Disabled And Proud?

Are you Disabled and Proud?

I knew the question was coming, of course it was, I was a guest on the Disabled and Proud podcast, hosted by the fabulous Brooke Millhouse , and it was not my first rodeo. But I was joined by my bestie and my fellow co-founder of Disabled by Society , Celia Chartres-Aris (née Hensman) .

We had just spent the past hour having the most honest and real conversation about Disability and Pride and now, it was time for the closing question. “Are you Disabled and Proud?”

For most of my life, my internalised ableism made me hate who I was. What I felt was the opposite of Pride. It was shame. I hated being Disabled, but yet it is all I have ever known. Who would I be if I wasn’t born Disabled?

If I wasn't born Disabled...

I wouldn't have struggled to make friends. The other kids wouldn't have shouted or made fun of me for standing in front of the blackboard. I wouldn't have been bullied. I would have been able to play sports with them. I would have gotten invited to the other kids' parties. I think I would have had a great time.

I would have never learnt how the word “special” felt. Teachers wouldn't have given me “special” work. I wouldn't have had to go to a special school. I wouldn't have needed teachers to be specially trained. My class would have been a lot bigger than just 6 of us. I wouldn’t have had to worry about returning to mainstream education to finish my education. I wouldn’t have been bullied, well at least not for being Disabled. I wouldn’t have had to learn to hide who I was.

Better safe than risk the mistreatment.

I could have stayed at university those three times, or at least finished one of those courses. I wouldn't have needed extra support. Maybe I wouldn't have started binge drinking. I wouldn’t have self-destructed. I wouldn't hold so much shame and regret for the years that followed.

I wouldn't have needed to understand what internalised ableism was. I wouldn’t have had to wonder why society treated me differently. Maybe I wouldn't have hated myself. Maybe I wouldn't have felt ashamed. Maybe I wouldn't have spiralled. Maybe I wouldn’t have needed all those antidepressants, that only made things worse. Maybe just maybe I wouldn’t have hurt myself and those around me.

I wouldn't have had to understand what it means to be Disabled By Society . I would have been able to apply for all kinds of jobs. I wouldn't have been ghosted or rejected for when asking for an adjustment. I wouldn't have struggled because of no adjustments.

I could have been the pilot I dreamed of as a child, the one who was able to fly away from it all.

I would have felt confident navigating in public. I wouldn't have needed to ask for help. I wouldn’t have had to endure the judgy comments or the ableist commentary. No more you don't look it. You can't be. I wouldn't need to experience the trauma, the hurt, the frustration, the pity. The self-loathing. The depression. The binge drinking. The self-harming, the hurt, the want to find a way out, the….

But I was born Disabled.

And for all of my life, I only saw it as something to hide, deny, or feel shame about. There was no Disability Pride. I only experienced inaccessibility. I learnt from a young age that for the rest of my life I would have to continue the battle my mother had fought for me growing up. To get me an education. To get me suppo. To get me the help I needed. I wish I could say I learnt how to bear that torch and found the strength for those battles, but for years I lost.

I struggled in university. I struggled to gain and retain employment. I struggled to feel accepted. I struggled physically, mentally, and those around me suffered as I spiralled. Internalised ableism is not fun.

I remember having lost one job and returning to the job centre, breaking down as the clerk was asking me about the gaps and short employment periods on my CV. “I keep losing jobs,” I cried, trying to explain how behaviours and attitudes changed when they found out I was Disabled. The clerk came rushing around the door to bypass the glass screen separating us to give me a hug. She assured me she’d find me a great employer. Emotionally vulnerable me believed her, but beyond that office, she could only know so much, and as most Disabled people know, that all-singing, all-dancing company isn’t always what it says it is on the tin.

It took me a long time to find that strength, to find my voice, to be able to articulate my needs.

I lost myself but in doing so I was able to find myself.

To find that confidence to speak up. To articulate what I need. To feel like I wasn’t the problem. To say I am Disabled. But yet I still wouldn’t say I was Disabled and Proud.

I wouldn't be where I am, doing what I am doing, or even writing this, if I wasn't born Disabled. The disabling ableist, inaccessible experiences that over years of continuous exposure crushed me. These experiences, however painful, however hurtful they were at the time, shaped me into the person I am today. I spent years experiencing what it meant to be disabled by society, so no, I do not always feel proud that I am Disabled.

But I am proud of what I have overcome. What I have achieved.

I no longer refuse to sit back and politely accept the inaccessibility and ableism of a disabling society.

Wishing everyone an accessible, inclusive Disability Pride Month.

Jamie Shields