In the growing roar of societal reform and agency overreach, one group continues to be systematically ignored, spoken over, and stripped of power: people with disabilities. The callous dismantling of systems meant to support us—often disguised as a war on fraud and abuse—has become a war on choice, on visibility, and ultimately on our very existence. Let’s be clear: when systems limit choice, they limit lives. And for the disability community, this reality is not up for debate.
The numbers don’t lie. According to the CDC, over 28% of adults in the U.S. live with a disability—that’s more than one in four adults. The rates are even higher for Black, Indigenous, and other communities of color, as well as among older adults. Despite these numbers, people with disabilities continue to be erased from public dialogue, policymaking, and cultural narrative. The data also show that we are more likely to experience poor mental health, higher rates of chronic illness, and devastating health disparities. And even as we strive for equity, our employment rate hovers at around 30-40%, while nondisabled people sit comfortably near 70%. That’s a consistent and persistent 40% gap—a chasm carved by discrimination, systemic barriers, and outdated perceptions of value.
So, let’s ask the question: if we are such a visible, statistically significant part of society, why are we still being treated like shadows in someone else’s story?
The answer lies in the narratives crafted about us, without us. The disability rights movement has long held the banner cry of “Nothing about us without us”—and yet the world continues to speak for us, over us, and around us. Representation in media, policymaking, and education remains sparse. Decisions about healthcare, accessibility, and public space are made without consulting the very people who will be most impacted. It is more than disrespect. It is erasure.
This erasure is rooted in ableism and disablism—terms often used interchangeably, but which speak to different dimensions of oppression. Ableism is the structural and systemic discrimination baked into our society: the lack of ramps, the inaccessible websites, the funding cuts to disability services. Disablism, on the other hand, is the interpersonal prejudice we face daily—from being spoken down to, to being infantilized, ignored, or feared. But it’s not just these external forces we must confront. Internalized ableism—the belief that we are “less than” because of our disabilities—is perhaps the most insidious threat of all.
That’s why there can be no room for interpretation when it comes to our stories. If we don’t own our narratives, others will—and they’ll twist them into caricatures of pity, inspiration porn, or burden. It’s on us to take back control. We must shatter the illusion that our presence is optional, that we are something to accommodate rather than embrace. Our identities are not open to debate, and our lived experiences are not open-source material.
To my fellow members of the disability community: you are not an afterthought. You are not “in the way.” You are not too much or not enough. You belong—in every room, at every table, and in every conversation. The late disability activist and author Stella Young once said, “I’m not your inspiration, thank you very much.” We’re not here to make others feel grateful for their mobility, their health, or their convenience. We are here to lead, to create, to transform.
We need to be in the room where decisions are made, not because it’s nice, but because it’s necessary. Because we know our needs better than anyone else. Because our presence changes policies, perspectives, and priorities. Because when we speak for ourselves, we interrupt decades—centuries—of silencing.
So let’s get louder. Let’s build coalitions. Let’s dismantle internalized shame and claim our full humanity. Let’s show the world that we are not broken, not burdensome, not invisible. Let’s own our stories with pride, because the cost of leaving our narrative in someone else’s hands is too high.
We are not asking for a seat. We are taking it. And we are not moving. Respect that, because we are enough!
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.