Embedded Files
The Heart Behind Kim’s Place: Steve’s Story
Every journey begins with a dream, and mine began with a deeply personal understanding of what it means to feel unseen.
Like many of the residents who come to Kim’s Place, my early life was shaped by both physical and emotional childhood trauma. Growing up in special education with a unique surname, I was the child no one paid attention to unless they were actively bullying me. For twelve straight years, I drifted through school, an easy target in an environment where even some teachers told me I just "needed to learn to fit in."
At home, the struggles continued. While my parents loved me, my mother battled manic bipolar disorder. In those days, the understanding of how to advocate for a child with complex learning disabilities simply wasn't there. I spent countless nights crying at the dinner table over homework, begging my parents to make the bullying stop, and feeling so broken that I believed I would be better off dead.
Finding Kimberly and the People "In the Grey"
Finding Kimberly and the People "In the Grey"
Through an online support network, I met a dear friend named Kimberly. She was 24, close to my age, and possessed a spirit that could light up any room. When Kimberly suffered a massive seizure, a benign peanut-sized tumor in her head was re-diagnosed as a baseball-sized malignant tumor, alongside rapidly degenerative multiple sclerosis.
Over the next 18 months, I sat with her online, providing emotional support as she endured multiple strokes and chemotherapy. Her family even flew her out to stay with me for respite care. I loved her dearly and gave her everything I had, but without proper structural support—and having undergone three major back surgeries myself—I realized that I could not do this kind of intensive care alone anymore. I swore I wouldn't do it again... unless I could build the ultimate support team.
Through running online peer-to-peer support communities, I began to notice a heartbreaking pattern among adults with unique, individualized extra needs. I heard stories of profound social isolation, depression, anxiety, and caregivers who didn't understand them.
I realized these individuals were living "in the grey"—trapped in a gap where their needs were completely unmet by traditional communities.
A Turning Point and a Vow
The shift began in high school. I made a conscious choice that I was no longer going to be a victim. I started standing up for myself and demanding my right to be respected. It was during those formative years that I made a solemn vow to myself: No one in my circle would ever have to suffer the way I did.
Seeking a fresh start and a way to build a life of my own, I followed in my grandfather’s footsteps and enlisted in the U.S. Navy. The Navy gave me the tools to grow, and more importantly, it's where I met the love of my life, Shelley. We married young and spent years struggling financially, eventually living in low-income housing as we figured out our path forward.
Learning to Advocate—and Learning to Love Myself. Years later, our journey took a new turn when our son was diagnosed with Autism. Navigating that diagnosis was a massive uphill battle, but it forced me to learn the true meaning of advocacy.
Learning to Advocate—and Learning to Love Myself. Years later, our journey took a new turn when our son was diagnosed with Autism. Navigating that diagnosis was a massive uphill battle, but it forced me to learn the true meaning of advocacy.
Yet, the hardest part of that battle wasn't dealing with the outside world—it was dealing with the war inside my own mind. For decades, the echoes of my childhood bullies and the isolation I felt growing up had manifested as a constant stream of negative self-talk. I was still carrying the deep-seated belief that I wasn't enough, that I was broken, and that I didn't deserve good things. I was also navigating my own severe dyslexia, a disability that had made me feel inadequate for most of my life.
But as I looked at my son, I realized I couldn't fight for his worth if I kept destroying my own. I had to embark on a parallel journey: learning how to quiet that negative inner voice, face my own challenges, and learn how to love myself again.
Determined to back my passion with knowledge, I made the terrifying decision to go back to school. Because of my dyslexia and the gaps in my early education, I had to spend two full years in Adult Basic Education just to catch up to the baseline. It took me four grueling years of relentless effort. Still, with the help of modern assistive technology and the fierce perseverance of my brilliant wife, Shelley—who used her skills as an elementary school teacher to support me—I did it. On my fourth attempt at higher education, I proudly walked across that stage with my Associate's Degree in Children and Family Services. I would have never succeeded without her love and unwavering belief in me.
As I began connecting with other parents who were fighting similar battles, a beautiful exchange happened. They mentored me; I began mentoring others, and through that community, I finally started to see my own value.
Though budget cuts eventually eliminated the specific career path I had originally gone to school for, I knew that education wasn't a waste. It was a divine investment in the future of people like my son and me, who just needed a voice. Today, my son continues to navigate his independence with pride, reminding me constantly that he is "an adult doing adult things."
My Calling: A Life of Care and Shared Dignity.
My Calling: A Life of Care and Shared Dignity.
I found myself staying up late into the night, praying and asking, "What can I do to fix this?" How do I fight for people when no one else is looking?
I found myself staying up late into the night, praying and asking, "What can I do to fix this?" How do I fight for people when no one else is looking?
In those quiet hours, I thought of Kimberly, her unstoppable nature, and her unconditional love for others. I asked myself, "What would Kimberly do?"
The answer became the core concept for Kim’s Place. The reality is that in today's world, people living with disabilities cannot afford to live independently. The financial barriers are staggering, and the isolation is crushing. But being disabled shouldn't mean giving up on the deeply human desire to be self-sufficient, to have a purpose, and to take pride in where you live.
For me, this work has never been about making money. Money is not the goal; it is simply a tool we use to survive, build stability, and keep our doors open. I am the kind of person who dreams, like many of us do, of winning a massive lottery. But my very next thought is never about what I would buy for myself—it is always about how many people I could lift and help with it. I have a vision for this community that I want everyone to embrace and get excited about. If I have a fatal flaw in this life, it’s simply that I care way too much.
My true desire, my profound love, and my life's calling is to care for people by creating a space where self-sufficiency and community go hand in hand. I want to build an environment where no one is left to struggle alone in the dark. By bringing together a strong team of dedicated professionals, donors, and advocates—my "A-Team"—we can make Kim's Place a high-quality, sustainable care environment through a shared living model that supports everyone without overburdening any single caregiver.
I am here to stand up for the people "in the grey." I am here to help them find their voice, their independence, and the family they deserve. Welcome to Kim’s Place—your journey home starts here.
This poem encompasses the vision I have for Kim’s place as well as the fire within me.
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse