Response from an actual disabled person to NYTimes article “Is It OK to Dump Him Because of His Medical Condition?”

In this week’s update on “things I read online that should’ve jolted me but, sadly, did not,” some New York woman on the dating scene wrote to the Times advice column asking if she was a “terrible person” for wanting to dump a guy because of his Crohn’s disease. It elicited a response from NYU philosophy professor Kwame Anthony Appiah, who, in summary, advised that “you don’t owe it anyone to accept that burden.” You can find the full article here

It is very depressing for us disabled and/or chronically ill people to watch our value be reduced to a question answerable by the non-disabled in a few paragraphs. It is sad that these types of conversations (happening around us, not with us) are the most common representations we get in media. It’s horrifying that people don’t see the larger issues at play when these questions are asked and answered so contritely, because it reminds us of how out of touch most are with our community. Even during times of such incredible social justice movements, the disabled still remain on the outskirts. 

To this anonymous woman: If you’re asking that question, end the relationship. If you’re writing into a newspaper column to ask strangers to appease your guilt of how much of a burden you anticipate his ‘doctors appointments’ and ‘special diet’ to be, please dump him. Not because of his condition, but because he deserves better. People with medical needs don’t deserve partners that are going to hold our diagnoses against us because they are ‘burdensome.’ It is not our job to waste time on relationships with people who don’t truly want us but stick around because they worry about being “unethical.” Please respect him by letting him find someone else that is better suited to love him. Guilting this woman into staying in a relationship with a man she already anticipates resenting is a disaster in the making. This is how the disabled and chronically ill end up being physically, verbally, and psychologically abused: being trapped in relationships with non-disabled people who consciously (or unconsciously) end up resenting us and our bodies.

I’m unfortunately not surprised people are asking this question. I have used a wheelchair my entire life. I learned much younger than I should have that people consider my needs and my body to be burdensome. That it takes a ‘special person’ to care about us, because we’re just too much to handle or love. The only way we can live through it is by learning to read people well, learning which smiling faces are trying to cover up the fact that their mind is piling with questions like such. We learn to identify who genuinely respects us versus those just tolerating us, so we don’t waste time on people that are closed off to loving us but just feeling obligated to try so they don’t feel like a “bad person.”

I’m sure many were expecting me to lead in with “No, it is not okay to dump someone for their medical needs!” And the truth of the matter is that we don’t live in a society that would even begin to allow me to make that argument. If we lived in a country where non-disabled Americans weren’t so terrified of and personally offended by illness, maybe it would be different. But I can’t make that argument without requiring the non-disabled to change their very closed-minded and unsophisticated view of the disabled experience.

Before even beginning to attempt a response to this woman, we must understand why she and many others ask this in the first place. A significant factor in why many consider us to be so burdensome is because of their own fear of becoming like us. It is because American values are rooted to an unhealthy degree in independence, productivity, and youth to such an extent that people are genuinely anti-disability or any ‘deviant’ body, and completely apprehensive of the natural progression of aging. So when people ask questions like this anonymous woman did, it is saying so much more about them than us. That is something they have to work through on their own before they even consider dating someone with a medical condition. Everyone is not made for each other. Not everyone can handle the disabled experience, and it has nothing to do with the disabled person’s value. 

With that being said, I was not surprised someone asked this question because, as sad as it is, the majority having this mindset is not news to me. Although, I was disheartened to see that our lives are continually reduced to a headline, to a question answerable in three paragraphs by an able-bodied man with seldom any backlash. To most people, our lives and value are just a “healthy ethical debate.” This speaks to the harsh reality I often have trouble facing: the disabled are not yet accepted into the cannon of multiculturalism. We are still a group of second-class citizens that most brush off as burdensome. Even the most educated. Even the people that devote their lives to thinking critically about oppression, discrimination, ethics, and the minority experience in America.

In the professor’s addendum to the article, he did rightfully acknowledge that people with illnesses don’t want to be romantic charities, that the question suggests we are conceptualized as burdens, and that we will all become disabled eventually. But there is still so much left out of this conversation. He could’ve asked her what about chronic illness freaks her out. He could’ve commented on how an American culture that is overly preoccupied with productivity and independence breeds this sort of thinking and fear of disability. He could’ve advised that she should leave him not because of “his medical condition,” but because she is not prepared to love him and he deserves better. He could’ve highlighted that all relationships come with caretaking to varying degrees. He could’ve asked her why she thinks that he would be putting all of this ‘burden’ on her. Or, point out how horrifying it is that we as a society find no issue publishing something that calls an entire group of people ‘burdensome,’ which highlights how far behind the disability rights movement really is. He could’ve taken this moment to point out that if we had a medical system that put people first instead of profit, illness would be less scary to others because we would have better outcomes and access to care. He could’ve advised that it is condescending to stay with someone just to make you feel like a more ethical person. He could’ve noted that the non-disabled perpetuating the idea that we are ‘burdensome’ creates a culture where we get trapped in the cycle of abuse, poverty, being denied our basic human rights, being forced into institutions, and essentially, shut out of society.

Most outside of our community don’t have nuanced enough discussions of disability in the public sphere yet. Hopefully we are soon able to acknowledge as a society that the disabled is still considered a minority group disposable enough to be talked about in such a manner with hardly any backlash. We could’ve connected these mindsets to the institutionalized oppression our people face. We could’ve unpacked how this view of us contributes to the systems at work that keep disabled people devalued, sidelined, genuinely scary to many people, and discriminated against. But alas, another day passes by with hardly anyone questioning the able-bodied agenda. What a privilege it must be to feel so far removed from an experience that it is just an ethical debate in the Times on a someone’s ‘dating value.’

Important Information for Disabled Voters

Image description: dark blue box that reads “vote” with a white envelop sticking out of the top. Background is different shades of lighter blue. Image retrieved from:

Primaries in New York are quickly arriving, and now is not the time to let your vote go to waste. Going out to vote in the time of an international crisis is risky to many, especially disabled people and those at-risk for Covid-19. Below you will find important information on how to navigate voting from home and the absentee ballot.

How to apply for GENERAL the absentee ballot by June 16th:

Click here to download the form. It must be e-mailed, faxed, or mailed to the voting office of your local district, which can be found here.

Alternatively, you can fill it out online if you live in NYC here.

How to apply for the ACCESSIBLE absentee ballot by June 16th:

If you require the accessible ballot that is compatible with screen readers, you must DOWNLOAD it onto your computer from here and then fill it out. You can e-mail it to one of the addresses found here, based on your region of NY.

How to submit your vote by June 22nd:

The ballot will be sent to you, and likely over e-mail if you sent the accessible absentee ballot application. Unfortunately, you will not be able to e-mail in your vote. Instead, you will have to print it, sign it, and mail it to the address provided. You MUST have the ballot postmarked & in the mail on June 22nd the latest.

What will be on the ballot?

You can enter your address on this website ( to see who will be on your ballot to be prepared beforehand.

What to do if you were e-mailed your ballot and don’t have access to a printer:

NY’s chapter of ADAPT is working diligently to make sure voting is accessible to those with disabilities, and we will be updating our community with resources for printing services across NYC and Long Island.

Currently, we are getting in contact with libraries, UPS stores, Staples, and other businesses to see where printing can be done safely, efficiently, and privately. I will update this post as we have gather more information, and we encourage you to reach out with any questions:

The Myth of the Independent, Middle Class, Disabled Adult: How the healthcare system keeps us financially oppressed

There is nothing more ‘American’ than locking minority groups into systems of poverty, expecting them to be grateful to the government for handing out scraps, and then subsequently blaming them for being ‘leeches’ on a system designed to ensure they remain trapped within it. Disabled people are all too familiar with this form of systemic oppression, and are a group that is essentially treated and classified as second class citizens in this country.

There is a long painful history bubbling beneath this that I won’t even begin to unpack in a single blog post, but what I find myself consistently coming back to as I transition into ‘real’ adulthood (whatever that even means) is the financial control that the government has over people with disabilities that most outside of our community are blissfully unaware of. OR, even more horrifying, are cognizant of but just don’t consider it an issue.

Ultimately, as long as we need services related to our disability, the U.S. government is legally allowed to control our finances. I have laid out below the clear and direct abuse of power that the U.S. government holds over our lives. 

A quick breakdown of the services we need to live:

Many adult people with disabilities (PWD, for short) need assistance with tasks of daily living like showering, using the bathroom, getting dressed, feeding, etc., and thus, home health aides (HHA) or Personal Care Assistants (PCA) are the workers that assist us with these tasks. Also needed by many: home nurses to assist with more medically-focused tasks like working with traches, wound care, etc. Typically, the only insurance that covers these services LONG-TERM (i.e. the duration of our lives, because we will always be disabled) is Medicaid.

We also may need access to physical therapy or occupational therapy to keep up with our health. Typically (and this is being generous), the only insurance that MAY cover this long-term is Medicaid. Private insurance (i.e. able bodied people insurance) only covers PT for short periods of time, because it is designed for ables that have sustained an injury and are trying to get back to their baseline. If you are a PWD that is using PT as maintenance and not working toward healing a injury/post-surgery, you will eventually stop being covered by private insurance companies. So we are left with Medicaid, who, keep in mind, STILL doesn’t cover all PWD for therapy services. Depends on your state/your plan/your luck/the alignment of the stars.

Then there is the matter of medical equipment. My motorized wheelchair that allows me to move independently in the community costs 40K. My partner’s costs 60K. The pricing, manufacturing, and quality of these devices are an entirely separate issue, but keep this price in mind. It needs to be replaced every five to seven years because of its (lack of) durability. Repairs are frequent and expensive. The battery alone on Quantum chairs need to be changed yearly, and costs ~600 dollars out of pocket. SOME private insurance will pay for repairs, and PART of the total cost of the chair. Yet, Medicaid is the most reliable for agreeing to cover the chairs.

Alright, so the only insurance truly available to us is Medicaid. How does that work?

*** This is a breakdown of some of New York’s policies. Every state is different, and many do not have the policies I will discuss***

For us to get Medicaid, we must 1. prove that we are indeed disabled (i.e many, many visits from the state & many, many forms to fill out, & many, many months of waiting), and 2. be a recipient of Social Security Income. SSI is a check from the gov’t every month ranging from roughly 500-800 dollars. Sounds great at first – free additional money, yeah? Nope. Not additional to anything.

If you have any income, you lose SSI. If your bank account EVER at ANY POINT goes above 2,000 dollars, you are flagged and receive a call from the government. You lose SSI. Which is essentially tied to & the precursor for your Medicaid. You are not allowed to have many assets in your name, which includes property, certain amounts cash– you name it. You MUST be living in poverty. It is worth noting that there are some things that are excluded from our resource list, like owning up to one car, a non-business property worth less than 6K (so, nothing in NYC), or certain scholarships used immediately for tuition. Many PWD that turn 18 and go to college enroll in SSI, a time when they’re not working anyway. But what is supposed to happen when we graduate, have student loans, and want to work?

Access to the services we need to survive being tied to ensuring we remain in poverty is inhumane. So the gov’t “tried” to remedy it.

Under 1619(b) of the Social Security Act, some are allowed continued Medicaid-coverage. This means that you can continue services if you have been receiving SSI for at least a month, you’re still disabled, and you need Medicaid to work. BUT the catch here is that you are only allowed to have up to to $46,316 in income.

So the Medicaid Buy-In (MBI) program came along, that was supposed to fix this and be designed for working PWD. Same criteria as above except now you’re allowed to have $64,836 in income for an individual and $87,288 for a couple. Another cute little catch, you’re never allowed to have more than $20,000 for a one–person household and $30,000 for a two-person household at a time in assets.

Then there is Medicaid-Spend Down. This program I know the least about. My understanding of it is that it allows you to deduct certain medical expenses (like doctors bills, medication, home care, or insurance premiums) from your income so that you can qualify for Medicaid. Essentially, if you deduct what you spend on medical bills every month from your monthly income & THAT number meets the cut off for Medicaid eligibility, they will reimburse you. This is done monthly. You will be busy with keeping receipts for all expenses, and having to consistently report your spending to the government. (I read that you must have assets below $15,750 for individuals and $23,100 for couples, but not every resources specifies this.)

And I should make something else clear: not everyone knows about Buy-in or 1619(b) or spend down. Not even the people who work for the government are fully aware, and it is only offered in select states. Social workers and case managers have told me completely varying stories and policies. Unless someone has access to social workers and lawyers that are actually educated specifically on these systems in government (which are sparse), or PWD themselves have the education and knowledge of legal jargon to comb through these policies, many are unaware, and remained trapped in the burgeoning cycle of poverty, paperwork, and waiting.

And as for the people that do have Medicaid-Buy In (MBI) and are allowed to work, you must keep your dreams and aspirations low. You can’t earn anything more than what they allow, and you likely can’t get married because you’ll lose your services if your partner has any money at all. This is the system that keeps PWD from holding positions of power, from well-paying jobs, from higher education. Why would you go for a degree that you would love but leads to a career that pays 70K? If you would need home care while working, you are at risk of losing it.

It’s not just about finances & bank accounts, it’s about quality of life.

New York City is expensive. Living with a disability is expensive. We cannot afford to buy a house and convert it to be fully wheelchair accessible with only 20,000 allowed in assets under MBI. We cannot afford 1,000 dollars out of pocket to pay for a new motor on our chair when we can’t wait the months it would take with insurance. We cannot afford to get married, because our partner’s assets will be held against us. We cannot afford a truly wheelchair accessible apartment in NYC with these income restrictions. Most NYC apartments that are genuinely accessible (big bathrooms that fit our wheelchairs, functioning elevators, kitchens big enough for our chairs to fit in, bedrooms that can fit our medical equipment and still have space for us) cost at least 3,000K a month. That is virtually impossible on that salary.

Maybe some of us are lucky enough to have family in the area. Lucky enough to be forced into living with them forever because we can’t afford a place of our own, either because of money or lack of home health care hours.

Loop holes exist. They are arduous & under-discussed. You need free time, patience, planning, education, and legal assistance.

Sure. There are exceptions. That one guy who applied to that one program and gets half off his rent for a fully accessible apartment in that new luxury building (i.e the only building in his area that’s ADA compliant). The kid whose parents are a doctor & a lawyer and know how to properly get paperwork done, who know what the government is looking for with a fine-toothed comb. That other lady who won a law suit and is set for life in terms of healthcare. Resources are scarce. Millions of people are all fighting for the same exclusive five available spots. This takes education, connections, a support system, and luck.

If you’re on MBI and have over the 65K limit, I’ve heard you can make an Able Account. It is a specific account where you put excess income that won’t affect your Medicaid eligibility. You can contribute up to 15K a year without having to report to the government. There are overall limits of how much you can let accumulate, and even tighter restrictions for those receiving SSI and not on MBI. You are allowed to spend this money on “qualified disability expenses,” which ranges from healthcare, to food, to housing.

Or, a special needs trust. Similar to above except they are pricey and require legal resources, as it is essentially a trust that you keep with a lawyer. Unlike an Able Account that more so functions like pulling money from a bank account, this is much more restrictive because to access it you must contact your lawyer. There are a few different types.

What does this mean realistically for our futures?

It is insurmountable to go through this alone. It is impossible for many to live on 8 hours of care and such strict income limits. Survival, access to services, and quality of life sometimes also depends on the availability of and socioeconomic status of our families. The people with families who can pay the $600 when they need a wheelchair repair are going to have a better quality of life. The person with available parents or siblings to fill in when their allotted 8 hours of home care run out are going to have a better quality of life. But what do we do when our families aren’t available?

It goes without saying that the more physical care you need, the worse off society treats you. If you need help using the bathroom or turning in bed at night and don’t have family to live with, you’re fucked. You will spend the rest of your life begging the gov’t for 24 hour care (because shockingly, you cannot time your bathroom needs to the 8 hours of care they grant you, and shockingly, no one deserves to be laying in bed unable to move for 16 hours, waiting for the next shift). This is a difficult feat. People go to court for this regularly. And get denied regularly. And THIS is how our people end up in institutions.

When we set up a system where PWD have to chose between financial freedom and basic needs, we have failed. When we set up a system where we expect PWD to not work and thus, create policies that prevent them from doing so comfortably, we have failed. When we set up a society where our basic needs are “not worth the funding” and it is instead easier to shove us in nursing homes, we have failed.

And this is exactly why the independent, middle class, disabled person is a rarity. You are either living in poverty struggling to keep SSI & Medicaid, living in public housing & fighting over the ONE wheelchair accessible apartment. OR your family is loaded enough to not need medicaid because they can pay for home health aides & a fully accessible apartment or house. This of course depends on how much care you need – paying for 1hr a day is VERY different than paying for 24. Unless you got money money, you cannot afford that. This dynamic plays into the hierarchy of PWD that even our own community falls victim to internalizing: that the “more abled” you are, the more worth you have and more respect you deserve from the world. This idea does not exist out of nowhere, it is rooted in how we get treated: the “less” disabled you are, the better people treat you, and the easier time you have navigating these services.

You exist in the middle class when you are able to work at least part time, somehow found out about MBI and got accepted into the program. You stay within MBIs income limits & live with family, the house or apartment under someone else’s name. You don’t get married to anyone that makes a livable wage. You don’t set up a college fund for your future kids, and you definitely don’t have much of a savings account. You live at the whim of the gov’t, waiting for their unannounced pop in’s to make sure you’re still not randomly becoming able-bodied, and sit in your lane like the ‘good disabled person’ they want you to be. You beg they don’t cut your hours. You pray that your disability doesn’t progress & you get shipped off to a nursing home when you’re 40 because the state determines you aren’t worthy enough to live in the community with more hours of care. This place to be is tenuous. Terrifying. Given to change at any moment.

This is why we protest. For a life with dignity and humanity.

Unless you as a disabled person grew up with and surrounded yourself with other PWD, you wouldn’t know. Unless you have the time & resources to research all of this, you wouldn’t know. Certainly no one in the public school system taught me how to exist as a disabled adult or prepared me for this at all.

Generally, able-bodied people remain unaware. We get called lazy. We get called leeches of the gov’t. We get called useless. We get pity smiles, and elicit genuine shock if we tell someone that we hold a job. Dare I say a … high power job? As rare as that is for one of us? Oh yes, just wait patiently for the Channel 7 special about you ‘overcoming’ the obstacles set forth by your own damaged, disabled body — they won’t mention the hoops you had to jump through in society to get there. They won’t talk about the system they’ve set up against you. They’ll only discuss how much your “body hinders you,” so they’ll feel justified in not allowing/expecting our group to work in the first place. So they don’t have to make anyone challenge society’s view of the disabled.

Yes, we are angry. Yes, we are tired. No, we are not going to deny our disability and sugar coat our lives because it makes people uncomfortable. No, we are not going to ‘remain positive and quiet.’ We have made progress, but we’re not there. These systems are archaic and relying on tired stereotypes that keep our people oppressed. Access to appropriate healthcare should not only be allowed if the government is able to control our finances. Please spread the word. Please keep our community in mind when you fight for civil rights, livable wages, universal healthcare, and marriage equality. I’ll never understand how we set up a society where PWD are viewed as that disposable, meanwhile anyone at anytime is a step away from joining our community.

Helpful resources for those in NY (feel free to leave comments w/ additional):

SSA Resource exclusions:

Section 1619(b) of SSA:

Medicaid Buy-in:

Medicaid Spend-Down: AND

Able Account:

Special needs trust: OR

Living with a physical disability during the COVID-19 Outbreak

As I’m sure you could imagine, part of the reason I even started this blog to begin with was in trying to adjust to a new kind of normal, now quarantined in my apartment. I use a wheelchair and have a lung disease that would greatly affect my chances if I come down with the novel coronavirus currently taking over NYC in staggering numbers — so my days carry on within the walls of my Brooklyn apartment. Waiting, watching, hoping. Trying to fill my time with something other than watching Netflix for seven hours straight.

As of date, I haven’t left my room since March 9th. I frequently get asked why I don’t just go outside my building for a walk or to get fresh air, and even entertaining that thought makes me anxious. The image of being stuck sitting in the elevator with strangers, touching the same buttons, holding my breath as someone leans over me to get the door because I have trouble with it on my own. Then walking down a major street in Brooklyn with all of the unmasked daredevils that I see from outside my window, or imagining what my wheels will track into my apartment from outside. Sacrificing a few months of being indoors for peace of mind and safety is a no-brainer for many that have dealt with significant medical conditions throughout their life. That’s obviously not to say that I don’t miss outside or life as it were, of course I do.

But it is not just the idea of living with the horrible effects of virus that terrifies me, it’s wondering whether I would even get the privilege of being offered a shot at survival. As seen time and time again in our history, whenever medical treatment or supplies are rationed, the disabled come in last. Our lives are so devalued in society that we’ve collectively endured mass genocides (re: holocaust, eugenics movement), and it therefore sadly comes as no shock that disabled people fall at the end of the line yet again in times of an international medical crisis.

There are stories of disabled people getting ventilators they need for daily life taken away from them because non-disableds need them. There are stories of non-disabled people getting picked for COVID treatment over someone with pre-existing medical conditions because their lives were deemed more important to save. America does not have a sustainable healthcare system, and we were in no way prepared for something like this to sweep the nation. We just don’t have the equipment or the manpower, and when we create a culture where medical staff have to pick and chose who is worthy of life-saving treatment, we have failed as a nation.

(Further reading on this can be found: Here, here, here, and here.)

That’s the image that sticks out in my mind more than anything: Stuck laying in a bed in the hallway of a hospital somewhere without my wheelchair (because ambulances don’t have wheelchair lifts), without my parents or my aide or my partner, barely being able to breathe, and watching all of the non-disabled people getting ventilators instead of me because their lives are considered more valuable.

Disabled people live with this reality everyday of our lives. Terrified and infuriated does not begin to cover what is felt when reading these articles, when waking up in the middle of the night in a stress-dream induced panic. Society viewing us as ‘burdensome’ and ‘in the way’ of their lives is not a revelation for me, I learned at a very young age that I would have to fight for things that non-disabled people waltz into a room and get handed. I vividly remember actually being grateful for wheelchair accessible bathrooms and access to home health aide services as a child, understanding even at such a young age that the ability to use the toilet or get out of bed in the morning to take a shower is not something considered a given right for me in this country, like it is for everyone else. There is a thin line in America between being left in an institution to die and living in the community having to beg for access to services, and that slim mark between life and death is a reality many of us carry with us everyday.

Maybe I should find some peace in at least none of this coming as a shock, our community has just been waiting. Or maybe that’s too sad of a thought to actually admit.

I’m no stranger to putting life on hold for random medical concerns, and maybe that’s why it’s always so jarring for me to see the public’s inability to just sit. Not protest, not cause a scene, just sit at home and save lives. But here in America we care about Liberty! and Freedom!, and apparently that means that we must retain the God given right to command someone else to risk their lives to do our hair and give us tattoos every other week. Love that for us. Besides, it’s only the sick and elderly that will die, right? Isn’t that what they want to do, anyway? It’s not like the disabled are over 20% of the population or anything … It’s not like the non-disabled can briskly revoke that title and come join the largest minority group in our nation at any given moment … right?

A glimpse at what ableism looks like post-ADA

I wrote this in the summer of 2019 for that year’s anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act, and I find it to be a particularly appropriate introduction to my new page. Looking back, I also want to highlight that the kind of ableism one faces depends entirely on class, race, gender, education level, the type of disability you experience, and a range of other factors. I want to acknowledge the privilege I have in even being able to take part in higher education and the ability to move independently throughout my community. Therefore, it is imperative to note that these are just some of the many forms that ableism can take in our modern era. I can only wish that as our country (hopefully) moves forward out of these dark times (*cough cough* this administration), more stories will be heard, shared, and learned from.

[Image Description: Various photos of disability rights protests over the years, ranging from the 504 protests, Capital Crawl in 1990, to current fights against Medicaid cuts.]

The kind of disability rights activism I chose involves academia and a PhD, hoping that I can change how institutions treat the disabled from inside the system. As important as that may be, not a week goes by where I don’t acknowledge that the only reason I’m able to do so is because of all the ones who have and continue to fight for my right to have equal opportunity in society. On this anniversary of the ADA let us acknowledge the brave people who have fought, let us keep in mind all we have gained, and let us work toward accomplishing all that’s left to do. 


What else is there left to do, you ask?

As the daughter of an immigrant, I have been consistently reminded throughout my life that I would not have had the same quality of life if my father had not come to America. I distinctly remember being 10 years old on a trip to visit family in Greece and having to explain repeatedly to someone that no, I could not swim independently because no, my disability cannot be cured by “trying harder to use muscles.” 

I wasn’t supposed to deal with that here. 

At 12 years old living in Queens, I overheard someone tell my parents that they were “amazing” for raising me. I quickly learned that my existence is supposed to stress people out enough to make them want to leave. Not doing so is apparently God’s work. 

At 13 I took the public bus for the first time and watched the driver look at me, sigh, and say “this is just not my day” as he pressed a button to open the ramp. 

The first few days of High School I ate lunch alone because all the other disabled people had a different lunch period. I latched onto the first able-bodied people that spoke to me, and soon learned the ones that would only do so to try to see if I was “retarded” enough to laugh at. 

At 19 I sat front row in a philosophy lecture where the professor told the entire class that if he was in a wheelchair, he would shoot himself. When confronting him in office hours by saying that his statement was very inappropriate, he said: “I’m sorry you’re misinterpreting what I said. That was a compliment. It must be really difficult. I could never do it.” 

By the time I was 20 years old, I had scrolled through hundreds of names of disabled people who were victims of “mercy killings.” I read stories in the news about people killing mass amounts of disabled people to “end suffering.” I read incessantly about the eugenics movement, about freak shows in Coney Island, about Willowbrook. I watched as movies and news articles about people like me killing themselves were romanticized by the able bodied. 

No one talked about our lives, just our deaths. Which sadly made sense if the assumption is that our greatest wish is to either become able-bodied or die. No wonder the medicaid cuts, the lack of access to affordable accessible housing, the inability to get married or hold a job without losing the kind of health care appropriate for us. Our existence to them is precarious enough to not take seriously. We’re only valuable when we’re suffering—when we can be their tragic, almost-beautiful image of inspiration. 

By the time I turned 21 I was very attuned to when people would take pictures of me and my friends in public spaces. We learned how to ask them to delete it. We learned to hope they listen and don’t walk away with a piece of us. We learned to wait down at the end of the subway platform for the men to go in the elevator first, so we don’t have to be alone with them in such a small space. We learned the statistics. How much more likely we are to be victims of abuse. We tried to quell the anxiety of having targets on our bodies by learning the best places to hide pepper spray in our wheelchairs. We’re already at eye level with everyone’s midsection, so aim for hitting his privates if being threatened. Share locations via iPhones if going on a date with a non-disabled guy. Actually, keep sharing it indefinitely. We learned what parts of our city we should never travel at night alone in. We learned what places we can hardly travel to at all because most of the stations in NYC don’t have elevators anyway. 

When I was 22, my friends and I paid for bottle service at a club for one of our birthdays. Twenty minutes in when more non-disabled people were filling the crowd, staff picked up everything off our table and escorted us out of the club into the restaurant section. When we asked why, they provided no explanation. Eventually, after repeatedly asking, they let us go back to our table at the dance floor. We spent the night warding off middle aged men asking about our diagnoses with a certain excitement in their eyes that we have come to fear.

That same age, I began graduate school applications. I almost missed my first PhD interview because all six elevators in the building were broken. Thankfully, we were able to have the interview on the first floor. The professor said, “This must have been pretty stressful, you seem so … calm?” I shrugged, “If I got that upset at every threat of discrimination, I wouldn’t be a functional person. I wouldn’t be able to leave the house.” I didn’t get in to the program. 

Another PhD interview consisted of spending 15 out of the 20 minutes being asked in a variety of ways whether or not I’d be able to withstand the program. If I could handle “this kind of work” or “really long days” or “getting to class everyday.” By the time he read my resume to understand my credentials and (hopefully) place me on the same playing field as all the other applicants in the waiting room, I had 5 minutes to try show I was deserving of one of the spots in the program. Everyone else had 20 minutes. Obviously, I didn’t get in.

Finally, an interview went extremely well. Of course, my first thought was that I must have missed something. Maybe I was being too hopeful. When the acceptance letter came in the next month, I tried to convince myself I must have been at the bottom of their acceptance list. The last resort. Or maybe just something to check off a diversity box. It’s an embarrassing thought for me to look back on now, but I shouldn’t be hard on myself. Of course I thought that, I learned in enough spaces over the years that this wasn’t supposed to be my place. 

At 23 years old in my first year of the program, my placement was at a nursing home/rehabilitation center. Every week for the first few months someone in the building would assume that I lived there. “Are you coming to bookclub?” or “What room do you live in?” were constantly questions I would have to smile politely to for the sake of my career. Six months in, a new security guard wouldn’t let me off the premises until she was able to confirm with 2 different staff members that I wasn’t lying to her about working there. The threat of institutionalization is never far off.

A few months ago while on the bus with one of my non-disabled friends, a random woman came up to them as we were getting off and said, “That’s so nice you’re taking her out today. God bless you.” When we got off the bus, I expressed how condescending that was to my friend, who then said: “I hear you, it must be annoying. But aren’t there bigger problems in the world?” I was silent. I didn’t know how to explain that the world assuming I don’t usually leave the house isn’t a light statement. We are seen as weak, vulnerable, incapable. Too different. Subhuman. Something just to gawk at. To take advantage of. It has consequences. It builds policies. It builds barriers. It causes all of this. 


The passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act was an amazing advancement in our fight for equality. I’m grateful for the life it has afforded me, and for all the brave people that made it possible everyday. Here’s to all we have accomplished & all that’s left to do.