I’m Still Here: Taking Pride in the Journey Through Disability, Recovery, and Growth

Cortez doesn’t sugarcoat his story. He’ll tell you plainly: there were times he didn’t think he’d make it. He’s faced addiction, hospitalization, stigma, and deep emotional pain. But today, he’s still standing. Still fighting. Still growing. And more than anything—he’s still here.

July is Disability Pride Month, a time to honor the lived experiences of people with disabilities—not just the milestones, but the moments of survival, the strength it takes to keep going, and the beauty in reclaiming your story. For Cortez, pride doesn’t mean pretending everything is perfect. It means being honest about the journey and proud of the growth that’s come from it.

“I’m not a perfect advocate,” he shared in a recent interview with Progressive Center for Independent Living (PCIL). “I’m not a role model. But I’m still here. And I’m proud of that.”

The Weight of Expectations

Growing up, Cortez often felt like he didn’t belong. Social rules were difficult to learn. School, instead of being a supportive environment, became a place where he felt out of place and misjudged. He carried heavy expectations—from society, from school, from his culture.

“I was the awkward kid. I didn’t want to be played as a fool,” he said. “I was supposed to be the male in society who builds everything. And I felt like I fell short.”

Diagnosed with bipolar disorder and cognitive disabilities, Cortez struggled to feel safe enough to ask for help. Instead, he turned inward. Over the years, that pain grew. He relied on alcohol, drugs, and risky behaviors to cope. Hospital stays became common. His relationships strained. At his lowest point, he overdosed.

“Four years ago, I overdosed. It was a heavy time in my life. I didn’t have a job. I was constantly drinking, going from one thing to the next.”

One-Size-Fits-None

Eventually, Cortez entered the disability services system and began working with a support coordination agency. But instead of finding meaningful direction, he felt like just another number.

“It’s messed up,” he said. “There are a lot of people out there just smash-and-grabbing a budget. You’re in the program, but you’re not seen. Nobody was really trying to understand me or what I wanted.”

What Cortez needed was more than paperwork or referrals—he needed people who were willing to dig deeper. People who could recognize who he was beyond the past. People who saw potential where others saw a file.

Cortez on right along side of his Support Coordinator, Batool, sitting outside together during the interview for this blog post.

Meeting PCIL: A Different Kind of Support

That changed when Cortez transferred to Progressive Center for Independent Living (PCIL), which supports people with disabilities across Mercer and Hunterdon Counties, NJ. Right away, it felt different.

“They didn’t judge me by my past,” Cortez said. “They saw who I was trying to become.”

At PCIL, support wasn’t just transactional—it was transformational. He received help with Medicaid, NJ SNAP, unemployment, and participated in peer events. He enrolled in the Drive-Ability course, a milestone that helped him start working toward his driver’s license—a goal that once seemed out of reach.

But what mattered most to him wasn’t just what he received. It was how he was treated.

“You gotta look at yourself in the mirror and ask, ‘How am I part of this?’ And when someone actually looks back at you—not with judgment, but with support—that changes everything.”

At PCIL, Cortez wasn’t just a participant. He was a person. And that made all the difference.

Pride Isn’t Perfection—It’s Progress

Today, Cortez is training to become a mechanic. He’s working toward stability and self-reliance. But he’s also thinking beyond his own goals. He dreams of becoming a public speaker, someone who can help others navigate the same challenges he’s faced.

And one day, he hopes to be a father. Not just in name—but in the fullest, most intentional sense of the word.

“I want my (future) kid to know what true love is. What happiness is. I want them to grow up with a stable mom and a stable dad—not yelling, not fear. A real home.”

That dream—along with all the pain that led to it—is now a source of pride, not shame.

“I used to think I’d never be anything but trouble. I’ve been locked up. I’ve made bad choices. But those choices don’t define me. They taught me. I’ve learned who I am. I’ve learned how to fight for myself.”

For Cortez, Disability Pride means accepting every part of his journey and standing tall in the truth of who he’s becoming.

A Message for Adults with Disabilities: This Is for You, Too

Cortez is passionate about challenging assumptions in the disability services world. One message he stressed repeatedly in his interview: these programs aren’t just for kids or parents.

“People think all of this is just for moms or dads trying to help their kid with a disability,” he said. “But what about the people like me? Adults trying to fight for ourselves?”

That message is especially important during Disability Pride Month: support isn’t age-limited. Adults living with disabilities—especially those who’ve been underestimated—deserve connection, tools, and belief in their potential. Cortez is living proof of what that belief can unlock.

Still Here. Still Fighting. Still Proud.

Cortez’s story isn’t polished. It’s not wrapped up neatly. But that’s exactly what makes it powerful.

“Don’t let your limitations be the reason you stop,” he says. “You get one life. Give yourself a chance. Knock off the grief and go forward.”

At PCIL, we’re proud to walk alongside people like Cortez—people whose stories are honest, imperfect, and filled with resilience. People who remind us that pride isn’t about having a perfect past. It’s about showing up for yourself, even when no one else did. And about building a future you can be proud of.

Because being here—still here—is something worth celebrating.