People often tell you there's a "right" way to do things—how you should have a picture-perfect pregnancy, an ideal delivery, and a perfect family setup. But when I look at my wife, Becca, and our daughter, I realize we may not have checked off any of those conventional boxes.

Becca has been in a wheelchair since before I met her. From the moment we started thinking about starting a family, we were met with doubt and sometimes even judgment. There were so many times we walked into doctors' offices, only to see the doctors or nurses speak loudly, as if her dis@bility meant she couldn’t understand them. But Becca? She never let it faze her. She had this incredible way of living her life out loud, showing people that nothing could stop her.

The pregnancy itself wasn’t easy. Some days, the pain was unbearable, and I’d wake up to find Becca quietly crying, worried—not about herself—but about our baby. Yet through all of it, she never stopped dreaming about what kind of mom she wanted to be.

When the day finally came, I was terrified. Not because of her dis@bility, but because I wanted everything to be perfect for Becca and our daughter. The hospital staff was extra careful, but Becca cracked jokes with them, asking them to guess our baby’s hair color. And then, just like that, our little girl arrived. I watched Becca hold her for the first time, tears streaming down her face, and I knew in that moment—she was already the best mom she could be.

The first few weeks at home were chaos, as they are for any new parents. Sleepless nights, endless diaper changes, and feedings—nothing was easy. But Becca? She was a natural. Even in the middle of the night, her voice was steady and soothing as she calmed our baby. I didn’t understand how she did it, but I admired her strength more and more with each passing day.

However, not everything was perfect. The world outside our bubble sometimes made things harder. The unsolicited advice from friends, the awkward glances from strangers, and worst of all, the judgment from some family members. They would never say it outright, but I could feel the judgment. Some thought Becca’s dis@bility made her unfit to care for a child. Others wondered if it was fair to bring a child into a life that needed so much assistance.

I had my own moments of doubt. There were days when Becca was in pain, and it felt like we couldn’t catch a break. There were nights when I sat next to her while she cried, worn out from the weight of it all. But then, our daughter would giggle, or Becca would crack a joke that made me laugh, and I’d remember why we were doing this. It was for our family. And no matter how tough things got, we were in it together.

The turning point came when our daughter, Lily, was six months old. I had just gotten home from work when Becca, with that familiar mischievous grin, told me, “I signed us up for a parent-and-child yoga class.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what to think. Yoga? How would that work with Becca in a wheelchair? But I could see the excitement in her eyes—the same look she had when we first met and she knew she was going to prove everyone wrong.

“Yoga?” I asked, skeptical but willing to support her. “How’s that going to work?”

“I think it’ll be great!” Becca said enthusiastically. “We can relax, stretch, and it will be fun for Lily.”

I agreed, albeit with some uncertainty, and the following Saturday we showed up for the class. To my surprise, it was perfect. The instructor was incredibly understanding, and the class was adapted for families with varying needs. Becca was given extra support, and soon, I saw her find her rhythm. She smiled, laughed, and even made eye contact with me across the room. For the first time, it felt like we were part of something instead of just watching from the sidelines.

Lily loved the class, giggling whenever Becca held her during some of the poses. I felt a swell of pride, realizing that this was us—doing something, making memories, showing the world that our family, with all its challenges, was as complete as anyone else’s.

But life isn’t always a smooth ride. One evening, Becca was struggling with a flare-up of her condition. I had to call for help, feeling like everything was falling apart. But then something unexpected happened. Even through the pain, Becca smiled at me and said, “You’re doing great. You’re an amazing dad.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” I replied, feeling exhausted.

“No,” she said softly. “You’re doing more than that. You’re doing it with love. That’s all that matters.”

It was in that moment that I realized—this wasn’t just about Becca or me. We were partners. We were doing the best we could for our family, in our own way, and that was enough.

A few months later, Becca was invited to speak at a conference about parenting with dis@bilities. It was a big deal—lots of people, lots of eyes. Becca had never been one to seek the spotlight, and I could see the anxiety in her eyes. She was worried that people might judge her.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said one night. “What if they think I’m not a good mom?”

“You’ve already shown the world what kind of mom you are,” I replied. “This is just another chance for you to show people that we don’t need anyone’s approval to live our lives the way we want.”

She smiled, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”

At the conference, Becca spoke with grace and confidence. She wasn’t just talking about her experience as a mother—she was showing the world that dis@bility didn’t define her. It was part of her, but it didn’t limit her. The response was overwhelming, with people approaching her afterward, telling her how inspiring she was.

That moment meant more than just recognition—it was validation for our entire family. We weren’t defined by society’s expectations. We were creating our own path, and it was one filled with love and understanding.

In the end, I realized that we weren’t just surviving; we were thriving. We were living life on our terms, with all the challenges, joys, and surprises. And the best part? We were doing it together.

The lesson here? Don’t let society’s views dictate how you live your life. You know what’s best for you and your family. When you trust that, anything is possible.

So, share this story with someone who might need to hear it. Let them know that family isn’t defined by limitations—it’s defined by love.