‘I don’t even think of you as disabled,’ my colleague offers, hand on my shoulder, like he’s trying to commiserate. I’ve heard some version of this ‘accolade’ for much of my life. All I can think to say back is ‘That’s not the compliment you think it is.’
He chuckles to distract from the sweat invading his brow. I crank my mobility scooter from tortoise to hare and whoosh away before he can retort, knowing I can only hold my pretend politeness for so long. The ghosts of ableisms 1 past flash before me: every person who has ever told me they’d rather die than be disabled, cheering on my heroism for simply existing as a disabled woman, with all the comfort of a porcupine’s cuddle. How can praise feel so prickly?
The truth is, no one dreams of their future including disability, until it does. Amidst the baby shower fantasies, most parents don’t imagine canes and crutches for their little bundles of joy. Disabled is not high on the ‘what you want to be when you grow up’ list. People’s five-year plans generally don’t include becoming disabled.
But perhaps they should. Not only because we represent 15% of the global population.2 Or because we are the only marginalized group you can join at any time. But because disability is a gift.
I don’t mean this in a feel-good movie way rooted in toxic positivity.3 I mean disability is a gift; an imaginative force that calls us to celebrate the biodiversity of creation, an invitation to create new systems and structures that allow all body-minds to thrive. We already have a category for how beneficial disability can be in nature; we just don’t apply it to humans.
