We have all probably lived this ableist moment at one point in our lives. When one of our non-disabled besties says, "Yeah, ya know, I don't even think of you as disabled."

Hmmm, let's unpack that for this blog post.

The incident I am referring to happened when my friend and I were out shopping one afternoon, and she was driving. We were circling the parking garage looking for the disabled parking. In parking garages, the disabled spots are often near the elevators, either in the center or the periphery of the garage. She is used to being able to park wherever she wants. So searching for disabled parking wasn't something she was accustomed to doing. As I'm helping her look, and as she is getting more frustrated, she comments, "Yeah, ya know, I don't even think of you as disabled."

It was an internal, "what'd she just say?" moment. I was immediately conflicted in how I should respond to this ableist slight, if at all. On the one hand, I knew it was an innocent comment with no ill intent. On the other hand, I knew she was saying it as a compliment of sorts and it tweaked my ableism antenna. Unfortunately, there is a deeply rooted negative bias linked to disability in our society. I didn’t want that kind of compliment.

To be completely honest, I don't remember if I said anything in reply or not. I want to hope I said, "Well, but I am,” affirming my sense of self-acceptance with being disabled. But, there is just as good of a chance that I didn't say anything, and I just let it slide. Because, well, these moments can be complex and complicated. I try not to judge disabled people for how they respond in such moments because judgment doesn't leave a lot of room for growth and grace. It also doesn't leave a lot of space for gray areas to exist. And while a part of me feels strongly about my disability pride, when you are confronted with putting that pride into action, that is where the journey to disability self-love and self-acceptance are truly put to the test.

And the fact is, the journey can be a long and evolving road. There are no simple answers or magic epiphanies. And I would never try to pretend to prescribe such an idea in this blog post, or ever. However, I believe that if we seek equality and acceptance from the larger (non-disabled) world, we first have to have and show that acceptance for ourselves. And a big step of living this authentic life of self-love and self-acceptance can occur when we take a minute to face these challenging moments and encourage more honest dialogue.

A Little Background

Until my mid-twenties, I was the only disabled person in my family or close circle of friends. The ways that I acknowledged my disability as part of my identity were non-intentional. Meaning, I knew that my disability made me different from others, but I didn't necessarily see it as a "bad thing," it just wasn't a thing that I focused on. I concentrated on other things-- things like getting good grades, making friends, having fun, spending time with family, enjoying my crafts and hobbies, in short, just living life.

And for many of these foundational years, as I like to call them, I think focusing on things other than my disability was maybe a good thing. My mom always made a point to make me, and everyone who interacted with me, understand that even though I was "differently able" (although now I hate those euphemisms), I wasn't less able, or more importantly, less worthy. Or, in her words, "That's just Jody." I think she wanted me to know that my life was more than my disability. But at some point I came to realize that to reconcile my identity as a proud disabled woman, I was going to have to accept the intertwining of my life and disability. My disability is my life and my life is disabled.

As I got older and more confident in my disabledness, I was less willing to compromise and let ableist comments slide. For example, after I started using a scooter, I made it clear to my family that I couldn't go on any vacations without having it with me. I also started talking about my life "as a disabled" person more. I gave more voice to the struggles and frustrations of disabled daily life that I did not previously bring to their attention. Not to complain or seek pity, but just as a way to say, "This is my life. These are my needs. If you love me and accept me, then you love and accept my disability."

Both of my parents are gone now, but a part of me wonders if they ever really understood and learned to accept my disabled identity in the same way I have done for myself. In some ways, I know they couldn't entirely because they are not me. No one can truly live your experience for you. I know they loved me unconditionally as their child and were proud of my life’s accomplishments thus far. But were they proud of me despite my disability or because of it?

In my years of becoming more a part of the disabled community and exploring and embracing my own disabled identity, I have come to understand how ableist comments like the one my friend made are deeply problematic. Doing better at confronting ableist comments and engaging in potentially uncomfortable conversations is vitally important. Ultimately, for disabled people to be more fully included in society, we have to confront the conversations that challenge our disabled identity. I've come to think of these interpersonal exchanges as versions of micro-aggressions because the result of these comments continues to perpetuate subtle or unintentional discrimination. When someone says they don't see or acknowledge your identity, they are actually claiming it is void. And with that void comes a lack of recognition of the marginalization and struggle that we face daily simply to co-exist in society.

And I don't know about you, but I am done with being marginalized.