When Policies Become Personal: A Mother’s Worry for the Future of Higher Education

Lately, I’ve found myself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, caught in a storm of thoughts about my daughter’s future. She has struggled with ADHD her whole life, and it's like a never-ending rollercoaster that affects all areas of her life. She has learned to navigate the challenges, and excels at most everything she sets her mind to...but not without set backs. Imagine trying to function in your everyday life, school, job, work, if everywhere you went there were 100's of radios, all playing different songs at high volume...and you could never turn it off. That is how my daughter describes her ADHD. Medicine is absolutely necessary, and helps to dull the noise, but it never completely goes away.

Like so many parents of children with disabilities, I’ve fought for accommodations, advocated for understanding, and worked to ensure she has access to the education she deserves. But now, I worry—not just about her journey, but about the landscape she and so many like her will have to navigate.

The current administration’s policies and rhetoric around disability rights, education, and access feel like an impending storm, threatening to undo decades of progress. When higher education institutions are pressured to deprioritize diversity, equity, and inclusion—or when the very supports that help students with disabilities succeed come under attack—it isn’t just a policy shift. It’s a fundamental redefinition of who belongs in these spaces.

For students with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, and other disabilities, college is already an uphill battle. They need supportive environments, resources, and institutions willing to recognize that equity doesn’t mean handing out advantages—it means leveling the playing field. But what happens when those supports are stripped away? When colleges are forced to shift their priorities due to political pressure, budget constraints, or changing federal guidelines?

The ripple effects will be devastating. Fewer accommodations mean higher dropout rates. Less funding for mental health and accessibility services means students struggle in silence. A de-emphasis on inclusive education means entire populations of students—bright, capable, innovative minds—may never reach their full potential.

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Higher education is at a crossroads. Will institutions continue to fight for the students who need them most, or will they bow to policies that make access and equity a footnote rather than a priority? I hope—desperately—that our colleges and universities choose the former.

Because if we don’t protect these students now, we will lose something far greater than enrollment numbers or funding. We will lose the brilliance, the resilience, and the perspectives of those who have always had to fight a little harder to succeed. And that is a loss none of us can afford.