The Better Versions of Me
The Better Versions of Me
A carer’s reflection on love, legacy, and the fight for dignity
By a parent, carer, and advocate. Co-authored with Copilot.
I used to think legacy was something you left behind. A name etched in stone, a career remembered, a house passed down. But I’ve come to understand legacy differently. Mine walks beside me every day—in the laughter of my daughter, in the quiet resilience of my son, in the choices I make when no one’s watching.
Their pathways through life couldn’t be more different. And yet, they both carry my dreams further than I ever could.
🎓 My Daughter: The Dream Realized
She has a university degree. She’s independent, articulate, and kind. But don’t mistake her kindness for passivity—she’s defiant in the face of injustice, intolerant of fools, and unwavering in her protection of her brother. She doesn’t suffer nonsense, especially when it comes cloaked in bureaucracy or condescension.
She’s inherited my stubbornness, sharpened it with education, and wielded it with purpose. Watching her advocate for her brother—whether in a school meeting or a casual conversation—is like watching a lioness guard her pride. She doesn’t ask for permission. She demands respect.
Her success isn’t just academic. It’s emotional. It’s ethical. She sees the world’s injustices and doesn’t look away. She’s living a life I once imagined but never reached—and I couldn’t be prouder.
🧠 My Son: The Dream Reimagined
My son has an intellectual disability. His life is shaped by systems that rarely see his full humanity. His milestones aren’t measured in degrees or promotions, but in moments of connection, courage, and quiet triumph.
And here’s the paradox: while I’ve spent years learning to spot the warning signs, the red flags, the hidden agendas—he believes, with absolute conviction, that everyone has a good side. Everyone. No exceptions.
He greets the world with trust. With openness. With a kind of radical optimism that defies cynicism. It’s not naïveté—it’s grace. And it’s a grace I envy.
A colleague once told me, “Your son was put here to show you what you could have been—a better version of yourself.” I didn’t know how to respond at the time. But I’ve carried those words with me. Because maybe that’s what legacy really is: not what we leave behind, but what we learn to become through love.
He is not my burden. He is my teacher. My compass. My reminder that love is not earned—it’s given.
🌱 Legacy Isn’t Linear
I used to think I had to choose between pride and grief. Between celebrating one child’s achievements and mourning the barriers faced by the other. But I’ve learned that legacy isn’t linear. It’s layered. Messy. Beautiful.
My children are my legacy—not because they reflect my success, but because they reflect my values. They carry forward my hopes, my fight, my love. One in a graduation cap. One in a quiet room, solving a puzzle no one else sees.
One fierce. One gentle. Both extraordinary.
💬 What I Want the World to Know
That disability doesn’t diminish worth.
That achievement looks different for every child.
That carers deserve more than applause—we deserve reform.
That love, when backed by action, can reshape futures.
That defiance and tenderness can coexist—and often do.
That sometimes, our children teach us who we were meant to be.
I dream of a world where my son’s path is not the exception, but one of many valid, supported, celebrated ways to live. I dream of a world where my daughter’s success isn’t rare, but expected for every child—regardless of postcode, background, or ability.
And I dream of being remembered not for what I built, but for who I raised. For the love I gave. For the fights I didn’t walk away from.
✍️ Author Bio
Written by a parent, carer, and public advocate for disability rights, aged care reform, and economic accountability. This piece was co-authored with Copilot to support ethical attribution and amplify lived experience. The author chooses anonymity to center collective voice over individual recognition.
📌 Footnotes & Sources
Personal reflections and lived experience, shared with permission.
Quote attributed to a professional colleague in disability support (anonymous, 2023).
Advocacy themes informed by ongoing work in NDIS reform, inclusive education, and carer rights.
Co-authorship supported by Microsoft Copilot, with attention to ethical storytelling and attribution best practice.
