc, Yet One Community
   Across nearly 600 chapters, The Arc represents diverse communities, geographies, beliefs, and needs. We will honor those differences, yet try to seek commonality, knowing that we are stronger as one community. The Arc is strongest when we advocate as one voice for and with people with IDD.

Thank you for the chance to share my story, and my vision for our shared work. I’d love to hear your advocacy story, too. You can connect with me on LinkedIn. Together, let’s keep building a world where people with disabilities live with dignity, respect, and opportunity—and where the facts finally reflect that.“

The R-word is everywhere again. It’s showing up on social media, in schools, in entertainment, in the media, and in everyday conversations.

People throw it out casually as a joke or a way to tear someone down. But for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD), it has never been “just a word.” It’s a slur—a word used to devalue their worth and humanity.

The disability community has fought for decades to end the use of this word. While we’ve made real progress, its resurgence today is a warning: progress is fragile. Every time this word is spoken, it reinforces outdated and harmful ideas about who belongs, who matters, and who is worthy of respect.

This isn’t a minor slip in language. It’s a sign that empathy, dignity, and basic decency are being lost—and that impacts all of us. Choosing not to say the R-word is a start, but it’s not enough. We need more people to understand why the R-word is offensive, why it’s still harmful, and why it must stop.

Listen to people with IDD who have lived with the weight of this word their entire lives.

Why The R-Word Is Harmful: In Their Own Words

“I am one of those people who was called the R-word simply because I was different my whole life. I tried to tell people how hurtful that was, and that my name was Jill, but no one listened. It made me feel so little and useless. Like many people with IDD, I struggled with not fitting in at school and being fired from jobs after high school because of the wrong fit—all while being called the R-word. I wanted to have friends like everyone else, but instead I was made fun of and ignored. I was so lonely and unhappy in those days. But I learned that having an IDD is nothing to be ashamed of. I’m a caring, loving person trying to find her place in this big world.”
— Jill Egle, Louisiana

“I have been called the R-word and that makes me feel less than human. It invalidates my experience as a person, and every time I hear that word, it makes me feel like we’re going back to the old days—when they used to use that word to justify putting us in institutions. The R-word Is a dangerous word because it demonizes those who have the disabilities and suggests that we’re not human. I’m scared that they might try to use that word again as a medical term. We cannot let them do that.”
—Shawn Aleong, Pennsylvania

“If you use the R-word, it tells me you don’t care about me or people like me. If you use the R-word, it tells me you don’t really respect me or people like me. If you use the R-word, it tells me you don’t know who I really am or what I can do—but it also tells me all I need to know about you.”
— Veronica Ayala, Texas

“Every time I hear the R-word, I want to run, hide, and curl up into a ball. I was bullied and called the R-word from elementary school to early adulthood. I often wished I was normal. My only friends at school were the teachers on the playground. I also grew up with a brother saying the R-word when he would get pissed off, and it took years to get him and others to understand how harmful it is. We need to stop the R-word now more than ever. It’s just as harmful even if it’s not being said to someone’s face. It’s time to demand a world where people with disabilities—visible or invisible—are respected and accepted for who they are!”
— Nicole LeBlanc, Maryland

“The R-word hurts me. I was called the R-word by my school psychologist when I was in kindergarten. They told my parents I would not amount to anything—that I’d always be dependent on someone. Considering where I am today, I would say she was very, very wrong. I am not the only one who has been called this harmful word. Many of us with disabilities still face this same type of ignorance and discrimination.”
— Taylor Crisp, Washington State

“Back in the day, people referred to people like me as the R-word. We are not that word. We may all communicate differently and have different needs—that is normal. We also have strengths and values. We fought for many years not just to change the use of the R-word, but also the negative thinking about people with IDD. Using this word goes backwards. The younger generation should go forward. I want to see them have an easier time than I had. It is time to finally bury the R-word.”
— Ricky Broussard, Texas

“As someone born with a disability, it is heartbreaking that the R-word is still being used. People with disabilities have been trying for a very long time to have their inherent worth and value acknowledged by society, and have campaigned for the R-word to be removed from use. It is disgraceful that we still have to ask for basic respect. The R-word is derogatory and dehumanizing. I wish that people would look beyond themselves and see people with disabilities for who we are and the abilities we have, not just our disability diagnoses. We want to be treated with dignity and respect, just like everyone else.”
— Charlotte Woodward, Virginia

“The R-word really hurts, even if someone says it as a joke. I’m a person, not a label. I matter, we matter, and everyone deserves to be treated with respect and kindness.”
— Zoe-Rebekah Bostic, Georgia

“I was called the R-word for many years in school, especially on the bus. It meant I was dumb or stupid, and I buried my head in books to deal with it. To hear people use that word is demeaning. There’s no real excuse for it. It’s sad that in our schools, this kind of thing isn’t taught. Before you use it again, you should find out what the word means because you have offended me and hundreds of thousands of people by using it.”
— Chad Widing, Connecticut

“In high school, I was called the R-word all the time. It made me shrink away—it felt terrible. I can’t believe it’s coming back. I feel very hurt, especially after we fought to get rid of that word. No one should be called it, even if they “don’t mean it.” We are people, just like everyone else.”
— Barbara Coppens, New Jersey

“Back in the 1970s, I was called every name in the book. They called me the R-word, crazy, and other hateful stuff. People told me I didn’t belong in the neighborhood or I didn’t belong at work. That is bullying! It lowered my self-esteem. People who use that word must not have any idea what it’s like to be labeled the R-word. I wish they could walk in my shoes to see how it feels. We need to stop labeling people. We are all somebody. I should be able to freely go into the community without this stigma.”
— Ray Schuholz, Michigan

“The R-word makes me feel sad. I feel that I should speak up and ask people to stop using the R-word. The word is ableist and derogatory. It stereotypes people, promotes institutionalization, and encourages eugenics.”
— Sarvesh Chandran, Arizona

If reading this made you uncomfortable—good. That means you care.

But not saying the R-word isn’t enough.

Some of the people you’ve heard from here—like Jill, Nicole, and Ricky—have helped lead efforts in their states to remove the R-word from laws and policies. Changing laws is an important step, but changing hearts, language, and culture takes all of us.

We need you to say something when others use the R-word.
We need you to share this blog widely.
We need you to be part of the reason this word finally fades from our culture.

The R-word still hurts. But together, we can make sure it has no place in our future.

Note: Throughout this piece, we’ve chosen to refer to the slur in question as “the R-word,” and we’ve capitalized the R to recognize the serious harm the word represents. Naming it this way centers its weight and impact, without unnecessarily repeating a word that has caused so much pain.

Moms (or the people who love us like moms) are often the ones who just get us. They keep life moving. They see potential where others see limits. And for people with disabilities, that love can take many forms: hands-on care, fierce advocacy, deep listening, and unshakable belief.

Some moms manage feeding tubes, therapy schedules, and school meetings while also working, caregiving for others, and managing their own health. Others cheer their adult children on as they build careers, push for justice, and live life on their own terms.

There’s no one path. No single story. But what many moms share is the everyday power of showing up.

For Mother’s Day, we asked people with disabilities: What impact has your mom or a mother figure had on your life?

Here are six reflections on love, strength, and support.

Ashley and her mom

“When I was born with cerebral palsy, my mother didn’t panic. She prepared. She understood the meetings that would come. The assumptions. The coded language. The way people talk about disabled children in lowered tones, as if to soften the blow of a life they’ve already decided won’t go far. She didn’t wait for the world to believe in me. She built the foundation herself. She became a speech-language pathologist, not just to help me speak, but to ensure I would never be spoken for. She pulled together a support system, therapists, educators, and friends who worked with me after hours, without compensation, because we didn’t have time to wait for permission. She created access where there was none. She raised me to speak, to move, to lead regardless of whether the system was ready for me. She is still doing the work. Still mentoring. Still reshaping how public schools serve children with disabilities. Still protecting futures because she understands what’s at stake.”
— Ashley Glears lives in Maryland and has cerebral palsy with right hemiplegia

Chloe and her mom

“My mom is always there for me. Over the years, she has taken me to hundreds, probably thousands, of appointments. She has helped advocate for the services and supports I’ve needed to succeed. She has attended numerous conferences, advocacy trips for board meetings, and other events with me over the past 10 years because she knows how important it is to me to participate in these events. My mom has helped encourage self-advocacy skills in me starting at a young age as she made sure that I was involved in my IEP meetings in some capacity starting at a young age. Even during the harder moments, my mom has always been there by my side. My mom is one of my biggest advocates and supporters.”
— Chloe Rothschild lives in Ohio and has autism

Russell and his mom

“I cannot overstate the impact my mom has had on my life. She has always taken the time to enter my world and meet me where I am, something society rarely does. Autistic individuals are often pressured to fit in so they don’t stand out, to avoid bullying, social rejection, and exclusion. But in doing so, we risk losing ourselves. My mom never let that happen to me. She loved me when it felt like no one else did. She held me, and still holds me, through meltdowns. She sits beside me when I feel lost in a world that doesn’t make sense. Most of all, she truly sees me. She validates my struggles and recognizes the immense effort I put in every day just to achieve what others take for granted. Because of her, I am who I am today. She nurtured within me the belief I so desperately needed as a child; the belief that led me to create my own career. Thank you, Mom. I love you so much.”
— Russell Lehmann lives in California and has autism, OCD, depression, and anxiety

Johanne and her mom

“My mom is my best friend and I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I wouldn’t be who I am and where I am now if it wasn’t for her influence. She always encourages me to go after things I want and her expectations for me have never been lower than my sisters’. She has always made me feel like I’m capable of more than I know. I always try to reach for the stars because of her belief in me. She is the best light in my life.”
— Johanne Mayer lives in New Jersey and has Down syndrome

Sydney and her mom

“My mom has helped me grow over the years. Growing up, we spent a lot of time together, and she would frequently visit my schools if classes weren’t going well. She also attended all of my IEPs from kindergarten to senior year of high school. She made sure that I saw her advocating for me so that one day I could advocate for myself! She always puts others first and makes sure that everyone has everything they need to succeed.”
— Sydney Badeau lives in Wisconsin and has dyspraxia, a nonverbal learning disorder, and a sensory processing disorder

Sarvesh and his mom

“My mom is my biggest supporter. She believes in me and she gives me the confidence to believe in myself. My mom loves me unselfishly and she does her best every day to help me to live a happy and worry-free life. She encourages me to be brave and try new things. My mom advocates for me everywhere. I am very thankful for her. I feel safe and comfortable because of my mom.”
— Sarvesh Chandran lives in Arizona and has autism and severe apraxia

These stories remind us: the best relationships are built on respect for each other’s journeys, struggles, growth, and dreams.

To the moms of people with disabilities: Thank you. For your tireless hearts, unwavering belief, and all the ways, loud and quiet, you lift up your children.

To the people who shared their stories: Your lives and leadership light the way, whether guided by a mom or forged on your own.

And to anyone for whom “mom” means something different: We honor your story, too. Not everyone has a mom or a safe relationship with their mom. This day can be complicated. If that’s true for you, we see you. Love doesn’t always follow one path. Whether your “mom” is a friend, a relative, a caregiver, or chosen family (or whether you’re still figuring it out), we honor the people who show up, stand by you, and believe in your worth.

Marcus Stewart’s smile lights up the room as he talks about his dreams and his latest TikTok dance moves. At 23, the young man from Waldorf, MD aspires to be a pastor or a DJ, and he loves cleaning. He also wants to make enough money to get his own apartment. But Marcus, who has Down syndrome, faces an uphill battle in achieving his goals, particularly because he can’t find paid employment.

“One big misconception is that I am not able to follow directions, learn, or be employable,” Marcus says. His words cut to the heart of the challenges faced by many in the intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD) community.

The statistics paint a stark picture. Working-aged people with disabilities have significantly lower employment rates, around half the rates of their counterparts without disabilities. When considering people of all ages, the gap widens further. In 2023, people with disabilities were three times less likely to be employed.

These numbers don’t reflect Marcus’s capabilities or work ethic. Through his workplace readiness program, he has volunteered in a diverse range of roles that showcase his adaptability and willingness to learn. He’s stocked shelves at Big Lots, sorted clothes at a thrift store, assisted with administrative tasks at a church, performed housekeeping duties at a hotel, tackled landscaping work, carried out janitorial duties at an assisted living facility and public schools, and helped with food prep at Texas Roadhouse.

“I take care of myself and protect myself and my family,” Marcus asserts. “I show up to work on time, I’m polite and kind, and I’m focused on my work.” He’s dedicated to each role he takes on, yet he can’t get past the biases and discrimination of hiring managers and AI hiring tools.

Marcus has valuable skills and a lot to offer to any workplace. He excelled in school and, as he shares, “I loved math and reading.” He was also active in sports, participating in track, tennis, and bocce. Marcus finished school at 18, graduating on time with his class, and has been in workforce readiness programs ever since.

Marcus’s mother, Tawana, has been his fierce advocate from day one. “When he was first diagnosed, his first geneticist told me that he’s not going to amount to much. But I said my son will get every opportunity that’s available,” she recalls. “I made myself present in workshops and other groups of parents of children with Down syndrome. I signed him up for sports. I showed up and was very vocal.” She is frustrated by the lack of opportunities for Marcus in adulthood. “Give him a chance,” she pleads. “He gets up every day without an alarm, makes his own meals, never missed a day of school, takes great care of his nephew and our two dogs. He’s more responsible than most people I know, and he’s capable of so much.” Tawana tears up and Marcus puts his arm around her shoulders.

Her message to employers is clear: “Show him what to do and give him a chance to learn.” She adds, “The value in investing in this community is incredible, it makes the company a better place for everybody. More exposure helps educate people and create more acceptance of people with disabilities.”

Despite his employment challenges, Marcus maintains a rich social life. Beyond his TikTok presence, he enjoys spending time with friends. “My friends are nice to me and we do fun things like play Uno, go out to eat, go bowling, and go to the movies,” he says. In his free time, he likes to “relax, watch P Valley and Power, play football and basketball, and take care of my mom and my big sister.”

Tawana urges other parents of children with disabilities: “Seek out resources that are available and most importantly advocate for your child. Advocacy and education are two things I’ve been doing since he’s been born. You have to advocate—no one else is going to do it. The best cheerleaders are the family.”

As we celebrate National Disability Employment Awareness Month and Down Syndrome Awareness Month, Marcus’s story is a powerful reminder of the untapped potential within the IDD community. His resilience, skills, and can-do attitude, coupled with his family’s unwavering support, show what’s possible for people with disabilities.

“I’m smart, I’m strong, I’m thoughtful and respectful. I love my family,” Marcus says, summing up his character in a few words. “I want to work so I can be independent and get my own apartment.” His dream is what we all wish for: autonomy, respect, and the opportunity to contribute meaningfully to society.

Marcus Stewart is ready to show the world what he can do. Are we ready to give him, and countless others like him, that chance?