This is your official throwback warning—because this memory deserves its moment.

There was a time (long enough ago that I’ve emotionally recovered) when Devin looked me dead in the eye and said, “We’re going beekeeping.” Not in a metaphorical, soul-searching kind of way—actual beekeeping. With real bees. In real suits. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wildflowers and buzzing chaos.

And because I clearly have a history of making excellent decisions, I said yes.

Now, let me set the scene: I show up fully suited, looking like a puffy pastry in white coveralls and a helmet that makes me feel like I’m prepping for space travel—not a nature stroll. Devin’s out here moving slowly, like some kind of serene honey-harvesting Jedi, while I—thanks to cerebral palsy and exactly zero chill—am giving full-blown interpretive dance energy. Picture every awkward twitch and off-balance sway you can imagine, now put it in the middle of a bee zone.

Here’s a fun fact I learned that day: Bees do not appreciate unpredictable movement. At one point I reached to adjust my veil and about five of them went into full-on protest mode. The buzzing got louder. The air got thicker. Devin gave me that look like, you’re about to get stung and it’s kind of your fault. It was… a vibe.

But here’s the thing: I didn’t get stung. Somehow, those tiny warriors saw past my nervous energy and let me hang around long enough to get the full experience. I learned how bees build their hive, how the queen is protected, and how something so small can create something so sweet.

It was wild. It was weird. It was oddly empowering.

Because for a moment, I wasn’t the girl who limps through life or needs extra time to do basic things. I was just someone doing something totally badass, clumsy limbs and all. I was a beekeeper—if only for a day.

And the best part? I got to share it with someone who didn’t flinch when I flailed, who laughed with me when I panicked, and who made space for me in an experience that probably wasn’t made with people like me in mind.

So here’s to Devin, to bees, to fearless(ish) adventures, and to proving once again that being HandicapableAF means showing up however you are—and still walking away with one hell of a story.

~Steph

HandicapableAF isn’t just a mood, it’s a lifestyle.