Proud?

As Disability Pride Month unfolds, I find myself in a conflicted state. My pride isn't rooted in my shaky limbs, agonising condition, or sensitive nature. Instead, I'm proud because I keep telling my story my way, despite the daily onslaught of ableism.

My journey to becoming a disability equality trainer wasn't carefully planned. It was a response to the prejudice and discrimination I faced, forcing me to confront some of life's toughest aspects. I once dreamed of being a dietician, fascinated by nutrition. But that dream was squashed when I was told I'd be expected to walk. Like many, chance shaped my path more than careful planning.  Trying to improve my CV, I volunteered and worked for free. But I quickly learned that even charities aren't always enlightened. Virtue and morals didn't equate to fair treatment. I remember going to the local Red Cross, only to be sat in a corner with a cup of tea. Another charity's director wanted to lay her "healing hands" on me. The road to finding meaningful work was paved with well-meaning but misguided attempts at help.

Interviews were a battleground of ignorance. My skills, abilities, and even personal life were scrutinized in ways my non-disabled friends never experienced. I faced invasive questions about my medical background, proof of ability in mundane tasks, and sick leave records. The fear and anger from interviewers were palpable - as if I had committed some offence by daring to apply. Their disbelief when I spoke of my achievements was telling. They thought I was lying, and their rejection began to erode my confidence. Being pushed towards disability roles felt bizarre. Yes, I was born with an impairment, but I didn't have expertise in disability theory, politics, or civil rights. I had a degree with research experience in organisational psychology. Suggesting I work in disability felt as absurd as expecting someone with glasses to be an ophthalmologist or someone with red hair to be a skin consultant.

My breakthrough came unexpectedly. Based on my experience with a Disability Employment project, I started my own training business. A call from a local university to share my lived experiences with Occupational Therapy students set me on a new path. Lecturing clicked, and I found my groove. Starting my company from my kitchen table brought flexibility and control, but also huge challenges like financial insecurity and lack of benefits. Yet, it was mine. My experiences, my voice, my way.

This Disability Pride Month, I celebrate not the challenges thrust upon me, but the resilience I've cultivated in facing them. I'm proud of carving my own path in a world that often tried to dictate my worth and capabilities. I'm proud of turning societal lemons into my own brand of lemonade.  Living in the receipt of ableism I often find myself caught between society's perceptions and my own self-image. In these moments, I rely on my friends to see my wholeness, regardless of the negative stereotypes that surround disability. I need my friends to remind me that I'm neither the lazy, incompetent person society sometimes portrays, nor the courageous saint others make me out to be. The truth lies somewhere in between. I can be hardworking and knowledgeable, while also being dramatic and foolhardy at times - and that's okay.

I try not to be arrogant, but I do want to feel proud of my accomplishments. It's a delicate balance, especially when I receive conflicting messages. Some people will criticise me for being a perfectionist, while others push me to work even harder. Often, these expectations seem rooted more in prejudice than in understanding.

I've noticed that I'm often treated differently from my non-disabled peers. They're rarely scolded in public or told to control their emotions when expressing anger or frustration. In my thirty years with my partner, I can't remember a single instance where he was asked to do three weeks of free work just to save his colleagues a few minutes of effort.
Living in an unfair society is exhausting. The burden of compensation always seems to fall on those who are already disadvantaged. It's a constant struggle to navigate these expectations and biases while maintaining my sense of self-worth.  Despite these challenges, I continue to strive for balance - acknowledging my strengths and weaknesses, and surrounding myself with people who see me for who I truly am, beyond the labels society tries to impose.

My pride comes from persistence in the face of ignorance, from finding my voice when others tried to silence me, and from building a career that allows me to educate and advocate. It's not about celebrating disability itself, but about honoring the strength, creativity, and determination that living with a ableism  has fostered in me.   So here's to unexpected journeys, to prove naysayers wrong, and to the pride that comes from living authentically in a world that often struggles to see beyond limitations. This is my story, told my way - and that's something truly worth celebrating I think.