The Invisible Reality: What Disability Awareness Means to Me
I Have a Disability.
What do you think of when you hear the word disability? Many people think of someone in a wheelchair. Someone that is blind, deaf, or missing a limb.
Those are all disabilities, most definitely. They’re physical disabilities and are often noticeable on the outside. Some disabilities actually aren’t noticeable on the outside. They are invisible.
I have an invisible disability. Surprise, surprise.
I have vehemently rejected that I’m disabled for most of my life. I mostly found it easy to reject my reality, because my disability was invisible (and still is). Invisible disabilities can be difficult to navigate, especially when you grow up without the necessary support.
Kindergarten was when it became apparent that I was struggling. I couldn’t keep up or retain what was being taught. I wasn’t making friends and I was basically mute all day at school. Teachers actually yelled at me for not speaking; they thought I was being defiant. I was not. I started speech at two years old, but my school decided to go ahead and test me for an intellectual disability.
My school diagnosed me with a reading comprehension learning disability in kindergarten. Three years ago, I also added my diagnosis of inattentive ADHD.
I was able to appear fine and functional all through school. I truly hate that word: functional. At school, they actually defined me as high-functioning. No one could outwardly see my struggles and I was able to mask through most of my adolescence. That’s basically what high-functioning meant. I don’t associate with that label, at all.
At school, I became a high-achieving, smart, and responsible kid. On the outside, I had it all together and was successful. On the inside, it was a vastly different reality.
No one truly knew the extraneous amount of energy that was required to make it day-to-day. I just thought that everyone experienced school (and let’s be honest, life) exactly as I did, they were just better at juggling and dealing with it all. I thought that I was just lazy, dramatic, and honestly terrible at being human.
I hated myself with such an extreme intensity. Somehow, I convinced myself that I needed that hatred in order to be functioning. Without it, I feared that I would crumble and fall apart. I feared that the lazy parts of myself would take over and I would become a disgrace and amount to nothing. I had to be spectacular — That is truly what I believed.
Hating myself and feeling miserable became my default. Learning that I shouldn’t have to live this way anymore and figuring out how to heal the relationship that I have with myself is monumental. It’s difficult, but finally, it’s a step forward in a good direction. I have to be gentle with myself and work with my brain wiring rather than against it. Internal resentment does more harm than good. It’s never worthwhile.
When I look back at high school, all I really see is pain. I was in a lot of pain. But, it’s empowering to know that I don’t have to continue carrying that pain, forever. I get to choose how I show up and get to learn a new way of being. I get to choose. Everybody gets to choose.
When I was a little kid, I remember when my teachers told me that I had a reading comprehension learning disability — I didn’t understand. I loved to read and was good at reading. As a little kindergarten kid, the disability label mainly felt like a slap in my face.
The sad realty was that nobody talked to me about the label and what it truly meant. Nobody explained to me that a reading comprehension learning disability didn’t mean that teachers were telling me that I wasn’t a good reader. That confusion made me extremely hesitant with fully accepting the label and diagnosis.
Nobody was able to explain to me or help me understand my own learning disability. What the disability actually means is that my working memory holds less information, and it requires mores conscious energy for me to move any information to my long-term memory. I took the label as an insult because I never truly understand what it meant.
In the early 2000’s at my elementary school, being in special eduction was honestly terrible. The bullying was horrible, with both peers and teachers. Many people heavily used the r-slur; they would talk about me while I was close enough to hear, and intentionally used the word. Teachers frequently used the r-slur in front of me while talking to other teachers (I was incredibly quiet and most of them likely forgot I was even there.)
No one cared at all. Everyone around me basically treated me like a naive idiot, talked to me in a baby voice, and just made me feel incredibly isolated and alone. I absolutely hated school with every fiber of my being.
I spent all of my adolescence trying to separate myself from any disability label. If I had received an ADHD diagnosis in high school instead of a couple of years ago, I truly don’t think it would’ve made much of a difference. I learned to completely abandon myself and mold myself to fit in pretty early on in my life. Also, when I was in high school, there was still a lot of misconceptions and lack of understanding when it came to ADHD. Not much would’ve changed for me, unfortunately.
But now, at 27, I’m able to make necessary changes and learn to accommodate myself. Advocacy is so important. Without understanding and advocacy, society teaches disabled people to ignore and reject themselves. I have lived with a disability my entire life, that is the truth. I will continue to live with a disability for the rest of my life. I’m now learning how to fully accept this truth and embrace the many dynamic aspects of myself.
The truth is, anybody can become disabled at any time (I honestly got the extended version, the all life package). Honestly if you’re lucky enough to grow old, you will become disabled. The human mind and body are not immortal, our physical and mental faculties will eventually decline. That is a fact of living.
Inclusivity and advocacy are necessary. If you want it for yourself, you should want it for everyone. Advocate and listen to disabled experiences and voices. No one is guaranteed a long, healthy, non-disabled life. Learn more, understand, and advocate for a more inclusive world. Now, more than ever.
Love,
Kaitlin
