The rise of MomTok and mom-influencer culture has made parenting a hot topic, yet the voices of disabled parents—who number in the millions in the U.S.—are often left out of the conversation. Jessica Slice’s new book, Unfit Parent: A Disabled Mother Challenges an Inaccessible World, breaks through that silence with boldness and grace, asking readers to envision a world that truly supports all families, rather than assuming every parent has the same abilities. Below, Vogue talks with Slice about designing a book tour that works for her and her family, navigating what to share (and what to keep private) about parenting online, and how non-disabled parents can better support their disabled peers.

Vogue: What has surprised you most about your parenting journey?
Jessica Slice: This isn’t disability-related, but I remember being in my 20s and talking to a friend who nannied for a family 15 hours a week. We joked, “Do they ever want to see their kids?” Now, as a parent, I’ve been shocked by how all-consuming caring for two children is—and how much help you need just to keep working.

Vogue: How are you structuring your book promotion to fit your needs?
Slice: I love this question. Most authors travel nonstop for events and interviews, but I had to be upfront with my team: I can’t do that. If I flew to New York for in-person events, it would take me a month to recover. That’s not a trade-off I can make—I need to stay present for my family. So I’m doing almost everything virtually: essays, Substack discussions, remote interviews. It’s forced me to get creative.

Accessibility is another hurdle. On my book’s release day, I visited local stores to sign copies. The first shop had my book—but also a step at the entrance. I couldn’t go inside, so I signed my books on the sidewalk. Publishing still has a long way to go on accessibility.

Vogue: In Unfit Parent, you’re careful not to share experiences that belong solely to your daughter. How do you decide what to include?
Slice: I keep a lot private. I avoid sharing anything my kids might regret later, and I won’t use their struggles as storytelling fodder. Some moms build followings by oversharing their kids’ hardships—that’s not me. I focus on my parenting journey, not their personal lives.

My eight-year-old says, “Tell everyone everything!” but I don’t fully trust her consent yet. She doesn’t grasp what she’s agreeing to. That said, I do share photos of my kids. Disabled parents are so rarely visible; I wanted images of a disabled mom in bed with her kids, in her wheelchair with them—just parenting.I decided that including these images in the conversation was worth it, even if just as a small contrast to the near absence of discussions about disability. Still, I’m very careful—I would never post a photo of my kids crying, for example, because that would embarrass them. I always ask my oldest child for permission before sharing pictures of her, and she’s never said no.

In Unfit Parent, you write beautifully about disability writers like Alice Wong and Meghan O’Rourke. What book would you recommend to someone just starting to confront disability or illness in their own life?

I wish I could write more about my own transition from being able-bodied to disabled—I had to condense that part in Unfit Parent. But the book that helped me most when I was coming to terms with my disability was The Minority Body: A Theory of Disability by Elizabeth Barnes. It’s a philosophy book, and it was life-changing because it made me realize I was part of a culture, not just an individual struggling alone. I’d also recommend Easy Beauty by Chloé Cooper Jones. The typical “how I overcame my illness” memoirs weren’t as useful to me. Poetry was important too—I read a lot of Russian Revolution poets, though I know that’s not everyone’s thing.

What do you wish more parents understood about disability?

I’d love for other parents to join me in advocating for accessible spaces. So much of my time with my kids is spent figuring out whether places—schools, stores, museums—are actually accessible. I’ll check Google Maps for the wheelchair icon, only to find it’s not accurate. If more parents or friends could help by asking about accessibility or checking ahead of time, it would make me feel less alone. Some of my friends already do this, and it makes a huge difference.

The line between disabled and non-disabled is blurry. Unless someone dies suddenly, most people will experience disability at some point in their lives. There’s this false divide between “disabled” and “not disabled,” when in reality, supporting accessibility is both an act of solidarity and just plain common sense.

(This conversation has been edited and condensed.)

Unfit Parent: A Disabled Mother Challenges an Inaccessible World
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