Disability Awareness and Advocate.

08/23/2026

🍽️ My stomach and digestive system

There is another part of my CRS story that I don't want to leave out: my stomach and digestive system.

CRS can affect more than the eyes, ears, and heart, and gastrointestinal problems have been reported in people with congenital rubella syndrome, although they are much less common than some of the better-known complications.

In my own experience, CRS also affected my stomach. I had digestive problems when I was young, including problems involving the way my stomach worked. I remember learning about conditions such as pylorospasm, which involves the muscle at the outlet of the stomach.

I want to be careful here, though, because everyone's CRS experience is different. I don't want to tell someone else with CRS that they should have the same digestive problems I experienced.

That's one of the biggest lessons I've learned from living with CRS:

The diagnosis may be the same, but the person and their experience are unique.

For me, CRS has been a story involving my eyes, my hearing, my heart, my stomach, my coordination, my fine-motor skills, and other aspects of my development.

And that's why when someone hears “congenital rubella syndrome,” I want them to understand that they're hearing the name of a condition that can affect many different parts of the developing body—not simply a condition that causes blindness.

My story happens to include all of these different pieces.

And every piece is part of the person I became.

❤️ My eyes.
👂 My hearing.
❤️ My heart.
🍽️ My stomach.
✋ My coordination and fine-motor skills.
🦯 And eventually, my total blindness.

CRS is part of my history.

But I am so much more than CRS. ❤️

08/23/2026

What Exactly Is Congenital Rubella Syndrome? And How Has It Affected My Life?

After sharing my personal story about blindness and explaining what congenital rubella syndrome has meant in my own life, I realized that there is something else I want people to understand.

What exactly is CRS?

CRS stands for Congenital Rubella Syndrome.

It happens when a baby is affected by the rubella virus during pregnancy. CRS isn't simply a condition that affects one part of the body. It can affect several different organs and systems, and the effects can be different from one person to another.

And for me, CRS has been part of my life from the very beginning.

👁️ My eyes

My eyes were one of the first major ways CRS affected me.

I developed cataracts when I was an infant and had to have them removed when I was very young. I later experienced additional eye problems, and over the years scar tissue progressively affected the vision I had left.

By the time I was around 22 years old, I had become totally Blind.

Eye problems such as cataracts, glaucoma, and retinal problems are among the recognized manifestations of CRS.

👂 My hearing

CRS also affected my hearing.

I have hearing loss, particularly affecting the high frequencies, and hearing impairment is actually one of the classic manifestations of congenital rubella syndrome. In fact, the CDC identifies hearing impairment as one of the most common single defects associated with CRS.

So when I'm communicating with someone, I am not only navigating the world as a totally Blind person.

I'm also navigating the world with hearing loss.

That combination can sometimes make communication and accessibility more complicated.

❤️ My heart

CRS also affected my heart.

Congenital heart disease is another well-established manifestation of CRS. The CDC specifically identifies conditions such as pulmonary artery stenosis and patent ductus arteriosus among the heart problems associated with congenital rubella syndrome.

So when I say that CRS affected multiple parts of my body, I really mean it.

It wasn't just my eyes.

It wasn't just my hearing.

It wasn't just one isolated problem.

It affected different parts of my life and development.

✋ Coordination and fine-motor skills

I've also experienced challenges with my coordination and fine-motor skills.

Some things that may look very simple to another person can require more concentration, practice, patience, or adaptation for me.

That's another part of disability that people don't always see.

When someone sees me, they may see a Blind woman with a cane.

They don't necessarily see all of the other things happening underneath the surface.

They don't see the years of learning.

They don't see the ways I've had to adapt.

They don't see the things that have required extra practice.

And they don't see all of the things I've had to figure out for myself.

🧠 CRS can affect more than people realize

CRS can also be associated with developmental delay and other neurological or physical complications. The CDC lists additional possible manifestations involving the brain, liver and spleen, bones, and other systems.

And this is why I want people to understand something very important:

Congenital rubella syndrome doesn't look exactly the same in everybody.

One person may have significant hearing loss.

Another may have serious eye problems.

Another may have heart complications.

Another may have developmental or neurological effects.

And another person may have several of these things together.

Our experiences can be very different even when we have the same diagnosis.

That's why I don't want people to look at someone with CRS and assume they already understand their entire story.

❤️ My CRS story is my story

When I talk about CRS, I'm not trying to tell everyone what their experience should be.

I'm telling you my experience.

CRS affected my eyes.

It affected my hearing.

It affected my heart.

It affected my coordination and fine-motor skills.

And it has influenced many different parts of my development and life.

But here's what CRS didn't take away from me:

My voice.

My personality.

My ability to learn.

My ability to advocate.

My ability to create.

My ability to love.

My ability to connect with people.

My ability to keep growing.

And my ability to tell my own story.

CRS is part of my history, but it isn't the definition of who I am.

I'm sharing this because there may be people reading this who have never even heard of congenital rubella syndrome.

Maybe you've heard the words “CRS” but never understood what they meant.

Maybe you know someone with CRS but never realized how many different parts of the body it can affect.

Or maybe you're living with CRS yourself and have wondered why someone else doesn't seem to understand what your experience is like.

I want you to know that you aren't alone.

And I want people without disabilities to understand something too:

When you meet a disabled person, you may only see one part of their disability.

There may be so much more going on that you can't see.

So instead of making assumptions, ask questions respectfully.

Listen.

Learn.

And let the person tell you about their own experience.

Because behind every diagnosis is a human being.

And behind every disability is a story.

This is mine. ❤️

If you know someone with congenital rubella syndrome, or if you have CRS yourself, I'd love to hear your story.

What has CRS meant in your life? What is something you wish other people understood about it?

Let's keep educating each other. Let's keep sharing our stories. And let's keep making room for people whose experiences are often misunderstood or overlooked. ❤️🦯👂❤️

08/22/2026

With Rochmad Bachtiar – I just got recognized as one of their top fans! 🎉

08/22/2026

📱 Accessibility isn’t just about having the technology. It’s about being able to learn how to use it.

I wanted to share this powerful reflection from Anthony Corona because I think there is an important message here for the entire disability community—and honestly, for anyone who has ever struggled to learn something new.

Anthony looks back ten years at the beginning of his journey after becoming Blind. He remembers struggling with VoiceOver, passwords, dictation, the VoiceOver rotor, JAWS, orientation and mobility, and all of those moments when something that seems simple to someone else can feel incredibly difficult when you’re learning it for the first time.

But what really stayed with me is that he doesn’t pretend the journey was easy.

Sometimes progress meant trying again.

Sometimes it meant making mistakes.

Sometimes it meant asking someone for help.

And sometimes it simply meant putting the phone down and saying, “I can’t do this anymore today,” and coming back tomorrow.

That is still progress.

One of the most important messages in his post is this:

You are allowed to not know yet.

If you’re learning VoiceOver, JAWS, a new phone, a new computer, a communication device, an accessibility feature, or a new way of navigating the world, struggling with it doesn’t mean you’re incapable.

It means you’re learning.

And the person who seems like an expert today may have once been the person who couldn’t figure out how to enter a password before the screen timed out.

The person teaching someone else today may have once needed someone to patiently explain the basics to them.

That’s why patience matters so much in accessibility.

We should never make someone feel embarrassed because they don’t know something that seems obvious to us.

Instead, we can say:

“That’s okay. Let me show you.”

We can answer the question.

We can share the tutorial.

We can give someone another minute.

We can explain without judgment.

We can remember what it felt like when we didn’t know.

And there’s another important part of this conversation: accessibility technology has to work in the real world.

It isn’t enough for a company to say that something is accessible. The people who actually use that technology need to be able to tell us what happens when they use it every day.

Does it make communication easier?

Does it increase independence?

Does it save time?

Does it work reliably with screen readers?

Does it recognize our speech?

Does it allow us to participate without constantly fighting the technology?

Those are the questions that matter.

As someone who is Blind and passionate about disability advocacy, I believe our experiences with technology deserve to be part of the conversation. We shouldn’t simply be consumers of accessibility—we should be contributors to the conversation about what accessibility needs to look like.

And I especially appreciate Anthony’s reminder that expertise is not a finish line, and independence is not a finish line.

We are all somewhere on a learning curve.

Somebody may be learning something today that someone else mastered ten years ago.

And ten years from now, that same person who is struggling today may be teaching someone else what comes next.

That’s how knowledge gets passed forward.

That’s how confidence grows.

That’s how communities become stronger.

So if you’re struggling with technology right now, please remember:

You don’t have to know everything today.

You are allowed to learn at your own pace.

You are allowed to ask questions.

You are allowed to make mistakes.

You are allowed to walk away and try again tomorrow.

And most importantly, you are allowed to believe that what you don’t know today may become something you teach someone else someday.

Thank you, Anthony Corona, for sharing such an honest look back at your journey and for reminding us that sometimes the greatest measure of progress isn’t how effortlessly we can use technology now.

It’s remembering how difficult it once was—and choosing to help someone else instead of judging them for still being there.

That’s accessibility. That’s advocacy. And that’s community. ❤️

I encourage everyone in the disability community to read Anthony’s full reflection and share your own experiences. What was one piece of technology, accessibility, or independent-living skill that was incredibly difficult for you at first—but eventually became something you learned to do?

Let’s keep the conversation going. 🦯📱❤️

A Sunday edition tech Spotlight

08/22/2026

🌅💙 Good Morning, Disability Advocates!

As I sit here thinking about everything we’ve been talking about lately, I keep coming back to one thought:

Disability advocacy doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be genuine.

You don’t need to know every law.

You don’t need to have all the answers.

You don’t need to be an expert on every disability.

And you certainly don’t need to have the loudest voice.

Sometimes advocacy simply begins with saying:

“I want to learn.”

It can begin with listening to someone else’s story.

It can begin with asking a respectful question.

It can begin with sharing something that helped you.

It can begin with talking about an accessibility barrier you’ve experienced.

It can begin with showing a picture of your family and letting people see the life behind the disability.

It can begin with telling someone:

“You deserve to be included.”

And sometimes advocacy begins with something as simple as starting a conversation.

That’s what I’ve been loving about these conversations on this page.

We’re not all the same.

We don’t all have the same disabilities.

We don’t all experience the same barriers.

We don’t all have the same opinions.

But we can learn from one another.

We can listen.

We can share.

We can encourage.

We can ask questions.

We can celebrate each other’s victories.

And we can stand together when something needs to change.

Because disability advocacy isn’t just about changing policies or removing physical barriers.

It’s also about changing hearts, changing attitudes, and changing the way people see disability. 💙

So as we begin another day, here’s something I’d love for you to think about:

👇 If you could teach the world ONE thing about disability, what would it be?

Maybe it’s something you’ve experienced personally.

Maybe it’s something you’ve learned from someone else.

Maybe it’s something you wish people understood years ago.

Whatever it is, share it.

Because your answer might teach someone something they never knew.

And that little conversation could become something much bigger.

One voice.
One story.
One conversation.
One person learning something new.

That’s how advocacy grows. 🌎💙

Good morning, everyone. Let’s keep the conversation going. ☀️💙

08/21/2026

Amara enjoys listening to audiobooks, especially stories by African American authors, and takes pride in working and staying productive. She also values time to relax and recharge, making self-care and quiet moments an important part of her routine.

Amara dreams of becoming a patient care technician or working in security. In the next five months, she will be working on improving her skills and will be excited to start exploring career opportunities. If you have a business or know someone who may need fully trained and dedicated employees, consider hiring Amara.

You can join Elevate employer partners like HD Supply, Milner, the Atlanta Braves and Piedmont. They have already opened their doors to some of our interns and are already seeing the benefits. Our team is here to support you with the tools and resources you need to make your workplace a great place to work for everyone.

Want to learn how to get involved? Send us a message at
https://bobbydodd.org/contact/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=Elevate%20Interns

ID: Amara is standing in front of a softly colored, light green wall. The woman has long, braided black hair. She is wearing a black collared shirt. Behind her, is the Bobby Dodd Institute logo. At the bottom, there is a fading navy-blue rectangle with bold, white text on it that reads, "Amara. Dreams of becoming a patient care technician or working in security."

08/21/2026

💙 Sometimes Advocacy Means Simply Listening

We’ve talked about speaking up.

We’ve talked about sharing our stories.

We’ve talked about accessibility, inclusion, family, representation, and using our voices.

But there’s another side of disability advocacy that doesn’t always get talked about:

Listening.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone with a disability isn’t to tell them what they should do.

It’s to listen.

Listen when they tell you something isn’t accessible.

Listen when they explain something you don’t understand.

Listen when they tell you what they need.

Listen when they share something difficult.

Listen when they’re frustrated.

Listen when they’re celebrating something that might seem small to someone else.

And most importantly:

Believe people when they tell you about their own experiences.

You don’t have to have lived the same experience to understand that it was real for someone else.

You don’t have to agree with every person’s perspective to respect their right to share it.

And you don’t always have to have an answer.

Sometimes you can simply say:

“Thank you for telling me.”

That can mean more than you realize.

Because people with disabilities are often asked to explain ourselves.

Why do you need that?

Why can’t you do this?

Why is that difficult?

Why can’t you just…?

But imagine how different the conversation could be if we sometimes replaced those questions with:

“What would make this easier?”

“How can I support you?”

“What do you need me to understand?”

That’s advocacy too.

And I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about building a disability community:

We don’t have to know everything.

We can learn from each other.

We can listen to each other.

We can make mistakes and learn from them.

We can ask questions respectfully.

We can share what we’ve experienced.

And we can leave room for someone else’s voice.

Because advocacy isn’t always about being the loudest voice.

Sometimes it’s about making sure someone else’s voice has room to be heard. 💙

So here’s today’s question:

👇 What is something you wish people would simply listen to and understand about disability?

Let’s listen to each other.

Because sometimes, listening is where understanding begins. 💙