Reminder: Disabled joy is radical
If you've been following me for a while, you know that I talk a lot about disabled joy. In fact, it's one of the pillars of all the work I do. I want to celebrate, feature, and promote disabled joy wherever I can.
And yet, in the last few weeks, I've been struggling with tapping into my own joy. As I've been dealing with physical and emotional fatigue, a little overwhelm, and a pinch of dysmorphia, joy has felt distant.
I know that this is just a season I'm in, and that it will pass. But it's made me think about how disabled joy — in whatever form it takes — is often an act of resistance.
It exists in spite of so much.
And that's what makes it radical.
Because, if you think about it, there is so much resistance in society when it comes making space for the disabled community, fostering inclusion and equitable belonging for disabled folks, and giving them access to ease and joy.
This shows up in so many ways:
In the denial that some non-disabled folks have around the inevitability of disability. The disability community is the only minority group that anyone can become a part of — temporarily or permanently — at any point in their life. And the reality is that either by age or genetics or injury, you will become disabled at some point in your life. This denial means that non-disabled folks keep distancing themselves from the disabled community, choosing to actively not think about them and their needs.
In the lack of systems in place to support disabled folks. Once you spend enough time engaging with the disability community, it becomes very clear that governments around the world are continuously failing disabled folks. The lack of funding across the board, the lack of considerations for disabled folks in public health decisions (see all of the COVID policies including the latest mask bans in the US) — these decisions keep telling the same story that disabled folks are dispensable.
In the lack of empathy and understanding towards disabled folks. Society is so stuck in capitalist ideologies that hold measurable productivity as a core value, and that hurts disabled folks. It also means that non-disabled folks measure disabled folks against these ideals, and hold no empathy. I'm finding this is also a trend within the disability community where some of the individuals who are more “able” to contribute to society in “productive” ways are less empathetic towards those who aren't.
In the fact that there is so little work being done to make things more accessible to everyone. Sure, things are better than they used to be, but we still see companies set themselves up in spaces that aren't accessible, we still see little effort from event organizers to be inclusive to everyone, we still see big movements around equality that leave disabled folks behind. And yes, it's 2024.
The hate that's spewed at disabled folks on social media, in political discourse, and more. I've been lucky enough to not have my content land on the wrong side of the internet yet — but many of the disabled creators I follow have. They've been subjected to really disgusting comments, including calls to unalive themselves, or sexual harassment. Hateful ableism is still alive and well — which just goes to show how much that denial I mentioned before lives deeply within folks. And then you have the likes of Trump, past president and current prospect for the Republican party, who actively told a relative of his that he should just let his disabled son die.
The disdain that's shown to people who point out ableism or the work that still needs to be done. A lot of the hate that comes out on social media has another common thread: that disabled folks are ungrateful. That we should be quiet and be grateful for the things we do have access for. That we should be grateful for the (little) effort that is being made. This happens a lot with flights — which are particularly inaccessible experiences from disabled folks — where any time someone shares a negative experience they get a barrage of comments saying “what did you expect?" or “at least you can fly” or “no one is obligated to make this experience accessible to you.” This is just one example, and it plays out in many other spaces.
This list isn't exhaustive, but I think you get the picture.
And yet, in the midst of this big mountain of crap, disabled folks are still experiencing joy. We are still carving out space for ourselves and claiming our right to joy. We are still building beautiful connections and communities. We are still finding ways to be remarkable, and to take ownership of our experiences. We are still showing up as creative, unique, and wonderful individuals — making our own mark.
And how beautiful and powerful is that?
