Skip to main content

Article

I’m proud to be disabled. Here’s why.

A felt red heart hangs from rope against a wooden board.
Zoe Simmons

Oct 9, 2024

Growing up, I didn’t know I was disabled. Even when I was in my mid-20s and started developing fibromyalgia (a nerve disorder that causes chronic pain and fatigue), I was actively discouraged from identifying as disabled by those around me, including my medical team. They saw the label—and having access needs and using things that made my life easier, like mobility aids—as shameful; like I was “giving up” by using them.

But I wasn’t.

It’s rare for us to see disability accurately represented. Often, our stories are told by non-disabled people who paint our lives as a tragedy—or inspiration porn. Disability is often seen as something that we should separate ourselves from, or push through, even though pushing through usually just makes us sicker.

Our society is inherently ableist. So to openly identify as disabled—and to be proud of your disabilities—is a radical thing, especially in a world that largely doesn’t consider us, and certainly doesn’t celebrate us. We even have an entire month dedicated to us: Disability Pride Month, which almost no one remembers or mentions, aside from those of us who are disabled. Which is not at all surprising. And that’s why it’s even more important to celebrate disability pride.

Being proud of your disabilities is a journey. It’s not easy. It can be complicated, and the world around us can be so exclusionary, sometimes disabling us more than our conditions. That, combined with extreme ableism and stigma, can make it really hard to feel pride. The complete opposite, really: I often feel angry at how the world treats the disabled community. Add the impact of our disabilities themselves, and pride can be so much more challenging to feel—especially when you live with chronic pain and chronic illness that makes existing so painful and difficult.

But while it’s frustrating to exist in a world that doesn’t consider us, it's something I do take pride in.

An abstract image of a glass ball in a reflective circle.

I'm proud I've gone from feeling so lost and unsure about my disabled identity, to someone who can use their lived experience to create change.

I'm proud I can share disabled perspectives in spaces that previously had none, and use my passion to fight for better, systems, opportunities and accessibility for the next generation.

I'm proud I can reject stigma and ableism, advocate for my access needs (and others), and use the things that make my life easier--like mobility aids, despite people telling me that's shameful.

And I'm proud that I've been able to help other people do the same. Together, we're shifting the lens of the tragic disabled life. And together, we don't feel so alone.

We have to celebrate the wins, the good things, and the hard work we’ve done. Because we should be proud. We have to navigate so many systemic barriers—and it’s even harder for those who are multiply marginalised. Our very existence is resistance. And when we reject society’s rules to fit inside non-disabled boxes that benefit no one, we take another step towards justice. And that makes me proud.

It can be hard to feel positive about disability sometimes—but for me, there are a lot of positives: lived experience, community, purpose, connection, and the power transmute the darkness. There is nothing quite like disabled joy and radical self-love and care. It can be hard to put ourselves first—and to see pride and joy where others see shame and tragedy. But we get proud by practicing. And it starts every time we unapologetically embrace who we are—including our access needs and boundaries: even if others don’t understand it.

So I’ll use my wheelchair, even though my disabilities aren’t visible, and people often don’t understand that ambulatory wheelchair users exist.

I’ll call myself disabled, and call out anyone who infantilises me or further stigmatises disability by saying things like “aww, don’t call yourself that” (or worse).

I’ll share pictures of myself with various mobility aids. I’ll set boundaries with what I can do. And I’ll push for my access needs to be met.

But most importantly, I’ll keep fighting. And for that, I am always proud: no matter what.

Zoe Simmons is an award-winning disabled journalist, copywriter, author and speaker. You can follow her on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or LinkedIn for more.