How I learnt to be comfortable with the word disabled

hello everyone! 🙂

welcome back to my blog.

the following article was published in the LSR college magazine’s Newsletter “Laal Deewarein”-Issue 02. I wrote this one back in February and it still feels quite surreal to realise that this not only got published but also opened the newsletter.

the theme for this month’s issue was “beyond the echo chamber.” I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. 🙂

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I spent the last two days reading a blog. I found myself reading one, like this, after a long time.

Looking back at that day in December of 2018 when I was supposed to study for my exams but instead I chose to google random things after a reality check I didn’t know I needed through ‘school heritage walk’. I remember quietly reading, and reading, and reading. Pages upon pages of blog posts led me to peruse the whole website in just 2-3 days and binge on around four years of content. Content I did not know I needed.

I grew up with a disability.

Born with one, my disability has been a part of my life and I have known no different. I don’t remember any specific moment where I suddenly realised (or was made to realise) that I was blind. It would or wouldn’t have happened. I remember my parents talking about it and myself answering the queries of my teachers when I got old enough, telling them about Braille and how they can support me during classes. Yet, the word “disabled” was never used. It was always “special” or “differently abled” or something in that non-’disabled’ genre I don’t even remember. I remember revisiting my old journal entries (before the file corrupted) and cringing hard. But then I was never taught that “disabled” isn’t a bad word because no one actively used it around me instead of, of course, (sometimes) the paperwork. But with the benefit of hindsight, even there, “differently abled” was used. Since I hadn’t been around people who actively used it, I just picked up the given vocabulary, as it was, for myself. At times, while growing up, certain things just didn’t feel right. But not being called “disabled” was at that time, not a part of the list.

I remember emailing the author of that first blog I read soon after reading the blog asking her why she used the word “disabled” and not “differently abled” for herself. I do slightly cringe at this act of mine now but I don’t regret it. I’m also glad that email went unanswered and she dodged my questions. Reading her blog led me to a lot of other bloggers and disabled and chronically-ill content creators. I discovered the joy of finding a blog and then spending days at the end catching up with all that I had missed and then clicking the ‘follow’ button. A blog to me is like an unending novel. And I love(d) it.

I do not exactly remember the beginning of this shift, but something clicked and I began to find myself getting rather defensive when someone called me by a euphemism. My education mode kicked in and I tried to tell them why I prefer being called “disabled”. The content creators I followed at that time somehow became a part of my rather isolated disabled life and I found comfort in those words of a stranger living miles apart who I’ll never get to meet.

Making friends doesn’t come naturally to me. It never did. And perhaps my disability played and still has a part to play in it. I am still figuring it out. Those bloggers and YouTubers became my friends. And after many months of me reading and engaging, I began commenting and jumped with joy when anyone replied.

It is as though I had found something I didn’t know I needed. I’m still learning. And on some days, I get reminded of how far I’ve come and how long the path ahead is. I remember smiling when I realised I no longer shy away from calling myself “disabled.”

Now every time I call myself “disabled” I go back to the joy I experienced feeling I’m less alone, in unlearning and learning new things and allowing myself to laugh and get teary, engaging with these people I know yet don’t know.

Not everyone will identify themselves as “disabled” and that’s okay. I learnt that it is always the best thing to ask how someone identifies themselves and I respect their choices. However, if you’ve reached the end of this and if there is anything you take away I hope it’s that “disabled” is not a bad word and being “disabled” with all its issues is not as bad of a thing as some nondisabled people make it to be.

Belonging to a “minority” which is so often forgotten is hard. More often than I’d like to admit I’m the first disabled person someone has ever met. So no matter whether we want to or not, it is a constant task to educate people around us. Sometimes all that lack of access and being forgotten feels like an echo chamber you can’t get out of. Certain days are harder than others and on days like those, I seek refuge in books and Taylor Swift.

Everyone goes on their own journey towards acceptance. It never stops. It is ongoing. And I have just started mine. Unlike a lot of people I follow, I’m nowhere near being absolutely proud of being disabled but am getting there, slowly. And I think allowing myself to be comfortable with the word “disabled” and allowing myself to be identified as nothing but “disabled” is one step closer towards that journey. I wish we grew up with more representation and exposure. My disability isn’t the only thing which makes me me. But it surely is a part of me and my life and has an impact on how I live and do things.