The Runway Was Never Just About Fashion

I get comments all the time asking why I model. Some people tell me they cannot support me because they do not agree with most secular modeling organizations or what they believe the industry represents. Others say I do not fit the “real” modeling standards. And then there are the comments asking how I can follow Jesus and still model my body. So, let me explain why I do model.

I do not model because I am chasing fame, validation, or attention. I do not model because I’m obsessed with clothes, makeup, or name brands. I model because representation matters. A LOT.

I model because growing up, I rarely saw anyone who looked like me. I did not see young women proudly wearing AFOs, rolling through life in cool wheelchairs, using communication devices, showing their scars, or navigating the world with visible disabilities while still being seen as beautiful, intelligent, stylish, capable, or worthy of being celebrated.

Most of the time, people with disabilities were either invisible or treated like inspiration stories instead of actual human beings with personalities, dreams, humor, confidence, and purpose. As a woman with cerebral palsy, I spent years living in a world that often overlooked people with disabilities entirely. And if I am being real, there were moments growing up where I questioned my own beauty and worth because I never saw bodies like mine represented anywhere.

That does something to a person.

When I received my first modeling opportunity in September 2024, I walked into it terrified. Completely terrified. My very first modeling experience was during New York Fashion Week… go big or go home, right? I guess I went big.

I remember thinking, “What am I doing here?” I felt out of place. Different. Vulnerable. I knew my walk would not look like everyone else’s. I knew my body moved differently. I knew people would stare. But my manager, Candice, saw something in me before I fully saw it in myself. She recognized that the fashion industry desperately needed more inclusion and authentic representation. She believed I belonged in spaces that people like me are often excluded from.

And that belief changed me.

That first runway changed something deep inside of me. I stepped out there nervous and unsure, but once I hit that runway, something clicked. I stopped shrinking. I stopped apologizing for taking up space. I stopped seeing my disability as something that needed to be hidden. I slayed that runway.

And afterward, the love and support overwhelmed me. Other models encouraged me. People in the audience came up crying. Parents messaged me saying their child with a disability finally saw someone who looked like them represented in fashion. Women told me they felt seen. Little girls pointed at my photos and smiled.

Do you know what that feels like? To realize your story might help someone else stop hating theirs?

For the first time, I realized modeling was about so much more than clothes, cameras, or fashion shows. Modeling became a form of advocacy. It became a way to challenge assumptions, break stereotypes, and show the world that disability does not diminish beauty, value, confidence, femininity, strength, intelligence, or purpose.

Every time I walk a runway, post a photo shoot, or participate in a campaign, I am showing the world that people with disabilities deserve to be seen fully—not hidden away.

I want little girls and boys with disabilities to know they do not have to hide themselves to belong in this world! Show off those AFOs.  Decorate your communication device to match your outfit. Wear the bright colors. Take the pictures. Show your scars. Show your wheelchair. Show the world YOU. Because you were never meant to spend your life trying to make other people comfortable with your existence.

And honestly? Some people are uncomfortable with that.

The truth is, the modeling industry does have problems. So do many industries. There are unhealthy standards, vanity, pride, exploitation, and messages I absolutely do not agree with. But I do not believe Christians are called to run away from every secular space. I believe we are called to be light in dark places.

Jesus sat with people others avoided. He walked into broken spaces with truth, love, compassion, and purpose. As Christians, we are not called to isolate ourselves from the world completely. We are called to influence it.

And that is exactly what I am trying to do.

When I model, I try to carry myself with dignity, kindness, modesty, professionalism, and confidence. I set boundaries. I say no to things that do not align with my values. I pray before events. I pray before every runway. I pray before every photo shoot.

And my prayer is always the same: “Lord, let people see You through me.”

I pray that when people see me, they do not just see a model in a wheelchair or a woman with cerebral palsy. I pray they see joy. Strength. Hope. Resilience. Faith. Perseverance. I pray they see what God can do through a willing heart.

And about the comments saying I do not fit the “real” modeling standards? You are probably right. I do not fit the old standards. But maybe that is the point. I do not want to.

The world does not need more copies of the same thing. It needs authenticity. It needs diversity. It needs people willing to open doors that have stayed shut for far too long. Beauty is not limited to one body type, ability, size, or appearance. Human worth was never meant to be measured by impossible standards created by culture.

My body tells a story. It tells the story of survival. Of surgeries. Of pain. Of perseverance. Of motherhood. Of advocacy. Of faith. Of battles nobody saw. Of prayers whispered through tears. Of setbacks and victories. Of a God who still uses imperfect people to do meaningful things.

Now, less than two years after stepping onto my very first runway, I have the incredible opportunity to model during Miami Swim Week and participate in a swimsuit photoshoot for Louis Vuitton. And honestly, that still feels surreal to say out loud. As a woman with cerebral palsy, there was a time when I felt like my body was something to hide instead of celebrate. Society often teaches people with disabilities to shrink themselves, cover up their differences, and avoid taking up too much space. So standing confidently in front of a camera in swimwear is more than modeling to me—it is healing, growth, confidence, and representation. It is showing the world that disabled bodies are not something to be hidden or ashamed of. They are worthy of being seen, celebrated, and included too. We can be sexy!

I model because little girls and women with disabilities deserve to see someone who looks like them shining confidently.

I model because inclusion matters.

I model because stereotypes need to be broken.

I model because God continues to open doors I never imagined possible.

And I model because I refuse to spend my life hiding the body or story God gave me.

You do not have to understand it.

But I hope maybe now… you understand me a little better.