Nowhere to Turn: How Maryland's Civil Rights System Abandons Disabled Parents

Silhouette of a person in a wheelchair in front of a closed door labeled 'State Resources' with a dark background.

I have ADHD. I have PTSD. I’m a father. I’m a disabled parent trying to raise a son under the crushing weight of a legal system that was never designed for people like me. A system that claims to protect civil rights—but in practice, does nothing.

For the last several years, I’ve been fighting for access to my child in the Montgomery County Circuit Court in Maryland. I’ve been denied visitation, denied accommodations, and denied dignity. Over a hundred motions filed—denied. Protective orders based on false accusations—issued. Court orders for visitation—ignored. And no one enforces them.

So I turned, like many are told to, to the state. I filed a complaint with the Maryland Commission on Civil Rights (MCCR). Seven months later, I got a response: “We don’t have jurisdiction.”

No help. No referrals. Just seven months of silence ending in a dead-end.

And here’s the kicker: this wasn’t the first time. I’ve filed complaints with the Department of Justice Civil Rights Division, too. Dismissed without explanation.

The Court Refused to Accommodate My Disabilities

Under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), courts are required to provide reasonable accommodations to individuals with disabilities. I have consistently disclosed my ADHD and PTSD, both of which are neurodevelopmental and mental health disabilities that directly impact executive functioning, information processing, and courtroom communication.

Not once have I been granted meaningful accommodations. No additional time. No simplified forms. No ADA coordinator assigned. No effort at access.

And yet my failure to “comply” with court rules—rules I cannot fully process without support—has been used against me. I’ve been labeled, blamed, dismissed.

My disability is treated not as a legal fact but as a character flaw.

When the State Pretends to Protect Your Rights

The MCCR claims to investigate discrimination. But if your discrimination occurs in a courtroom—if the system denying you access is the judicial system itself—they won’t touch it. Judicial immunity. Separation of powers. Loopholes. Excuses.

They become just another bureaucratic front that says, “We’re here to help,” but really exists to protect the state from liability.

MCCR, in this case, functioned more like a PR department than a civil rights watchdog. And while I waited seven months for them to tell me they had no jurisdiction, my son continued to grow up without me.

So Where Do Disabled Parents Go for Justice?

Short answer? Nowhere.

Maryland won’t help.
The DOJ won’t act.
The courts won’t comply with the law.
Legal Aid won’t take the case.
The ACLU is full.
The media often ignores it—until the worst happens.

I was born with a brain that works differently. I’ve worked hard my entire life to succeed despite that. But in court, my ADHD is treated like a weapon to discredit me. My PTSD is used to frame me as unstable. My efforts to parent are twisted. My voice is silenced.

Meanwhile, the other parent is allowed to violate orders, make false accusations, and alienate our child—and the court simply shrugs.

A System Designed to Break You

What we have is a closed-loop system of denial:

The courts violate your rights.
The commissions say they have no jurisdiction over the courts.
The federal government says it’s a state issue.
The lawyers say you need $20,000 just to get a hearing.
And the judge says, “File another motion.”

It’s like being told to dig your way out of a hole with the same shovel used to bury you.

What I Want People to Know

This isn’t about me being a “disgruntled parent.” This is about:

How disabled people are systematically shut out of justice.
How family courts weaponize disabilities instead of accommodating them.
How the agencies created to protect rights often exist just to say no.

This is about my son, who doesn’t understand why his father isn’t around—because no matter what a court order says, no one will enforce it.

And this is about every other father, mother, or disabled person who’s ever been told, “Just file a complaint”—only to learn that there’s nowhere to go.

What Now?

I don’t know.

I keep writing. I keep documenting. I keep trying to get someone—anyone—to listen.

I’ve started organizing my evidence, my filings, my denials. Maybe one day it will form the basis of a lawsuit. Or a public exposé. Or a congressional hearing.

But right now, I’m still in the fight. And I’m still alone.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been through the same, I want you to know: you’re not crazy. You’re not a failure. You’re navigating a system that’s designed to protect itself—not you.

And if you work in one of these agencies and you think this is okay, I hope you read this and feel something. Because I’ve been waiting for months—years—for someone to care.