Because advocating for myself shouldn't require apologizing for having needs.
I've spent 35 years living with cerebral palsy.
And somewhere along the way, I discovered that having a disability apparently comes with an additional, unpaid job.
Making everyone else comfortable with it.
Apparently, in addition to navigating tremors, unpredictable movements, and a world that wasn't always designed with me in mind, I'm also expected to serve as the unofficial director of public relations for disability awareness.
No salary. No benefits. And absolutely no vacation time.
But here's something I've been thinking about lately.
Why are people with disabilities sometimes expected to make others comfortable while explaining the very barriers that make our own lives uncomfortable?
The Art of Being the "Easy" Disabled Person
Sometimes advocacy sounds like this:
"I'm sorry to bother you, but could we make an adjustment?"
"No worries! I know you didn't mean anything by that."
"It's okay! I can figure something else out."
And sometimes we genuinely mean those things.
But other times, we're carefully choosing our words because we don't want to be labeled difficult, demanding, or ungrateful.
We soften our requests.
We laugh off uncomfortable comments.
We reassure people who feel awkward about our disabilities.
And somewhere along the way, the person asking for accessibility becomes responsible for everyone else's comfort.
Interesting arrangement, isn't it?
Confidence Is Not Confrontation.
One of the most important things I've learned is that advocating for myself doesn't make me difficult.
It makes me an active participant in my own success.
When I explain what I need to do my job effectively, I'm not asking for special treatment.
I'm asking for the opportunity to contribute.
When I correct a misconception about cerebral palsy, I'm not trying to embarrass someone.
I'm offering them an opportunity to understand something they may never have considered.
And when I speak confidently about accessibility, it doesn't mean I'm angry.
It means I've learned that my needs deserve the same respect as everyone else's.
Sometimes Inclusion Requires a Little Discomfort.
Here's something we don't talk about enough.
Growth isn't always comfortable.
Sometimes it requires recognizing that something we've said, assumed, or overlooked has created a barrier for someone else.
That's not necessarily a reason to feel guilty.
It's a reason to do better.
And I believe we can have those conversations with kindness, humor, and mutual respect.
But kindness should never require silence.
And patience shouldn't mean accepting the same barriers indefinitely.
I can be understanding without being apologetic.
Here's My Challenge.
The next time someone communicates an accessibility need, resist the urge to become defensive, embarrassed, or overly apologetic.
Instead, listen.
Ask what would help.
And most importantly, follow through.
Because meaningful inclusion isn't measured by how comfortable a conversation feels.
It's measured by what changes because that conversation happened.
As for me?
I'll continue advocating with humor, compassion, and probably a few sarcastic remarks along the way.
That's part of who I am.
I can be patient with what you don't know. But I shouldn't have to apologize for helping you understand it.
And perhaps that's where real inclusion begins.
Not when everyone feels comfortable.
But when everyone feels confident enough to have the conversations that create change.
