12/02/2025
We want to share a little more about who we are — the families behind FAIR.
We are overwhelmingly a network of mothers.
Many of us were, or still are, single mothers.
Mothers to children with disabilities of every kind — physical, intellectual, developmental, medical, behavioural, mental health–related, autism spectrum, and combinations of all of the above.
Some of our children are medically fragile. Some require total care. Some cannot speak. Some cannot walk. Some cannot be left alone for even a moment.
Most of us have had to fight for every inch of support our children have ever received. Nothing has ever come easily. Nothing has ever been handed to us.
Many fathers are no longer in the picture.
Families fracture under relentless crisis.
Some of us have carried our children’s entire lives on our own shoulders.
For those lucky enough to have school support during the day, that time became our lifeline — the only hours we had to work, shop, run errands, or simply breathe. But many schools couldn’t support our children’s needs, so we were called home again and again until eventually… some of us lost jobs. Because how many times can a parent leave work before the job disappears?
And when we were home, we weren’t resting.
We became nurses, therapists, educators, advocates, and caregivers — on top of doing the cooking, cleaning, bills, laundry, and everything else life demands.
We fed our children.
We moved their bodies.
We carried them, bathed them, dressed them, toileted them.
We managed suctioning, tube feeding, seizures, medications, wheelchairs, meltdowns, behaviours, hospital stays, and sleepless nights.
Some of our children cannot turn on an iPad, use a remote, read a book, eat independently, or communicate their needs.
We became their voice because they cannot speak for themselves.
And we did it all exhausted — sometimes dangerously sleep-deprived — but always with unconditional love.
Eventually, as our children became adults, we reached a point many people cannot understand.
Not a moment of failure — but a moment of realism.
A moment where we knew that one exhausted mother cannot keep doing 24/7 care forever.
We were told that group homes funded by the Ontario government would give our adult children opportunities, inclusion, growth, and support.
We were told they would have activities, outings, friendships, community connection, and trained staff who understood their needs.
We were promised our children would thrive.
People on the outside sometimes call us “the lucky ones” because our children got into a group home — especially with the waitlist for Developmental Services now at over 50,000 people and climbing.
But if only they knew.
Instead of support, many of our children receive the bare minimum — or less.
Many spend their days sitting in front of a television with no activities, no communication, no engagement, no stimulation.
They are not being supported to grow or maintain their skills.
They regress.
They lose abilities.
They lose their spark.
Staff turnover is constant.
The people caring for them often do not know them.
And the people who do know them best — their mothers — are slowly shut out.
Advocacy is met with retaliation.
Families are silenced, restricted, intimidated, or told:
"If you don’t like it, take them home."
If only it were that simple.
We are exhausted.
We are burnt out in ways that don’t even have words.
We have spent decades advocating, navigating systems, fighting for services, and trying to protect our children from falling through cracks big enough to swallow them whole.
And here is the truth that keeps us up at night:
If we do not fix this system before we die… what will happen to our children when we are gone?
Who will speak for them?
Who will protect them?
Who will love them as fiercely as we do?
This isn’t just our story.
It’s a warning.
A call to action.
A plea for change.
Because if this system continues failing our children… it will fail yours too.
Your grandchildren.
Your neighbour’s child.
Your friend’s child.
Anyone who becomes disabled, injured, or vulnerable.
This is why FAIR exists.
To fight for change — loudly, publicly, and together.
Because our children deserve lives of dignity, safety, and joy — not merely survival.