RAISING RHIA
A Memoir by Terena Scott
Available Now – She Writes Press
A mother’s story of resilience, advocacy, and the healing power of choosing joy—even when the world doesn’t understand.
Praise for Raising Rhia
“Many believe all you need to write a memoir is a good story and proper grammar. Wrong. To write a meaningful memoir—one that tugs at your heart—you do need both, but also a willingness to share the “bones” of living in a gentle, informative, and compassionate way. You’ll find this in Raising Rhia, Terena Scott’s poignant story of caregiving, parenthood, compassion, and search for identity. It’s also a book that rightfully honors a mother’s intuition”
— Stan Goldberg, author of Leaning Into Sharp Points
“In this memoir, Terena Scott writes with honesty, humor, and unwavering hope about the challenges and joys of caring for her daughter, Rhia. The author offers vivid insight into the complex experience of caring for someone who is disabled–and ultimately helps the reader reimagine what is valuable.”
— Joelle Fraser, author of The Territory of Men and The Forest House
A Memoir by Terena Scott
Now Available – She Writes Press
Raising Rhia is the powerful story of a mother fighting for her daughter in a world unprepared for her needs. Born with multiple disabilities—including vision impairment, cerebellar ataxia, hearing loss, and mitochondrial disease—Rhia’s life unfolds in a maze of medical uncertainty and bureaucratic roadblocks. Terena Scott lays bare the relentless battles, raw grief, and fierce love that define her journey, refusing to let the system—or fate—dictate her daughter’s future.
Told in six poignant sections—Dreams, Fear, Hope, Loss, Grief, and Love—this memoir captures the complexities of parenting a child with disabilities, balancing everyday joys with the weight of anticipatory grief. At its heart, it is a story of resilience, connection, and seeing a child for who she is, rather than what she has.
Written with candor and compassion, Raising Rhia is both a deeply personal narrative and a reflection on the broader realities of raising a child with disabilities in the United States. Scott’s journey offers insight, solidarity, and hope for parents and caregivers facing similar challenges and anyone seeking joy inside the burden of grief.
Read Excerpt
Meet Terena Scott
I’m a teacher for the visually impaired, a writer, an artist, and the mother of a fierce young woman named Rhia.
For 30 years, I’ve been navigating the complicated world of caregiving, disability advocacy, and anticipatory grief. Along the way, I found purpose in the unexpected and beauty in the mess. My memoir Raising Rhia (She Writes Press, 2026) tells that story — unflinching, raw, and full of heart.
I write to connect. To reflect. To build community. And I believe in the power of storytelling to move us toward understanding, resilience, and joy.
Come along. There’s space here for all of it.
✖
The Doctor - Raising Rhia Excerpt
What does the word “thrive” mean? We use that word to describe healthy houseplants and happy careers. The word is also used in advertising and is currently a logo for an insurance company. But what does it actually mean?
The word thrive is a verb, which means it requires action. We say “to thrive” and “thriving” because we only thrive when we are engaged in some kind of growth. The growth can be spiritual or physical, but thriving requires intent and energy. Thrive is not a noun; no one thrives by sitting still.
If “thrive” means to grow and learn, what does “failure to thrive” mean?
Lindsay could do all the things that a one-year-old was supposed to do. She could pull herself up to stand firmly on her strong legs, throw a ball at her older brother and pull the clothes off her favorite doll. She could also climb out of her crib despite how much her mom told her to stay put. When Rhia and her cousin sat side by side on my mom’s couch to look at books or watch a movie together, the difference between them was startling. I knew Rhia wasn’t hitting 18-month-old milestones, but when I compared her wobbly eyes, low muscle tone and poor coordination to the strong musculature of her younger cousin, I winced with dread.
My sister-in-law recommended I take Rhia to her own children's pediatrician for an evaluation. I wasn’t sure what more he could offer compared to all the doctors at UCSF, but I was willing to try.
The small-town doctor took one look at Rhia and asked, “What kind of drugs were you taking while you were pregnant?”
I was so stunned it took several seconds to respond. “What? None! I never took drugs!”
I'm not sure he believed me. “Something is clearly wrong with your child.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared at Rhia thoughtfully. “Rhia was seen by a neurologist?”
“Yes. At UCSF.”
“And they said there wasn’t anything neurologically wrong?”
“Nothing. They thought it was her eyesight.”
He just shook his head and mumbled, “Figures.” While walking across the room to a display of paper pamphlets, he said, “I’m going to refer Rhia to Easter Seals. They’ll help her catch up developmentally.” He handed me a bright yellow, tri-folded pamphlet with a picture on the front of a smiling child in a wheelchair and the words Easter Seals of Lake & Mendocino Counties.
“What do I need to do?” I asked.
“Nothing. They’ll call you to schedule an evaluation once I make the referral. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks before someone calls. If they don’t call, let me know.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling gratitude all the way to my core; maybe something could be done to help Rhia catch up to her cousin. I doubt he believed me about not doing drugs, but I didn’t care. Let him think the worst! He was the first doctor who listened to me when I asked for help, and he was the first doctor who treated Rhia like a person rather than a specimen.