Discovering resilience, purpose, and a life reimagined.
Lindsay has worked since she was 16. She’s always been dependable, the kind of person who shows up, takes responsibility seriously, and wants to make a difference. Her dream job was to be a 911 dispatcher — a role rooted in service and being present for people on their hardest days.
After multiple applications and interviews, Lindsay was hired in 2017. She excelled in classroom training and felt confident she had finally found her place. But when she transitioned to one-on-one training on the dispatch floor, the environment shifted. The culture became hostile, with harassment, bullying, and cliques prominent in every shift.
Still, she stayed.
“It was my dream job,” Lindsay says. “I kept telling myself, I’ll get it right this time.”
One day, she had a panic attack while at work. It was the moment her body forced a truth she could no longer ignore, and she soon submitted her resignation.

I was surviving. That’s all I could do.
Leaving the job didn’t mean leaving its impact behind. Lindsay developed PTSD, panic attacks, and severe anxiety. Even so, she kept trying to work. She had just bought a house and needed income. When she could no longer keep up with mortgage payments, she rented it out and moved back in with her parents. Short-term and part-time jobs followed, but her symptoms kept recurring and hindering her ability to truly live.
Throughout this period, Lindsay’s access to health insurance was inconsistent. Jobs rarely lasted long enough to qualify for employer coverage. Enrollment in Health First Colorado (Colorado’s Medicaid Program) came and went as her employment and income shifted.
“If I weren’t on Medicaid, I wouldn’t have been able to afford my medications or see my doctor,” she says. “Those things are vital for keeping me alive.”
In 2022, Lindsay applied for disability so she could focus on healing without interruption.
Her mom, who worked at Rocky Mountain Health Plans, received an email about the Member Experience Advisory Council (MEAC) and encouraged Lindsay to connect.
“They were my first foray back into the wider world after becoming disabled,” Lindsay says. “Leaving the house was hard. But I felt validated and heard. I was able to participate in life.”
She’s never looked back. She’s attended every meeting since her first one and is now a voting member.
“I found my community,” Lindsay says. “I found people who got it. People I identified with. It was really beautiful.”
Over time, she learned about disability advocacy, self-advocacy, and how systems can change. She also began reframing how she saw herself and her needs. Accepting that she was disabled didn’t mean giving up; it meant recognizing that she had different needs, and that those needs were valid.
Echo is an accommodation that makes it possible for me to live my life…he helps me access the world.
Long before MEAC, Lindsay had wished she could bring a support person with her to college classes to help her cope with her anxiety. Years later, social media introduced her to service dogs. When she saw a litter of German Shepherd and Blue Heeler mix puppies at a nearby animal shelter, she knew it was time.
With limited income and no access to expensive training programs, Lindsay adopted one of the puppies and committed to training him herself.
She named him Echo.

Transcript
“We’ve had setbacks, we’ve had times where I’ve been like, ‘Hey, we need to do more training on this or that.’ Like, he’s never been perfect, but he helps me access the world, and access things in my life that I had pretty much trimmed out, trimmed down — you know — shut away all hope that it would ever happen again. He’s definitely brought that hope back into my life.”
Echo showed a natural instinct for staying close and leaning into her. Lindsay enrolled him in obedience classes, constantly researched training methodologies, and worked with him every day.
Echo became task-trained to interrupt anxiety, provide grounding, and support Lindsay during panic episodes. As his training progressed, he provided support to Lindsay so she could leave the house.
“Putting his needs first helped shift my focus,” Lindsay says.
They started small, with walks and trips to the park, before venturing out to stores, appointments, and counseling sessions.
I still have those moments, but I feel so much safer, so much more grounded, and so much more like myself with him. We’re now a ‘we.’
Echo’s name reflects exactly what he does.
“When you’re in a canyon, and you shout, and it gets quieter and quieter and quieter and smaller and further away,” Lindsay explains. “He’s that for my anxiety and my panic attacks: He makes those smaller and further away.”
Being able to contribute to my community is really just wonderful. I love doing that.
While grieving and letting go of the future she once envisioned was painful, it also created space for something new.
Lindsay now volunteers at the local library on oral history and archive projects and in the back office at Homeward Bound, helping with databases and filing. She participates in weekly board game nights at a local game store, Sunday games with friends, and tabletop role-playing campaigns.
“I found another sense of community there,” she says of the game store. “I found a group of friends that have really brought joy to my life.”
Thriving for Lindsay doesn’t mean a 40-hour workweek; that’s just not possible for her. Instead, she defines it as meaningful connection, flexible contribution, and listening to her body.
Having health insurance made it so I could survive.
Lindsay still lives with PTSD and anxiety, and Health First Colorado continues to play a central role in her stability. It covers her primary care, prescriptions, counseling, and referrals. Through her counselor, she learned about GeneSight testing, which analyzes how a person metabolizes psychiatric medications. The results showed that two medications she had been taking were poor matches, allowing her to switch to options more likely to help without months of trial and error. The test was covered by insurance. She also has her choice of counselors who accept Medicaid and with whom she connects — a choice that empowers her in her own care.
Some days are harder than others, but now she has Echo, MEAC, community, and a growing sense of purpose.
Most of all, she has learned that a meaningful life can be rebuilt in unexpected ways.
“I’m celebrating that I’m here,” she says, “and that I’m living life.”