Director

When I was about eight years old, I watched Forrest Gump for the first time with my dad. It was the only time I had ever seen a lead character wearing leg braces. I had just stopped wearing my leg braces around that time due to relentless bullying from my peers. The movie didn’t inspire me to put my braces back on, but it sparked something else, the desire to share my story, to advocate, and to do it through filmmaking.

As a kid, I made short films with my friends, wrote scripts, and dreamed of being a director. But growing up with a disability, along with other childhood challenges, I often felt like I was stuck in survival mode, unable to fully devote myself to my passions. No matter what though filmmaking was always in my heart. I never truly let it go.

I studied film for a year at a college in Buffalo, my hometown, before deciding I needed a change. I craved new opportunities and an adventure, so I found a school in Orlando and convinced my parents, who have always supported and nurtured my dreams, to help me make the move. Again, I pursued filmmaking.

Then came the film set safety class. We learned how to wrap heavy cables, set up and take down C-stands, and navigate the technical side of set work. I watched my classmates move through it with ease, but I knew my grip strength and motor skills would make these tasks difficult. The floor was covered in thick cables, and I had to watch every step to avoid tripping. Instead of asking for accommodations, I assumed it would be too much for me and I switched my major to creative writing. I figured I could focus on storytelling while staying away from the inaccessibility of film sets. Almost immediately, I regretted it. My classes were small, sometimes just five students in a class, and I envied my film friends as they moved forward with projects I felt passionate about.

One day, I brought a friend lunch while he was helping a student director cast for a short film. The director asked me to stay and help read lines with actors during auditions, and between auditions, I told the director how I loved writing and editing scripts. He asked if I had ever considered script supervising. I hadn’t even heard of the role before, but he explained that a script supervisor ensures continuity, tracks changes, writes production reports, and takes detailed notes for post-production. Then, he offered me the position on his film. That’s how I got back into film again.

I worked on over 20 sets as a script supervisor and absolutely loved it, but deep down I knew I wanted to direct. I wrote scripts but never felt they were good enough and so I rarely ever finished them. Looking back, I set impossible standards for myself because I was terrified of failure. So again, I stepped away from film.

I started working at a behavioral hospital and discovered how much I loved connecting with people. I loved listening to their life stories, their triumphs and struggles, the rawness of their experiences. Some days, I left feeling drained. Other days, I felt incredibly fulfilled, empowered by the strength of the patients I worked with. I often wished I could document their stories in a deeper way.

Then, I watched Crip Camp. I had put it off for years, but when I finally watched it I sobbed the entire time. I felt rage at the system, frustration at how slow progress is for marginalized groups, but I also felt immense hope. More than anything though, I realized I needed my community. I just didn’t know where to find it.

Not even a week later, I got an email from Reilly Williams who works with community outreach at the CMTA, asking if I’d be interested in becoming a branch leader in Orlando. During our phone interview, she mentioned she was packing for camp. I assumed she meant the MDA’s camp, but she said no, this was Camp Footprint, a camp specifically for kids with CMT. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How had I never known about this?

Immediately, I asked if I could sign up as a counselor, even though camp was just weeks away. Reilly said she’d check with Jonah, the camp director. Shortly after, Jonah reached out. Almost right away, he asked about my film background, so I assumed Reilly had mentioned it to him. He then said something I could’ve never expected. He said, I don’t want you to come to camp as a counselor. I want you to come here and shoot a documentary.

Not only had I finally found my community, but I was being given the chance to use my filmmaking skills to tell its story.

I was never a cinematographer. I couldn’t tell you much more about cameras than the average person, so I decided to shoot with what I had — my iPhone. I bought a DJI mic set, a DJI gimbal for stabilization, and used an old tripod. That was it.

When I arrived at camp, I was welcomed with open arms. I made friends instantly. As the week went on, I observed, listened, and took note of everyone’s roles. That’s how I decided who to interview. Jonah and Jeana, the camp directors, Dr. Katherine Forsey, the CMTA’s Chief Research Officer, counselors who were once campers, counselors who didn’t have CMT but had fallen in love with the community, board members, and of course, the campers.

I left camp a different person. I had experienced love, acceptance, and purpose in a way I never had before. I felt so empowered, so inspired to keep creating, to keep advocating, and to be unapologetically myself. I left a place where I could truly act from my heart.

But when I reviewed my footage, I realized I didn’t have enough to make a full documentary. And more than that, this magical place deserved a real film crew to tell its story, not just my iPhone footage. So instead, I used the material to create marketing videos for the CMTA, which led to my involvement with their marketing team.

The following year, I proposed a high-production documentary that my film friends and I could create. Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough time to plan it properly before camp, so instead I brought my friends Cece and Braedon to help with the marketing team while exploring the possibility of a documentary. They had the a similar experience as I did during my first year. They were welcomed with warmth, feeling the power of this place, and recognizing the incredible story waiting to be told.

Now, as Camp Footprint reaches its 10th anniversary, the timing is finally right. My crew and I are ready to give this project everything we have.

Since finding my community, the stars have continued to align. I continue to act from love, and I’m doing this for the youth of the CMTA, for the adults who never had a place like Camp Footprint growing up, and for everyone seeking connection and the life-changing power of community.

My goal has remained the same since the idea of this documentary arose. If even one kid plays this documentary for a friend to show them how incredible camp is, to educate someone about CMT, or to express their pride in this community, then I’ve done my job.

I will spend the rest of my life amplifying the voices of the disabled community, the CMT community, and all marginalized groups whose stories need to be heard loud and clear.