What If We’re Fighting the Wrong Way?

Beyond the Divide isn’t a call to stop fighting for what matters. It’s a call to change how we fight for it.

I’ve been thinking about something since Beyond the Divide came out.

I wonder if, sometimes, people misunderstand what I mean when I talk about curiosity. Or understanding. Or finding the humanity in people whose beliefs may be very different from our own.

I wonder if it sounds too soft.

Too idealistic.

Maybe even a little Pollyanna-ish for a moment like this.

Because there is a lot happening in our country and our world right now that deserves our attention. There are policies being proposed that could cause real harm. There are rights that people fought for decades to secure that cannot simply be taken for granted. There are communities—including the disability community—that have very good reasons to be afraid of losing hard-won progress.

I know that because I am fighting those fights, too.

I have spent much of my adult life advocating for my children and for other children and families. I have sat in IEP meetings. I have conducted research. I have worked in systems that I believed needed to change. I have spoken to policymakers. I have stood at press conferences and told deeply personal stories because I believed someone needed to understand what was actually at stake.

And I am not suggesting that any of us stop doing those things.

Beyond the Divide is not a call to stop fighting for what matters.

It is a call to change how we fight for it.

Because I’m beginning to wonder whether some of the ways we have learned to fight are actually making it harder to create the change we want.

We have become very good at choosing sides.

We label people. We sort them. We decide who is good and who is bad, who understands and who doesn’t, who is enlightened and who is ignorant.

And then we shout across the distance between us.

Sometimes shouting is necessary.

Sometimes we have to stand up and say, unequivocally: This is wrong. This is harmful. This cannot continue.

But I also know something from years of working in education, disability advocacy, research, and systems change:

People rarely change because we humiliate them.

They rarely reconsider deeply held beliefs because we tell them they are terrible people for having them.

And they almost never move toward us when they believe we have no interest in understanding them.

That doesn’t mean we excuse harm.

It doesn’t mean we stay quiet.

It doesn’t mean every perspective is equally valid, or that facts no longer matter, or that we abandon the people who are most vulnerable in the name of keeping the peace.

It means we become more thoughtful about what we are actually trying to accomplish.

Do we want to win the argument?

Or do we want something to change?

Those are not always the same thing.

I learned this long before I wrote Beyond the Divide.

I learned it sitting at IEP tables.

When you are the parent of a child with a disability, there are moments when you have to fight fiercely. I know that firsthand. But I also learned that the most powerful question I could sometimes ask wasn’t, How do I prove you wrong?

It was:

Help me understand.

Help me understand why you see it this way.

Help me understand what I’m missing.

Help me understand what is getting in the way.

And then, perhaps:

Can I help you understand what this looks like from where I sit?

That is not weakness.

It is not surrender.

In my experience, it can be one of the most powerful tools we have.

Because curiosity creates an opening that certainty often closes.

And once there is an opening, there is the possibility of something different.

A story can get through where an argument cannot.

A relationship can make someone reconsider something they were once certain about.

Understanding another person’s humanity can coexist with fiercely opposing their actions.

We can hold people accountable and still refuse to dehumanize them.

We can protect the vulnerable and still ask what created the conditions that brought us here.

We can fight injustice without allowing the fight itself to make us less human.

That, to me, is what it means to move beyond the divide.

Not to some imaginary place where everyone agrees.

Not to a world without conflict.

And certainly not to a place where we stop standing up for what matters.

But perhaps to a place where we fight differently.

Where we are fierce about our values and curious about people.

Where we refuse to confuse understanding with agreement.

Where we remember that listening is not capitulation.

Where we tell our stories—not simply to prove a point, but to help someone see something they could not see before.

And where, even when we have to draw a line, we try not to erase the humanity of the person standing on the other side of it.

I don’t know if that will solve everything.

I don’t think any single idea will.

But I do know that the way we are relating to one another right now is not working.

The divides are growing wider.

The certainty is getting louder.

And more and more of us seem convinced that the only way forward is to defeat the people on the other side.

I wonder if there is another way.

Not an easier way.

Maybe, in fact, a harder one.

To stay curious when we are angry.

To listen when we are certain we already know.

To tell stories when shouting might feel more satisfying.

To fight fiercely for the people and principles we love—without losing sight of the humanity that connects us.

That is the invitation at the heart of my new book, Beyond the Divide: The Stories That Bring Us Together.

I wrote this book because I believe stories can help us do something arguments often cannot: see one another differently.

Through stories from my own life—of family, disability, education, advocacy, identity, love, loss, and change—I explore what happens when we become willing to question what we think we know. When we trade certainty for curiosity. When we stop seeing the person across from us as a position to defeat and begin wondering about the story that brought them there.

This book is not about pretending our differences don’t matter. And it is not about asking anyone to stop fighting for the things they believe in.

It is an invitation to consider whether there might be a different way to do it.

Because I believe the stories we tell—and the stories we are willing to hear—can change how we see each other.

And maybe, right now, that matters more than ever.

Beyond the Divide: The Stories That Bring Us Together is available now on Amazon in paperback and Kindle, with additional formats and retailers coming soon. If you read it, I hope you’ll share what it made you think about—and, if it resonates with you, consider leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Reviews, especially in these first weeks, can help this message reach people who might otherwise never find it.

Keep fighting for what matters.

Just don’t assume that fighting has to mean becoming more divided.

Maybe the most courageous thing we can do right now is learn how to fight for change in a way that leaves open the possibility of actually creating it.