I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like the spotlight.
I know — for someone who just accepted a Congressional award and spent a day walking the halls of Capitol Hill meeting with legislators, that might sound strange. But it’s true. I’m actually kind of shy. Being honored is not something I seek out or sit comfortably with.
So when I was nominated by Congresswoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz as a 2026 Angels in Adoption honoree through the Congressional Coalition on Adoption Institute (CCAI), my first feeling wasn’t excitement…it was shock and nerves!
And once I learned more about this, it was something closer to: Whoa! I finally get to speak my mind to congress, holy moly, let’s go!
And that’s exactly what happened.
Why I Went
I didn’t go for the award. I went because I had something to say.
Adoption is not the finish line. Permanency matters. It’s a promise you make to a child. But love alone cannot heal trauma. I promise you. These children need continued, unlimited access to mental health services, behavioral supports, educational and developmental services, medical care, and respite. Our commitment cannot end when the adoption paperwork is signed.
We promised these children we would love them, support them, and take care of them for life. But to do that, Congress has to act. Every child who has touched the child welfare system should have no limits on the services they need — so they don’t end up back in the system, in residential care, or without the stability they deserve.
The barriers to care, the limits on services, the inconsistency in the quality of providers — all of it needs to change. As an adoptive mother, I drive an hour and a half EACH WAY to obtain mental health care, and it’s out of pocket. It should not be this way.
Many of these children fought just to be alive. They fought for every single milestone. The least we can do is fight for the support that gives them a real chance to grow and thrive.
That was my ask. That’s always been my ask.
The Trip Itself
I’ll be real about something else too.
I struggle with the state of our country right now. I struggle with political decisions that are hurting all of us, but especially the most vulnerable adults and children among us. Walking into those offices, sitting across from legislators, smiling and advocating — it wasn’t without internal conflict.
But I had to set that aside. Because if I don’t show up, nothing changes. And if we don’t keep pushing even when we’re not sure anyone is listening, there is absolutely no chance anything ever will.
So there I was. Hill Day. Five different Florida legislative offices, back to back to back. And coffee with a Senator the next morning.
And I told them my story.
The Moment That Broke Me Open
I brought two of my children with me on this trip. My two older kids — who are incredible, resilient, beautiful humans — got to stand beside me in those offices. Got to be introduced. Got to be seen.
My youngest wasn’t there.
He couldn’t make the trip. Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he isn’t just as incredible. He couldn’t be there because of the exact thing I was sitting in those offices fighting for — because he still hasn’t been able to access all the services he needs to have enough stability for a trip like this.
I wanted to show all three of my kids off. I am so proud of my family. So proud of these children who are my greatest miracle. And I had to walk into room after room and explain why my son wasn’t with me.
That is not an abstract policy failure. That is my family. That is my child.
And it is exactly why I will keep going back.
What I Want You to Know
I came home from Washington D.C. not entirely sure what will come of those conversations. I don’t know if change is coming. Some days it’s hard to believe it will.
But I know this: silence guarantees nothing changes. Showing up at least keeps the door open.
So I showed up. As a mother. As a clinician. As someone who has sat in the waiting rooms, filed the appeals, opened the denial letters, and still — still — believes these children deserve better.
If you’re an adoptive or foster parent carrying this same weight, I see you. And if you need a space to process what it means to love a child this fiercely while fighting this hard — I’m here.
Because adoption is not the finish line.
It never was.
