Disability Does Not Define You: Raising Daughters Who Rose Beyond Labels

Photo by Jeevan Portraits

July is Disability Pride Month, and before I understood advocacy as a word, I was already living it as a mother.

I was raising two daughters as a single mother, doing my best to provide, protect, and prepare them for a world that does not always understand difference. Both of my daughters would face their own challenges. Both would be given labels. And both would prove that a diagnosis may describe part of your journey, but it does not define who you are becoming.

Our story also lives at the intersection of many identities. We are women. We are Latinas. Hearing loss is part of both my eldest daughter’s journey and my own. My youngest daughter has navigated life with a learning disability. And I carry my own experience as a veteran and mother who has had to advocate, rebuild, and keep moving forward.

Those intersections matter because we do not move through the world as only one part of ourselves. We carry our culture, our language, our family stories, our service, our challenges, and our resilience with us. For my daughters, that meant learning to stand proudly in spaces where they were not always represented. For me, it meant teaching them that every part of who they are has value.

My eldest daughter was born with moderate to severe hearing loss, which meant that without hearing aids, she could not hear clearly. The closest way I can describe it is that sound was muffled, almost like trying to hear while swimming underwater.

She was only six months old when she was officially diagnosed and received her first set of hearing aids. I was not prepared. I did not know what that journey would look like. I did not know what resources she would need, what battles I would have to fight, or how many times I would have to advocate for her before the world learned how to make space for her.

But I knew one thing: I was her mother, and I was going to learn.

I immediately began researching hearing loss, tools that could support her development, programs that could help her grow, and communities that could become part of the village I knew I would need to raise her.

My biggest fear was that she would grow up feeling like she did not fit in.

So I made it my mission to expose her to different experiences, positive ones that would help her build confidence, feel seen, and understand that her hearing loss did not define her limits. But with every challenge also came painful moments. She experienced bullying. She faced discrimination. She had moments where the world made her feel different in ways that hurt.

Although she has severe hearing loss, she identifies as Deaf. That identity is hers. It is something she came to understand, embrace, and carry with pride.

As she moved through her education journey, I made sure her Individualized Education Program (IEP) was followed. I met with teachers, counselors, speech therapists, audiologists, and anyone else who had a role in supporting her success. If there was a meeting, I was there. If there was a concern, I addressed it. If there was a barrier, I tried to find a way through it.

I did everything I knew how to do.

Except learn American Sign Language (ASL).

That is not easy for me to admit.

I was so focused on making sure both of my daughters were receiving the education, support, and opportunities they needed to become successful that I did not include myself in that learning process. I made sure my eldest had access to ASL, but I did not learn it alongside her. Still, that did not stop our communication. She could hear me, although not as clearly, and we found our own ways to connect. But looking back, I understand that learning ASL would have been another way to step deeper into her world.

Years later, in 2018, I was diagnosed with mild hearing loss myself. Because I had already walked beside my daughter through her hearing-loss journey, I knew what steps to take. I got my hearing aids, and while they help, my hearing will never be exactly the same. That experience gave me an even deeper understanding that hearing loss is not just about sound. It affects communication, confidence, identity, and the way we move through the world.

That is part of motherhood too. We do the best we can with what we know at the time. Then we grow. We reflect. We learn.

And through it all, my daughter kept rising.

She graduated high school with her class. She was accepted into Gallaudet University. She overcame bullying, discrimination, and moments of doubt that could have convinced her she was not enough.

Then, in 2023, she participated in the National American Miss Pageant. She was the only hard-of-hearing contestant there, and instead of allowing that to make her feel out of place, she used the experience to build her confidence. She won and was crowned Miss Virginia.

She later participated in New York Fashion Week, was featured in Latina Style Magazine, and is now pursuing her master’s degree in clinical counseling. She is also growing as an influencer and building her skills as a social media specialist.

Today, she serves as an advocate for the Deaf and hard-of-hearing community.

Every time she doubts herself, I remind her of who she is. I remind her that she has the beauty of both worlds: the hearing community and the Deaf community. I remind her of her strength, her voice, her purpose, and her Ecuadorian roots.

But this story is not only about my eldest daughter.

My youngest daughter was also diagnosed with a learning disability. And just like her sister, she refused to let that diagnosis define her. She was determined to overcome it. She worked hard, stayed focused, and graduated high school with an advanced diploma.

Today, she continues her studies in business management and recently made the Dean’s List.

As a mother, there are moments that stay with you. The first diagnosis. The first meeting. The first time your child comes home hurt by someone else’s words. The first time you realize you cannot protect them from everything.

But then there are other moments too.

The graduation. The acceptance letter. The crown. The magazine feature. The Dean’s List. The moments when you see your children standing in spaces that once felt impossible.

Those are the moments that remind you that disability does not mean inability.

A disability does not define who you are. It does not erase your gifts, your dreams, your intelligence, your beauty, your purpose, or your future.

Sometimes, disability creates spaces where there were none before. It opens conversations. It builds advocacy. It teaches resilience. It challenges families, schools, communities, and systems to do better.

My daughters have taught me that labels do not get to decide a person’s destiny.

They have taught me that strength can look like asking for help, learning differently, hearing differently, communicating differently, and still showing up fully.

They have taught me that advocacy begins at home.

They have taught me that access matters.

They have taught me that representation matters.

They have taught me that our children are not here to become who the world expects them to be.

They are here to become who God created them to be.

If there is one thing I am most proud of, it is being the mother of two beautiful young women who have faced adversity and continued to rise.

As a single mother, I did not always have all the answers. But I had love. I had determination. I had faith. And I had two daughters who reminded me, again and again, that resilience is not

something we only teach our children.

Sometimes, it is something they teach us.

Disability does not define you.

It can become part of your story, part of your strength, and part of the space you were meant to create for others.

Rise. Rebuild. Become.

Zully Gisella Goya Paz

Founder & CEO | GiMeZu