Today, I am going to talk about 3 things:
1. The History of Disability Pride Month
2. Why People with Disabilities Celebrate Disability Pride Month When They Already Have Disability Employment Awareness Month (October)
3. The Relevance of Disability Pride Month in 2020
Over the past year, I have had to unlearn so many stigmas I believed about myself and the disabled community. Ableism runs DEEP in our society and I still have to correct myself now and again.
That is why I do what I do.
If I, having lived with a disability my entire life, have to unlearn the way I think about the disabled lived condition, you do too.
We all do.
So, whether you’re one of my original subscribers, or brand new to the party this week, let’s look back on the top 10 things you should have learned by following my blog and social media accounts this year.
Gastritis.
After 15 minutes with the doctor, that was the initial diagnosis. I was to take an over the counter antacid for 2 weeks and then report back if things didn’t improve.
Less than 10 days later, I was plopped down on an examination table feeling as though I could vomit at any moment.
Blood was drawn. Urine was collected. A pelvic examination was completed. Still nothing.
I am disabled and, therefore, have an automatic disadvantage in this world, BUT I still have a massive amount of privilege due to the color of my skin.
Below I have highlighted 11 different Instagram accounts that are run by disabled people of color. While these accounts vary in their level of activism, regular exposure to this marginalized perspective will help with general awareness and societal normalization.
I am truly obsessed with the dinosaur of television shows, Grey’s Anatomy. My consumption of the 300+ episodes available on Netflix has been sudden and frantic, but fruitful nonetheless. Over the past 9 months I have watched the entire series one and ⅞ times, ignoring all other shows and focusing my attention solely on the happenings of Grey Sloan Memorial. I’ve convinced myself that if I watch the show often enough, I will absorb all medical knowledge and become the next best thing to a medical student. Unfortunately, my second round of watching the show has not yet offered this all-knowing insight, but it has taught me quite a bit about the power of relationships in the medical field.
When I was 10 years old and visiting my first beach they were all I could think about. I had come prepared with my own bucket and spade, ready to take on any challenge that may come my way. The first obstacle presented itself almost immediately after I jumped out of the car. My wheelchair is my mode of transport, but it refused to trudge through the sand, leaving me with two options:
I’ve stared at a wide range of butts in my day. I apologize if that sounds crass, but it’s my reality. Anytime I am sitting in my wheelchair with someone standing in front of me, the first thing my eyes have to focus on is someone else’s derriere. To say the least, it’s not exactly my favorite view.
Cobblestones are the WORST. They suck, they hurt, and they are absolutely EVERYWHERE in Europe. As a passenger, your discomfort is defined by how spread apart each individual stone is. The closer they sit together, the more likely it is that you will receive an all-expenses-paid, skin-tingling, muscle-vibrating butt massage. Now, before you get too excited by this seemingly wonderful gift, I must warn you of the long term consequences of this situation.
My unprotected eyes are burning in the mid-afternoon sun. My black leggings provide the perfect disguise for the ever growing amount of swass that is pooling in my wheelchair. My mouth feels so dry, I feel like if I don’t drink water soon, I may begin to resemble the dried-up, Spongebob meme that is always making its rounds on Tumblr.
At the ripe age of 10 years old, I had the privilege of traveling to Washington D.C. with my family on summer vacation. Being the bratty pre-teen that I was, for most of the trip, all I cared about was how hot it was outside. There was a specific MELTdown at the National Archives building that I’d prefer to never think about again.
Even with sweat-induced rage pulsing through my veins at almost every hour of the day, I still managed to create one intense, positive memory.