It started with him. My brother that is. 

He is deeply intuitive, funny, loyal, and one of my favorite people on this planet. His actions show his personality, what his words often cannot and his extra chromosome gives him a little extra sparkle.

But most of the world has never really seen that.

Growing up, I watched him experience things no one should have to especially as a caregiver—stress, neglect, discrimination, and abuse. Environments that were supposed to support him ended up silencing him. Systems meant to protect him often did the opposite. The people in charge weren’t trained to communicate with him, didn’t take the time to understand him, and—perhaps worst of all—never presumed his competence. He was underestimated at every turn, talked over, talked around, or not talked to at all.

And while I couldn’t fix everything, I couldn’t ignore it either. That kind of pain carves something into you. It made me fiercely protective, yes—but also deeply motivated. I didn’t just want to advocate for my brother. I wanted to create a world that was actually built with him in mind.

That seed—planted in grief, frustration, and love—is what eventually bloomed into The Therapy Garden.

At first, it was just an idea. I was working as a speech-language pathologist, growing more and more disillusioned with how care was being delivered to individuals of every ability. My brother’s experience wasn’t unique. I was seeing adult clients with intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD) who had been denied services, dignity, and support for years. Children who were already being funneled into boxes that didn’t fit. Parents who felt isolated and burned out. Providers who cared—but didn’t know how to push back against a broken system.

I started The Therapy Garden as a private practice that honored neurodivergence, presumed competence, and valued joy in therapy. I didn’t want to fix people—I wanted to meet them where they were, and give them the tools and support to grow into who they were always meant to be.

Over time, The Therapy Garden became more than a practice. It became a safe haven. We created programs for adults with I/DD to receive speech therapy, build self-advocacy skills, explore creativity, practice job skills, and find connection. We celebrated people’s whole selves—not just their goals. We created a space where communication isn’t defined by speaking, and where support is built on relationships, not checklists.

Most importantly, we made sure that no one would ever feel like my brother did—unseen, unheard, or unvalued.

Today, The Therapy Garden is still growing. We’re building inclusive employment opportunities, providing speech therapy, expanding our programming, and launching Lead with Luisa-a branch of our business that provides providers with mentorship and training to create similar practices to mine. My brother is a huge part of it. He helps prep for our events, helps assemble kits, and is finally surrounded by people who get him, even on his really hard days. He’s not just participating—he’s seen.

Every decision I make for this business, I ask myself: Would this have helped my brother? Would this have protected him, empowered him, understood him?

If the answer is yes, I know I’m on the right path.

Because he—and so many others—deserve a world that finally sees them as whole.

And I’m not waiting for that world to arrive. I’m building it.