In February 2016, my friend Barbara King messaged me after a Facebook post caught her eye. That small moment helped highlight a necessary shift far beyond its humble origins. What I realized long after DISABLED. #SayTheWord went viral was it revealed a prejudice so common most people barely noticed it.
Some folks talk a lot about inclusion, inspiration, and “different” abilities, while treating the word “disability” like it has four letters instead of ten. By contrast, the hashtag Barbara asked about challenges this by daring to ask, “Says who? Why?” It was a rallying cry. A plea to speak plainly. To quit dodging reality. To acknowledge our existence. And to stop expecting disabled people to translate, or worse yet, collude with someone else’s shame.
Ten years later, the takeaway is not that an online temper tantrum turned hashtag once trended. The lasting value is what the experience revealed about how we relate to disability and how that’s changing for the better.
First, it showed that despite intentions most disability euphemisms fail. They may help nondisabled people feel better about … something, but in doing so they keep disability at arm’s length. That comes at a cost. Anjali Forber-Pratt wrote in Public Health Post that disability distancing often signals that disability “is something to fear, avoid, or be ashamed of.”
When it comes to disability, distance is far from harmless. Distance is how people and institutions congratulate themselves for “awareness” while dodging responsibility. Distance does not caption, build ramps, hire interpreters, enact flexible policies, or empower jobs and titles that accompany them with genuine authority.
Take the phrase “special needs.” Parents, beware. This phrase does not do what you think it does. A research article titled “‘Special needs’ is an ineffective euphemism” makes a blunt case that the term, as used and perceived, is likely to backfire and reinforce negative perceptions.
A Washington Post piece says the quiet part out loud, “My daughter doesn’t have ‘special’ needs. She’s disabled.” I’m quoted in the article. The point is not labeling kids for sport. The point is this. Supports, services, rights protections, and belonging do not happen in a fog of fuzzy phrasing. They happen when adults stop acting like disability is a word we need to tiptoe around.
Second, it showed that language fights are rarely only about language. They expose power imbalances. Who gets to set the terms? Who is considered credible? Who gets protected? Who gets hired? Who gets to be the narrator? When disability goes unnamed, disabled people get treated like supporting characters in our own stories instead of taking the lead.
It also revealed something many disabled people already knew. The “polite” option can do more damage than the existing option we’re expected to replace. We’ve all experienced this: When disability is treated as unspeakable, it becomes easier to ignore. When disability is ignored, discrimination becomes the default. If we don’t name the damage done, it won’t get corrected.
What changed over the decade is #SayTheWord wasn’t just a social media moment. It had a life beyond me, and uniquely its own in activist, professional, and academic spaces. A peer-reviewed article in Rehabilitation Psychology applauds efforts which encourage us to #SayTheWord as a necessary corrective to the erasure of disability language. Educators cite the move as a practical pushback against euphemism and erasure, centering Disability Culture in support of Disability Justice.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the person-first vs identity-first language debate that my humble hashtag was drafted into more than once. To the uninitiated, unless one is ready to dive deep into the complex history and delicate nuance, that discussion is often more heat than light. But one essential truth emerges with crystal clarity: Despite their differences, both sides center either the word “disabled” or “disability.” Not “special needs,” not “differently-abled,” not any other confusing linguistic contortion. Different emphasis, placement, and intention. Same word. That’s more than language. That’s connective tissue. It also shows us the way forward.
What have we learned ten years on?
Embrace disability in all its complexity. In 2026, disability has evolved to include more than diagnosis. It connects people to community, identity, history, politics, and culture. Language should be big enough to hold that. If yours doesn’t, you’re likely getting it wrong. Proceed with caution. Better yet, consider a rethink. Here’s a test: If using the word “disabled” makes you flinch, ask who benefits from your discomfort. Then use the word twice.
Retire euphemisms that encourage avoidance. If the words you use make you comfortable but erase real live disabled people, this isn’t kindness. It is cover. Ask: Does this word or phrase empower or push away? Acknowledge or deny? Affirm or shame? Adjust accordingly.
Name disability in public stories. In politically precarious times, vague language makes it easier to confuse and abuse. The uncomfortable reality is that if we don’t acknowledge disability, odds are we won’t deal with the discrimination that too often tags along. If disability communities are going to be protected in the real world, we must first be acknowledged.
Ten years after DISABLED. #SayTheWord had its heyday, the lessons learned are as straightforward as they are simple. Naming disability is not impolite. Nor is it etiquette. It is infrastructure. It is accountability. It is ownership. We do not say the word just to be provocative. We say the word because treating disability as unspeakable has never made anyone safer, happier, or more included.
Pretending otherwise only makes exclusion easier to maintain.
Opinions expressed are solely those of the writer(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Able News at The Viscardi Center and/or The Viscardi Center.