After my daughter with Down Syndrome was born, one of the first things I noticed was that she did not resemble any of the pictures of babies hanging on the hospital walls. Her demographic was not represented. I had never experienced that feeling so personally, before. It wrecked me.

After we took her home, I was delivered reading materials from a well-meaning person that were incredibly degrading to her and our family. I threw them away, crying uncontrollably.

I have witnessed online discussions (local groups) where parents evaluate the pros and cons of putting their disabled children on birth control preemptively because these girls are so commonly victims of sexual assault. Seriously. That was the reason.
I have watched parents, some my own online friends, advocate for their children by introducing state laws that allow individuals with Down Syndrome to even be eligible for organ transplants.

I know of cases in which church groups have been unwilling to accommodate disabled individuals “for now.” Of moms who have cried in anguish because their disabled child has been looked over for birthday parties, play dates, or job opportunities—despite being fully capable of participating. Of innocent children who have been bullied by people at school because they look different.
I know of many special needs parents who feel the need to hide any hard or painful realities of their lives, in spite of the fact that they desperately need and would appreciate extra support, because such expressions only contribute to the negative assumptions surrounding the child they love unconditionally.

These are not hypothetical experiences. I can put names and faces to each of them. Real people. That I know.

I am not Black. I don’t pretend to know what it is to be Black, nor do I (because some idiot will go there) equate being Black and being disabled. All I want to say is this:

For those in marginalized groups, the system is not perfect. The hurtful experiences are many and they are real. Even in America. Even in your own town and neighborhood.

Can I advocate for my daughter—her rights to opportunities, respect, or even basic decency and fail to acknowledge there are others who exist with different experiences than mine, but who hurt as well?

No. I cannot.
Maybe there are some things you can never know until they apply to you. But when that thing that “only happens/applies to other people” one day makes its way around to you in some form or another—you are never the same.
And all you will want is for someone to listen, to see, and be kind.

Edit: I’m not trying to detract from the BLM movement or make this about my daughter/our family (although the struggles she faces are very real). We live in a very predominantly white community with very few POC, and some here believe that systemic racism does not exist. I am hoping to convey that, although I am not a person of color, I have experienced prejudice on a systemic level and know that it exists. Maybe you don’t know a black person, but maybe you do know someone of another minority group that can confirm: yes, these things are real.