Disabled People Aren’t Superheroes

OK, so. Who else is a little tired of having to point out that disabled people are regular people?

That ‘special needs’ is outdated, and everyone has needs that are unique to them?

That person-first language is wrong?

That disabled people’s stories should be written by disabled writers themselves, and that disabled characters should be played by disabled actors?

That the access inclusion seeker deal sounds like some video game quest?

That disabled isn’t a bad word, and it’s OK to #SayTheWord. (An article on the hashtag is over here.)

The thing is this. I am disabled. Mostly by society/inaccessibility. My CP is not a big deal to me, but it’s a big part of me, and it doesn’t need fixing.

It isn’t on us to fix ourselves, as every other new-fangled or old-fangled euphemism for disability implies, but more that access to EVERYTHING needs to be improved.

And if you’re a disabled person who knows that disabled people aren’t superheroes, you are my kind of people.

My self-acceptance comes from having CP my entire life and liking that life.

The crappy parts of growing up had little to do with the fact that I used a blue, and then a purple and then a green, and chrome wheelchair to get around.

But I had to constantly prove to teachers and other educational professionals first that I could be educated, and then that I was smart.

After a while the only difference I found was in gym, and inaccessible school trips.

Being excluded from things when I was a kid sucked, but even then I knew it wasn’t my problem.

I sat off-stage during one school play, not because of my CP, but because there was no ramp to the stage. After that year, I was lifted onstage on my wheels.

I wasn’t embarrassed, it was life.

Fast forward to when I got married, and we couldn’t get married outside. Because I didn’t want to be dragged backwards down the aisle over grass, and we couldn’t have a flat surface platform built.

I wasn’t upset, we found another venue.

Fast forward again, to talking to other disabled mothers.

Seeing people upset that they can’t get on the floor and play with their kids.

Well, I love my kid with all my heart, and she knows it, but I’ve never gotten on the floor to play with her. Instead of feeling bad because being disabled keeps me off the floor, we always did other things.

And that’s OK.

Instead of being mad at your disabled body, be pissed that there are no chairs to sit on in playgroup.

Instead of wishing you could walk, ask why there are steps and no ramp somewhere.

Instead of being oh-so-grateful that someone opened a door for you, question the absence of automatic doors.

I write this blog to normalise my disabled life. Because it is normal, even boring.

I’d like to move on from stating the obvious disabled people are just people.

But every time I write/do something throughly normal, like travelling, or getting coffee, or getting out of bed and being a mother, people say you’re a superhero/rockstar/unicorn.

And then I compare notes with my disabled friends, and we laugh and laugh.

Because unless you are Touretteshero, disabled people aren’t actually superheroes. Even without capes.

We are regular people. Regular people who should have access to medical care when needed.

Funny, smart, annoying, regular people and we do not exist to serve as an inspiration or lesson for non-disabled people by our mere existence.

I call my four year-old a rockstar for putting on her own shoes. Think about that.

We are not children. We don’t need praise.

We are disabled, and it’s not a bad word or life.

We don’t need to be fixed. We need access.

(This post was edited to include more up to date articles)