I’ve been doing this work for over 20 years, and I still get emotional talking about it. That’s how I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.

Right now, I support people with intellectual and developmental disabilities in finding and keeping jobs. Sometimes that means helping with applications and interviews. Sometimes it means checking in with a phone call or meeting with a manager. Other times, I’m in high schools, teaching students job skills as they prepare for what’s next. It all depends on what that person needs, and that’s what I love most. It’s not one-size-fits-all. It’s personal.

To me, being a DSP means treating people like people. Not just a job title. Not a diagnosis. Just another human being with hopes, strengths, struggles, and dreams. I want people to feel seen and heard. I want them to know they matter.

I started when I was 19, working in a house with 12 residents. A lot has changed since then, but some things haven’t. Like how powerful it is when someone trusts you—really trusts you—to support them. That doesn’t come easy. With so much turnover in this field, people have learned to protect themselves. Why open up when the next staff might be gone in a week?

That’s the hard part, earning someone’s trust when they’ve been let down before. But I stick with it. I take the time, even when I don’t have it. Because once that trust is there, everything changes. That’s when you see someone grow, take risks, and start to believe in themselves.

That’s what keeps me going, watching people realize what they’re capable of. I tell them all the time: “Be yourself. You can do anything.” And I mean it.

I’ve worked in group homes, day programs, and community-based programs. I’ve made calls to care coordinators, talked with doctors, and handled all kinds of paperwork. But none of that compares to the feeling you get when someone you’ve supported lands a job they love or tells you they feel confident for the first time. That’s what matters.

It’s hard sometimes, especially lately. Wages are going up everywhere, and it’s scary to think I might not be able to afford to stay in a job I love. But I’m doing everything I can to keep going, to hold onto this work that means so much to me. Because being a DSP isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. And if I can show even one person that they’re valued, capable, and not alone, then I’ve done something right.