Unapologetically and pride?

What’s the difference? I mean, isn’t it like being proud? Am I happy to be disabled?

The answers are: there’s a significant difference, no, and no.

The real question is, what do I mean when I say I’m “unapologetically disabled?”

There’s many experiences that come with being disabled that are dehumanizing. That’s a strong word, isn’t it? Let me explain. The first experiences I had with being disabled were before I even knew what was going on. My body was damaged, and I didn’t know why. Navy doctors said I was faking it. I would limp as fast as I could down the passageways on the ship and people would shove past me saying “Get moving, shipmate!!!” or “Start moving with a purpose, sailor!!!” I was in the Navy, people don’t become disabled in the Navy, do they? Later, I would be accused of faking to try to get out of deployment. (Spoiler alert: I wasn’t, and I didn’t, and I wouldn’t trade the experience of a Navy deployment for the world.) I started apologizing to everyone.

Getting a handicap tag was a whole new experience. I waited for a long time to get one, because of the stigma. I also didn’t feel as if I was “handicapped enough” to use one. I finally did it, because the parking at college was way too far for me to handle. At the time, I didn’t really use a cane, so my disability was largely invisible, other than a limp that I would try to hide. I had people yell at me all the time for “stealing Grandma’s handicap tag.” One person purposely blocked in my car, and my advisor had to come out and help me make a 25 point turn or so to inch my way out. I kept apologizing.

All of this could really be labeled “more than slightly annoying.” Easily brushed off unless you’re me, and stuck in my social anxiety-ridden brain that has trouble handling rude people. Then I started having to use a wheelchair on occasion, on those days that I needed to get out but my joints were just not playing the game that day. It’s a whole new ball game, one that perfectly describes why I use the term “dehumanizing.” I’ve had people move me out of their way while I was looking at a museum exhibit. I’ve had people look me dead in the eye and move to stand in front of me, placing their butts in my face. I apologized for being in everyone’s way.

The worst experience so far has been and incident from graduate school. For many reasons, I didn’t have a wonderful first semester, so I had to appeal to get financial aide. One of the questions I had to answer was “How do you plan to succeed despite your disability?” It sounds dumb. Like I shouldn’t have been offended. However, I had ONE bad semester. I graduated from 2 different colleges with honors and a 3.5 GPA with degrees in Biology and Mathematics. One bad semester, and suddenly I’m a danger to allow in the college, because I’m disabled.

I had to write a letter that felt like I was justifying my existence as a disabled student, assuring the powers that be that I would work harder than any other able-bodied student so that I didn’t unnecessarily take a spot away from a good able-bodied student. That’s how it felt. It was utterly dehumanizing, and I felt like I had failed everyone on so many levels, from my supportive family to all the professors that worked hard to help me through my undergraduate years. I especially felt awful when my health did eventually force me to take a break from school. Being disabled in academia is, however, another series of blogs for another day. I made my biggest apology yet and begged for a place in the college.

This incident made me realize how much I actually did apologize for everything. I was ashamed to use disabled parking, because someone needed it more than me, a young adult. I was ashamed to first use my cane. I would move my walker or my chair out of the way so everyone could go before me. I apologized for being in the way. I apologized to professors about needing accommodations. I apologized so much that I realized that I was apologizing for my very existence.

That’s pretty terrible on the self esteem.

The fact is that accommodations and accessibility are not advantages that I am given that are unfair. They are given to me so that the playing field is even, and I can participate in society with everyone else on terms of equality. I would go as far as to say that the ADA and violations thereof are civil rights matters, without which I would watch life go on from the sidelines, unable to take part with the “normal” crowd. (I use the term “normal” very loosely here, as the language of normalcy is problematic. That’s also another blog for another day.) I’m not “proud” of being disabled, however. It’s not something I accomplished. To me, pride is taken in one’s accomplishments. Being disabled is simply a thing that has occurred. It’s part of me, and who I am. It’s an integral part of my identity, which I am definitely not ashamed of.

Because I have anxiety disorders, it’s hard to stop apologizing. It’s time to try, though. I have no cause to apologize for my existence anymore or the accommodations I need to interact with society on equal terms. I am, therefore, unapologetically disabled.