content warning: internalized ablism

I’ve never considered myself disabled. I excelled in school and when I didn’t, it was because I just didn’t put in enough effort. I didn’t do the homework. I didn’t study. I looked pretty and skinny, and therefore healthy, and when I hurt, it was because I wasn’t careful. I didn’t watch where I was walking. I didn’t exercise enough.

I’ve never presented as disabled, so I assumed I could not be. I assumed the ways that school was hard for me was my fault. I assumed the pain I experienced was my fault.

My wrists and ankles have always been very susceptible to twists and sprains; by the time I was in middle school I had sprained my wrists and ankles at least 3 times each. I was really clumsy though, and if I’d just exercise my wrists and ankles, maybe they would be stronger.

Since middle school, I’ve experienced bad acid reflux that has caused periods of repetitive and painful burping. Well that only happened because I ate too fast and liked to burp to impress my friends.

I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in high school, but even that I had never considered a disability. I was resistant to medication and I still don’t have official accommodations; part of me still believes that the anxiety is my fault.

As a result of my anxiety, I experience headaches, back pain, and stomach aches. But if I could just figure out how to not internalize my anxiety, that would all go away.

I’m neurodivergent (possibly adhd, although I haven’t been diagnosed), but I had no idea until about a year ago when I started learning about the variety of ways that neurodivergency can present. I was always the gifted kid, but I struggled keeping up with homework and deadlines. I talked a lot in class and picked up on lectures very quickly, but I couldn’t study. I always thought I was just doing it wrong.

Even the way I talk about my pain holds me responsible: I procrastinate. I hold my stress in my back. I eat too fast. I’m too clumsy.

The idea of disability has always been other. I did not want to be disabled, because it would make me other. But I also didn’t feel disabled enough. I got by in school. I didn’t need to use a wheelchair. In my imagining, disability was reserved for the most serious, tragic, life ruining cases. And my life was just a little hard. And wasn’t it my fault that it was hard anyway?

When disability is primarily conceptualized as visible, it can be hard to reconcile internal pain and stress with external success and praise, but the experience of disability and impairment is often invisible and internal. Pain cannot easily be expressed and shared. Oppression is often made invisible to those with privilege.

I still don’t know that I am comfortable labeling myself disabled. I still feel like I’m claiming an experience that isn’t mine. I haven’t been discriminated against due to an external presentation of disability. But I think I’m working towards an understanding of myself that exists within disability. My life has been impaired, because of aspects of my body and mind that are, to a certain degree, outside of my control, and the systems in which I exist are not organized to help me with those impairments.