When actor Eric Dane, known for his roles in Grey’s Anatomy and Euphoria, publicly shared his ALS diagnosis in recent events, in April of 2025, the response was immediate and heartfelt. But instead of media narratives rooted in pity or despair, Dane offered something far more grounded and vital: dignity, self-determination, and solidarity.

In his first interview since the announcement, Dane told Diane Sawyer on June of 2025, “I don’t think this is the end of my story.” These words, spoken not as defiance, but as truth, resonated deeply within the disability community. They push back against a culture that often equates disability with decline or disappearance.

ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) is a progressive neuromuscular disability that impacts voluntary muscle movement, including speech, mobility, and eventually breathing. There is no known cure. Yet while mainstream narratives often focus solely on the medical aspects of ALS, they too often overlook the broader context: that people with ALS are still here, still active, still leading. Many are part of a vibrant, organized disability rights movement that has been demanding justice, access, and equity for decades.

What makes Dane’s story significant is not that he is “bravely battling” a disease, which is a trope that centers able-bodied fear, but that he is joining a long line of disabled advocates who have refused to be sidelined. Following Dane’s announcement, organizations like us, the Center for Disability Rights (CDR), affirms the importance of the message: “This is not the end of my story.” For decades, we fought for the recognition that disabled people can and do live full, self-directed lives. We continue to advocate for those who are still denied the care and support they need to do everyday things: go to work, have relationships, participate in their communities. Our mission isn’t about charity, it’s about rights. Accessible housing, equitable healthcare, community-based services, and true inclusion aren’t extras. They’re essential.

Dane’s visibility also brings attention to legislative efforts such as the Latonya Reeves Act. Named after a pioneering Black disabled activist, the Act seeks to expand access to personal care attendants, mobility tools, and inclusive infrastructure. It would also enforce stronger protections against institutionalization—something many disabled people are still fighting to avoid. For those living with ALS and other disabilities, policies like these aren’t abstract. They determine whether people can live at home, work, engage in relationships, and remain part of their communities.

Importantly, Dane’s openness is not about overcoming disability, it’s about living authentically within it. It disrupts the harmful idea that disabled lives are incomplete or lesser. In choosing to lead publicly as a disabled person, he is pushing back against stigma and offering representation that is sorely needed.

Already, the impact of his disclosure is being felt. Disabled communities are rallying, and nondisabled allies are being called in…not to “help” in a saviorist sense, but to join the movement for disability justice. We want you to understand that disability is not the end of the story. For many, it’s a beginning—a shift into deeper community, clarity of values, and collective action.

In this moment, Eric Dane is not “fighting” ALS. He is living with it and living fully. He is not “inspirational” because he continues to work and he’s simply a disabled person showing up on his own terms. And that, in itself, is enough.

To Eric Dane, and to every disabled person navigating systems built without us in mind; We see you, we stand with you, and we continue the work together.