“It’s hard to dream when you are too busy trying to survive.”

That sentence captures a chapter of my life, but it does not capture the whole story.

My name is Johileny Merán. I am a disabled Afro-Dominican immigrant, a New Yorker, a graduate of New York University, a traveler, storyteller, disability advocate, mentor, and professional.

But before I became any of those things, I was an eight-year-old girl who left the Dominican Republic and moved to New York City.

I had no idea then how much that move would change my life.

I was born in the Dominican Republic and moved to the United States when I was eight years old.

Growing up in the Dominican Republic, my experience with disability was very different from what I encountered after moving to New York. I have written about being treated as though my cerebral palsy made me somehow contagious.

Moving to the United States introduced me to something I had not experienced in the same way before: a school system that provided disability-related support and accommodations and gave me greater opportunities to participate.

But access did not mean everything became easy.

I was still a disabled girl growing up in New York City.

I was learning how to navigate school, friendships, independence, and a society that often made assumptions about what people with disabilities could and could not do.

I was also learning what it meant to become independent.

During my teenage years, my family experienced homelessness.

I spent my high-school years living with my family in a shelter.

At the same time, I was navigating life with cerebral palsy and a physical disability.

And then I lost my mother to cancer.

The circumstances of my life could have made my world smaller.

Instead, something inside me kept pushing forward.

I went to school.

I studied.

I participated.

I kept showing up.

And I never stopped imagining that there could be something beyond the circumstances I was living through.

Public attention eventually found me.

In 2014 and 2015, local and national media began telling the story of a Brooklyn teenager who was living in a family shelter while pursuing her education. My story appeared in the New York Daily News, PIX11, Here & Now, NBC New York, and other outlets. My own website preserves this collection of coverage.

But the headline that people remembered was simple:

Homeless teenager. Wheelchair user. Valedictorian.

In 2015, I graduated from Juan Morel Campos Secondary School in Brooklyn as valedictorian.

I had spent my entire high-school career living in a homeless shelter.

And I never missed a day of school.

That accomplishment became part of the public story about me, but what mattered to me went deeper than being called an “inspiration.”

I knew what it meant to work for something while carrying circumstances that other people could not see.

At my graduation, I gave my valedictorian speech.

And I did something else that was deeply personal.

For years, I had watched wheelchair users receive their diplomas at the bottom of stairs because they could not physically cross the stage.

I wanted to cross that stage.

So during high school, I spent years relearning how to walk with forearm crutches.

I practiced balancing.

I practiced stairs.

I practiced opening doors.

I practiced carrying things.

And I practiced walking.

On graduation day, I walked across that stage, delivered my valedictorian speech, and accepted my diploma.

That moment was about more than walking.

It was about deciding that I wanted to experience graduation the way I had imagined it.

Years later, I would write about that experience as part of my reflection on disability, mobility, and becoming a proud disabled woman.

After graduation, I received scholarship support and was accepted to New York University.

I had originally imagined a future in medicine.

When I spoke with Here & Now immediately after being admitted, I talked about wanting to study biology and possibly become a pediatric oncologist. I also said that I wanted to keep an open mind about where the future would take me.

That open mind turned out to matter.

I entered NYU and eventually studied Global Public Health and Sociology, with a minor in Disability Studies.

College became about more than getting a degree.

It became a place where I found my voice as a disability advocate.

I began asking questions about accessibility and inclusion.

I noticed when disability was missing from conversations about diversity.

I challenged assumptions about what accessibility should look like.

And I became involved in student advocacy.

I eventually served as Co-President of the NYU Disability Student Union.

While I was in college, I wrote about one of the people who helped shape my understanding of independence: my high-school paraprofessional, whom I called my “school mom.”

Growing up, I often had adults helping me because of my disability.

But there is a difference between helping someone and doing everything for them.

The right support gave me room to learn.

My paraprofessional would step aside and let me try things myself—even when it took longer.

That helped me develop the independence I would later rely on as a college student living in a dorm, traveling to class independently, and navigating life away from home.

I wrote about this experience publicly in 2016 because I wanted people to understand that disabled young people need opportunities to develop independence, not people constantly taking over for them.

That lesson stayed with me.

I also began talking publicly about parts of life that people did not always associate with disabled women.

In 2017, I interviewed Dr. Dianelle Sheypuk for a Women’s eNews “Seat at the Table” series about disability, education, dating, and sexuality.

These conversations mattered because disabled people are often treated as though we are children—or as though relationships, sexuality, independence, and adulthood are not part of our lives.

I wanted to challenge that.

I was beginning to understand that disability advocacy was not simply about physical accessibility.

It was about being recognized as a whole human being.

NYU also gave me the opportunity to look beyond the United States.

I became interested in international disability rights and eventually studied abroad in London.

As a wheelchair user who had grown up in the Dominican Republic and then the United States, I already knew that accessibility was not the same everywhere.

Studying abroad forced me to think about access differently.

I spent significant time researching accessibility because I didn't want my international experience to become a situation where I could only move between my dorm and a classroom.

I wanted to experience the city.

I wanted to travel independently.

I wanted to participate.

London became an important turning point.

It showed me that disabled students could study abroad—but also that programs needed to provide students with honest, practical information about accessibility so they could make informed decisions for themselves.

My experiences eventually became part of my professional work.

In 2018, I became an American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD) intern and wrote about the need to make the Disability Rights Movement global.

My lived experience as a Dominican immigrant and disabled woman influenced the way I thought about disability rights beyond the United States.

I began to see that disability advocacy could not stop at one country.

People with disabilities around the world deserved access, opportunity, representation, and the ability to shape their own futures.

In May 2019, I graduated from New York University with a Bachelor of Arts in Global Public Health and Sociology and a minor in Disability Studies.

By then, I had become a student advocate, disability leader, and someone increasingly interested in international work.

NYU recognized my work with the Outstanding Student Achievement Award for my dedication to improving accessibility for students with disabilities both on campus and abroad.

I also delivered student remarks at the 2019 NYU Scholarship Luncheon, reflecting on how scholarship support had allowed me not only to attend college but to participate in advocacy, activism, and professional development.

The scholarship had helped create access to an education.

But the education gave me something else:

a platform from which to advocate for others.

After NYU, I joined Mobility International USA (MIUSA) and worked with the National Clearinghouse on Disability and Exchange.

The irony was not lost on me.

As a college student, I had searched for information about studying abroad as a wheelchair user.

I had wished there were better resources.

Now I was working in the field helping other students with disabilities access international exchange opportunities.

I began sharing what I had learned.

I presented at the 2019 Council on International Educational Exchange conference and later published “4 Takeaways from My Study Abroad Experience for Exchange Professionals.”

My message was simple:

Students with disabilities do not need someone else to decide what is possible for them. They need honest information, meaningful support, and the opportunity to make informed decisions for themselves.

Travel became an important part of my identity.

I have explored multiple countries as a disabled traveler, including studying abroad in London.

Travel taught me that accessibility is not simply about ramps and elevators.

It is about freedom.

It is about independence.

It is about being able to experience a place rather than simply pass through it.

And it reminded me that disabled people deserve adventure, joy, exploration, and experiences that are not centered solely around our disabilities.

As I became older, another part of my purpose became clearer.

I wanted to give back.

I have spoken openly about not having many disabled mentors while growing up.

I wanted to change that for someone else.

Through mentoring and disability leadership, I began supporting young people with disabilities.

I became involved with Disability EmpowHer Network, eventually serving as a mentor and later joining its board.

I also became involved with Cerebral Palsy Positive and Mobility International USA's advisory work.

My work increasingly centered on a question:

What would have been different for me if I had met someone like me earlier?

That question continues to influence how I show up for young disabled people today.

My commitment to young disabled people also led to UPLIFT'D.

What began as a project connected to supporting a disabled teenager in the Dominican Republic grew from a very personal place.

I knew what it felt like to grow up without enough resources.

I knew what it meant to need equipment, support, and people who believed in your potential.

And I knew what it meant to finally receive opportunities that could change the direction of your life.

UPLIFT'D was created to help connect disabled youth with resources, opportunities, mentorship, and pathways toward education and leadership.

The first initiative focused on helping a disabled teenager in the Dominican Republic access a wheelchair, a ramp, and disability resources.

In many ways, this work brought my story full circle.

I had left the Dominican Republic as an eight-year-old child.

Now I was trying to create opportunities for a disabled young person there.

For much of my younger life, disability was something I had to navigate.

As I became older, I began embracing disability as part of who I am.

In 2022, I wrote “Rolling to Success,” reflecting on becoming a proud disabled woman and questioning the idea that disability should be viewed only as a limitation.

My disability had not stopped me from moving forward.

In many ways, it had propelled me toward advocacy, travel, leadership, and community.

That does not mean disability made everything easy.

It means I learned to understand my disability differently.

I stopped measuring my life by what I could not do.

I started asking what I could build with the life I had.

Today, I work at the American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD) as a Programs and Operations Assistant.

AAPD describes me as a disabled Afro-Dominican immigrant raised in New York City who is committed to advocacy, education, and empowering young people to reach their full potential.

My work supports AAPD's internship programs and organizational operations.

And the full circle is impossible to miss.

Years ago, I was an AAPD intern.

Today, I am part of the organization's staff.

The organization that once gave me an opportunity to learn about disability advocacy became part of the professional journey I am building.

When people hear my story, they sometimes focus on the headline:

Homeless teenager becomes valedictorian.

And yes, that is part of my story.

But it is not the whole story.

I am not simply a former homeless teenager.

I am not simply a wheelchair user.

I am not simply a Dominican immigrant.

I am not simply a NYU graduate.

I am not simply an advocate.

I am all of those things—and so much more.

My story is about what happens when a person continues moving forward even when the circumstances around them say they should stop.

It is about the people who helped me.

The teachers.

The mentors.

The scholarship organizations.

The advocates.

The friends.

The communities.

The people who believed in me before I fully understood what I could become.

And it is about what I choose to do with those opportunities.

I cannot repay everyone who helped me get here.

But I can pay it forward.

That is one of the greatest lessons my journey has taught me.

If I know what it feels like to live in an under-resourced community, I can work to create better access for someone else.

If I know what it feels like to search for disability resources, I can help make those resources easier to find.

If I know what it feels like to wonder whether I belong, I can help create spaces where someone else knows they belong.

If I know what it feels like to have someone believe in me, I can become that person for someone else.

My journey has taken me from the Dominican Republic to New York City.

From a shelter to a high-school stage.

From valedictorian to NYU student.

From student advocate to international disability professional.

From receiving support to creating opportunities for others.

And from surviving to building.

I am still dreaming.

I am still learning.

I am still growing.

I am still becoming.

Because my story was never supposed to end with survival.

Survival was the beginning.

Now I am trailblazing ahead.