I’m Disabled: Coming In and Coming Out

When I hear the word “disabled,” my mind immediately conjures folks in wheelchairs, individuals with conditions like cerebral palsy or autism, and older folks with mobility limitations—in other words, only extremes. (Just to be clear, these are all disabilities, and these folks are wonderful and beautiful.)

And I don’t think I’m alone in picturing these extremes. Our society has stereotyped folks with disabilities for a long time, and these stereotypes are pervasive in our media, our interactions, and our mindsets.

Just the other day, I went to a movie-in-the-park series that started off with The Goonies, a childhood fav. One character, named “Sloth” is the quintessential disabled character in media. Played by a nondisabled actor who apparently underwent five hours of make-up to become his character (according to Wikipedia), “Sloth” is portrayed as slow (if the name is any indication), unintelligent, and childlike. These are the images of disabled folks that I and many others grew up with.

Even in really common, everyday language we see hints of these stereotypes. We use words like “crazy,” “dumb,” “insane,” and “stupid” literally fifty times a day and never stop to think about the historic uses and current impact of these words on people with disabilities. The pervasive use of these words continues to perpetuate stereotypes about disabled people that are super messed up. (Thanks to my friend and disability activist Jaxson Benjamin for this learning!)

Photo sources: https://wiki.ubc.ca/Ableism; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ableism

My own process of coming into my disabilities has been lifelong. I’ve had asthma since childhood but never really considered it a disability, despite my reliance on daily medication and a rescue inhaler to exercise. Having asthma never prevented me from being an athlete and pursuing all the physical activities that are a key part of my life. It just meant it was a little harder without the aid of medication.

I only recently realized that my struggles with mental illness are categorized as a disability. This also doesn’t fit my image of disability, but it does make a bit of sense. It’s taken me some time, but I now understand that mental illness truly is a disease*, and when I’m really bad, I don’t leave bed all day, just like when I’m sick. Does my mental illness impact my ability to do everyday tasks? Yes. Do I rely on aids to help me go about my day? Yep. (Thank goodness for therapy and meds.) Is this a disability? I guess it is.

But this summer, I made my first foray into a visible disability when I got hearing aids. I first need to share with the world that I LOVE my hearing aids. My audiologist told me that I was working twice as hard to hear speech, and having this aid amplify sound has been a game changer. All the cool high school kids are saying that it’s pretty great to listen to my music or podcast without anybody else noticing (because the sound goes directly to my hearing aids, no headphones needed), and they’re not wrong. I did worry that people would treat me differently if they saw me--a healthy looking, 30-year-old--wearing hearing aids. But I vowed to myself to be open and proud about them because they’re super great. I’m the same me, just visibly disabled.

My first visible disability made me ponder why I now was okay accepting the label “disabled” when before I wasn’t. With my invisible disabilities, I could pass as non-disabled, and until now, I have been able to hide all the aids, supports, and workarounds that have become a part of my life. But now with hearing aids, I can’t hide. It’s caused a coming out of sorts, one that I am proud of and is becoming a part of me.

About 10% of the U.S. population has an invisible disability. I think we need to really reconsider how we define disability and the impact that has on folks. Why did I feel the need to hide my disabilities for so long? How has that process been intertwined with shame? What would it look like to view disability on a spectrum that encompasses a wide range of conditions? What would it look like to live in a world created for disabled people?

I don’t want to fill this article with statistics about the stigma and oppression related to disability but it’s there and it sucks. I think some of this stigma may lessen the more we begin to see disability as a spectrum. So I encourage all of us to think about:

-        Do I rely on certain aids, supports, or workarounds to go about my daily life?

-        Are there certain times when I’m unable to go through the motions of daily life? Why?

-        Do I use ableist language in my daily life and what impact does that have on society at large?

-        Do I have hidden parts of myself that I’m afraid to share with the world? Why?

-        What would it take to make me feel confident in sharing my most authentic self with the world?

All I know is that, contrary to so many stereotypes, THIS is what disability looks like. And this is only one of the MANY representations of disability in our society.

Photo cred: Elise Massicotte

I feel the urge the end with some positive disability hashtags so pardon me while I dive into this research myself and share some of the good ones out there with you…. Check them out: #DisabilityJustice #InvisibleIllness #Inclusion #DisabilityPride #DisabledAndCute

*This word comes with a lot of connotations. Mentally ill people aren’t “diseased” like “ew, gross, bad” diseased; I just mean that our mental illnesses should be treated just as seriously as physical diseases would be.