\u201cYou\u2019ll be known as a disabled writer,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd the insights that you have will be so valuable.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll be a writer <\/span>with a disability,\u201d <\/span><\/i>I said, instantly.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She just shook her head and smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s the same thing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I disagreed with her, then. It took me years to understand why, and even more years to understand why I was wrong.<\/span><\/p>\n ***<\/span><\/p>\n These years later, I now work for a <\/span>literary festival in Canada<\/span><\/a>. In this as well as my own work as a disabled writer, I\u2019ve often encountered other writers who will talk about their disabilities in private but refrain from calling themselves disabled in the public space\u2014in much the same way as I did in that conversation with my manager all those years ago.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As festivals, as arts organizations, we have a responsibility to ensure accurate representation of the disability community, which comprises roughly 20% of the population. But it can be hard to reflect that statistic when people don\u2019t disclose. What happens, then, when you as an organizer know that you\u2019re showcasing disabled artists\u2014but only in secret?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n To be clear: I don\u2019t want<\/span> people to disclose their disabilities if they\u2019re uncomfortable doing so. I also want to acknowledge that it is often <\/span>unsafe <\/span><\/i>for many people to disclose disability publicly\u2014from employment discrimination through to social discrimination, being open about one\u2019s disabilities can often lead to further complications.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Instead I want to ask: what kind of world makes this discomfort possible? And what is it about this world that we can seek to change?<\/span><\/p>\n ***<\/span><\/p>\n Part of the reason I was hesitant to call myself disabled was, for a long time, because of privilege. I am a white woman with mild cerebral palsy\u2014I have a limp, and chronic pain, and all of this gets worse with fatigue. But I can also pass at times for someone who is able-bodied. I have a lot of non-disabled privilege even in spite of my disability, and for a long time I worried that claiming the word <\/span>disabled <\/span><\/i>for myself meant that I was taking space away from someone else who might deserve it more.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But what does this do, this assumption that there is only limited space for disability issues? It assumes that our concern for disability necessarily has limits\u2014that there are some disabilities we\u2019ll consider legitimate and others that we won\u2019t. It also perpetuates the idea that disability is a niche interest\u2014something that only impacts a few people with very specific conditions, when in fact disability is an incredibly wide umbrella. It covers conditions invisible and visible, mild and severe. It is a spectrum that touches almost everyone in some kind of way. Even if you live your life without a disability of some kind and are lucky enough to grow old, chances are you\u2019ll encounter disability in some form as you age.<\/span><\/p>\n In refraining from calling myself disabled, I was perpetuating the idea, however unconsciously, and even in spite of my good intentions, that only a few people \u201cdeserve\u201d the disabled identity, and thus only a few people deserve the accommodations that are a necessary part of thriving. This perpetuates the ableism that continues to disenfranchise disabled people in the first place, and reinforces the idea that disability issues do not affect or impact non-disabled society\u2014because they only impact a few.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n But that conversation with my manager those years ago also took the shape it did because I worried, at the time, that putting my disability first would somehow make me less\u2014because <\/span>I <\/span><\/i>saw my disability as less. <\/span>I<\/span><\/i> saw writing about disability as niche, as not as interesting as writing about other things\u2014because <\/span>I<\/span><\/i> saw disability<\/span> as a niche interest, a single bookshelf in the bookstore as opposed to something that is, in fact, a universal consideration. In the community, this is what we call <\/span>internalized ableism\u2014<\/span><\/i>the ways in which the ableist views of the disabled body as less-than weave and wind themselves through the disabled person\u2019s understanding of society. It took a few more years of growth and understanding of my own disability and needs\u2014as well as the gentle guidance of my disabled peers and fellow disabled writers\u2014before I realized that my hesitancy was complicity, and that a significant part of my journey toward disability advocacy rested in claiming the term disabled for myself.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It took yet a few more years of growth after <\/span>that <\/span><\/i>to understand that there is no hierarchy when it comes to disability\u2014that we are all of us entitled to what we need in order to thrive in the world. As a physically disabled woman who also has non-disabled privilege and mobility, the space that I occupy is different from that of a disabled person who might use a wheelchair, or have invisible disabilities. Accordingly, the accommodations and assistive devices that I need will be different from the accommodations that others might require\u2014but all of our needs should be met regardless. Occupying my own disabled body and navigating my own disability challenges does not take away from or overshadow the needs of others\u2014we need to make space for them all.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n ***<\/span><\/p>\n What does this mean, then, in public spaces? It means that I put <\/span>cerebral palsy <\/span><\/i>in my Twitter bio; when I go to festivals and speak at events in person and online, I call myself a disabled writer. I do this because I know that even though I am perfectly capable of talking about other things<\/span> when it comes to writing apart from disability\u2014ask me about structure, and world-building, and what kind of research one might need to do when writing a <\/span>strange centaur novel<\/span><\/a>\u2014the fact is that my disability has influenced everything I write. I am who I am because of my disability and how it\u2019s shaped my life, and I want the world to know this.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n In calling myself a disabled writer, I also want the world to know and recognize that many aspects of disability\u2014though not all!\u2014are caused by the built environment, and that environment is a reflection of certain choices and decisions. We have the technology and the infrastructure to ensure an accessible environment for all who need it\u2014the barriers to this are social more often than not. Just look at the ways in which accommodations that have long been fought for by disabled people\u2014such as working from home, grocery delivery, and flexibility with class schedules and assignments\u2014became available almost overnight for the majority of the population in the wake of the COVID-19 crisis.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So much of the world we live in is built on a \u201cone-size-fits-all\u201d approach, with the understanding that those who do not fit into this system must get left behind. But what happens when we say <\/span>this isn\u2019t good enough? <\/span><\/i>What happens when we build a better world?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When I call myself disabled, and when I encourage those who are ready to claim the name for themselves\u2014in much the same way that my fellow disabled writers once encouraged me\u2014I am reaching for that world. The one where we all understand that there is no one-size-fits-all\u2014that bodies come in different shapes and sizes, with varying levels of ability, and that it is our responsibility to meet <\/span>all <\/span><\/i>of these bodies in whatever ways we can. When I say that I am a disabled writer, I am saying that I do not think disabled is a bad word\u2014that I can speak about disability in writing as well as a hundred other things. I am saying that disability has made me a <\/span>better<\/span><\/i> writer, because it keeps me alive to the ways in which the world treats those who are different, and reminds me of the ways in which I can use my words to fight for a world that is better than the one we have. And I am encouraging my fellow writers who might not yet be at that point to consider what it likewise might mean for them to claim the same.<\/span><\/p>\n When I call myself disabled, I am saying that the disability community is wide and bright and beautiful, and welcoming of all, and that we become stronger with every person who joins us. I call myself disabled so that others with disabilities across a wide spectrum might one day feel comfortable doing the same.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Because life is, indeed, too short for someone else\u2019s shame.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Amanda Leduc is a disabled Canadian writer and author of the non-fiction book <\/span>Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability and Making Space<\/span><\/a>, as well as the novel <\/span>The Miracles of Ordinary Men<\/span><\/a>. <\/span><\/i>Her new novel, <\/span>The Centaur\u2019s Wife<\/span><\/a>, <\/span><\/i>is forthcoming from Random House Canada in February 2021. She has cerebral palsy and lives in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, where she serves as the Communications and Development Coordinator for the <\/span>Festival of Literary Diversity<\/span><\/a>, Canada\u2019s first festival for diverse authors and stories.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Website: https:\/\/amandaleduc.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n Twitter: @AmandaLeduc<\/a><\/p>\n Instagram: @amanda.leduc<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"ABOUT<\/b><\/h4>\n
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