There are moments in our professional journeys that carry weight, not because they are grand or life changing, but because they invite us into deeper reflection about who we are, what we believe, and how we hold complexity. Meeting Dr. Temple Grandin at the PATH International Conference this weekend was one of those moments for me.
Like many in the equine assisted field, I have long admired Dr. Grandin’s pioneering work. Her contributions to animal welfare and her unapologetic advocacy for autistic perspectives have opened doors that might otherwise have remained closed to other autistic folks. She has challenged systems to consider sensory experience, communication, and compassion through a different lens, one that resonates deeply with The HERD Institute’s relational ethos. Seeing her speak in person was both inspiring and grounding.
I had the honor of sitting next to her during lunch. Quite frankly, I was awe struck. I found myself feeling awkward and tongue-tied being in the presence of such a legend. My mind went blank. Here was someone whose work had shaped the very foundation of our field! How could I possibly strike up a conversation with her? I realized I had placed her on a pedestal, imagining her brilliance as something extraordinary and distant. Yet, as I sat with her, that distance began to dissolve. What struck me most was the sparkle in her eyes when I reached for my phone and she saw the picture of my dogs and asked about them. And then, we were off – just two human beings sharing photos of horses and dogs, delighting in our common love of our more- than-human companions. I even shared a video of my chickens with her that made her smile with delightful excitement as she asked me about how I was integrating my younger hens into the main flock. That moment of connection brought her humanity into sharper focus, and with it, my own.
Later, as I listened to her keynote presentation, I also noticed some discomfort within myself. As I felt admiration building for how far Dr. Grandin has come, I began to recognize a trace of my own internalized ableism. My admiration carried an unspoken comparison, an implicit narrative that her achievements were remarkable because she is autistic, rather than simply because she is brilliant. That realization stopped me in my tracks. Recognizing my own bias wasn’t about judgment, but about acknowledging how deeply ableist conditioning runs in our culture, shaping even the ways we celebrate one another.
Dr. Grandin’s work, and that of her mother, Eustacia Cutler, helped to open doors for the autistic community. In the 1950s and 60s, autism was widely misunderstood and pathologized. The idea that an autistic woman could become a scientist, author, and advocate was revolutionary. Their determination and courage carved pathways where few existed. In the years since Dr. Grandin first began sharing her story, conversations about autism have evolved significantly. The neurodiversity movement has expanded our understanding, inviting us to see autistic ways of thinking, moving, and relating as vital expressions of human experience. Where once the focus was on adaptation and overcoming, we are now learning to honor authenticity, sensory wisdom, and the full spectrum of how minds engage with the world. And yet, there is growing unease in the current cultural climate. As public conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion face backlash, there is a troubling pull toward returning to pathologizing difference, and toward framing neurodivergence once again as something to be fixed or eradicated, rather than embraced and understood. In moments like this, Dr. Grandin’s visibility reminds us both how far we have come and how easily fear can invite regression. It challenges us to stay vigilant in protecting the language of acceptance from slipping back into the language of control. Recognizing my own internalized ableism helps me to keep advocating for a more humanistic approach for us all.
We owe much to Grandin’s legacy, even as our collective understanding continues to grow. Each generation builds upon the foundations of the one before it, expanding what inclusion and belonging can mean. Where Dr. Grandin once had to prove that autistic people could adapt to the world, we now need to ask how the world might adapt to autistic people.
True progress calls us not only to celebrate pioneers like Dr. Grandin, but also to make room for the growing diversity of autistic voices that carry the conversation forward today. Just as we listen to horses with curiosity and respect for their unique ways of communicating, we need to listen to autistic voices with that same openness. We must honor lived experience as expertise, value difference as a source of wisdom, and amplify perspectives that challenge us to grow. This, to me, is the essence of relational practice: to remain present in dialogue, to welcome difference as teacher, and to allow that exchange to guide us toward a more inclusive future.
As I reflect on meeting Dr. Grandin, I’m reminded that true advocacy begins in relationship. It grows from our capacity to stay curious, to learn from those whose ways of being invite us to widen our own understanding, and to nurture spaces where every voice is met with dignity and safety. I’m deeply grateful for that reminder and for the time I spent with her. Perhaps her greatest gift to me came as she looked at a photo of my horses all laying down together and said, “That right there is a safe and happy herd. Keep doing whatever you’re doing for them to do that.”