Tag: #disabilityadvocacy

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Who Gets to ‘Save Lives’?

CN: ableism and internalised ableism.

Yesterday at work I got to critique an Australian health campaign for its accessibility. The video focused on cervical screening, and ended with ‘It saves lives’, although it doesn’t actually save lives. This made me reflect on how this euphemism is used, and who gets to be labeled as ‘life saving’ in our cultures? 

Medical health professionals are the first to be labelled as ‘saving lives’. It makes sense – doctors literally re-start hearts that stopped beating and prescribe life-sustaining medication. But we also use this phrase for tests, or even when a friend babysits for us. Today I’m proposing to expand your idea of life-saving.

Life isn’t just about staying breathing or having blood pumping through our veins. Despite what medical, ableist TV shows tell us, it also isn’t about being able-bodied, or funciniong in a spcific body shape. Life is about feeling things that make us human, and still want to get up in the morning. It is about grieving the loss of loved ones, or rip in anger and still keeping faith that humans are worth saving. It is living through intergenerational trauma and thriving through hatred, and all the isms around us – sexism, racism, antisemitism, ableism. It is about speaking up, learning, loving and birth and deaths and so much more. 

Because life is about all of those things, our definition of ‘life saving’ should drastically change. I have spend countless hours of my childhood in hospitals – under anesthesia, in rehabilitation, in check ups, in cast building. Despite this, my life wasn’t saved between those cold hospital walls. My mobility was the only focus of the medical health professionals. 

When I was discharged, after the major treatments for my leg were completed, I felt ashamed. I was hiding all the time and felt worried about what people thought when they saw parts of my body. I dealt with shame and stigma in silence, and I judged myself for being me. I craved acceptance from others but I couldn’t give it to myself.

Only when I started reading and listening to the stories of others like me, was when I could feel all the feelings, thrive inside my body, and feel truly and fully alive. My life was saved by Laura Hershey, Vassar Miller, Carly Findlay, Imani Barbarin, Eliza Hull, and other disabled creators and activists. Their stories and words was what allowed me to live in this body without shame, acknowledge the pain, and find a home in the world. Their poems, books, articles, songs and sentences have helped me finally embody an essential truth – that I am enough.

Of course we need blood in our veins and oxygen in our brains to function, but none of that would matter without stories, feelings, aches, joys and pleasures. Regardless of what our bodies look or feel like, connecting with other humans and feeling good about ourselves is what makes life worth living. Knowing that we belong, that we are accepted, celebrated and loved, is living. Helping any person to feel a little more safe, a little more loved or a little more whole, is saving a life. And as the Bible says, saving one life is like saving a whole world.

Stories save lives. [Image description: a children’s section of a library. Bookshelves are filled with colourful books and behind them a bright orange wall is panted with a tree, flowers, starts and birds. By the bookcase stands a colourful armchair.]

The spaces, the value, the money, the prestige that we assign to health professionals and creators are all too divergent. The work of a musician, a poet, a filmmaker, an artist, or an advocate, are just as important as the work of those keeping us physically alive. Who would have survived 2020 without movies, poetry, music, podcasts, or books?

In a world were hatred is still rife, where many of us don’t feel safe in our bodies, countries, or homes, hope lives in our stories. Through stories we can learn about ourselves and each other, and through stories we can create empathy, equality, and safety for all.

So I urge you to contemplate – who is saving your life, who is making your life worth living? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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How To Give Back This Holiday Season, Without Spending a Cent

Having good intentions isn’t always enough, right? Many people believe accessibility and equality are important, but don’t realise they have a role to play in making those happen – through everyday life choices.

Becoming a better ally to the disability community is something anyone can do. It doesn’t take a huge investment of time, money or effort. It’s not about changing your way of life, dreams or aspirations (unless those involve contributing to the further marginalisation of disabled people). You can give back by carrying some of the weight of an ableist society – through educating yourself, making mindful choices and educating others. It is that simple. 

Let’s start with the basics, in case you’ve missed it. What is ableism? Ableism is the discrimination and marginalisation of people based on incorrect and oppressive systems that abnormalises bodies and minds. Bodies and/or minds that are deemed abnormal are excluded, mistreated, even killed in our societies. From my experience of living in two countries, travelling, connecting and reading – ableism is universal. Ableism is many-years-old and crosses many cultures, although it has distinct characters in differing parts of the world, different classes, races and genders.

As a disability advocate, I carry an advocacy burden. The advocacy burden is the accumulation of time, effort, physical, mental, spiritual, and social energy, as well as financial commitment and risks that I take in order to improve the lives of disabled people. This include everything from running this website, to writing social media posts, to calling out ableist slurs in my social groups, to calling out discriminatory practices at my workplace, and much more. Facing backlash from calling out is also a part of the burden experienced by many advocates I know. It often involves bullying, hate, harassment and gaslighting.

This advocacy burden is heavy on our shoulders. On top of navigating inaccessible spaces, attitudes, advocating for our needs, and dealing with trauma, we also carry the responsibility for change. This should not be the case though. Just like all humans are responsible for gender and race equality, we are all responsible for carrying the burden of an ableist society, and to dismantle ableist systems and ideas.

This holiday season I invite you to carry at least a tiny bit of the advocacy burden, so that we can start the new year a little more equal. Here are a few things you can try this holiday season (and beyond).

Start by educating yourself from disabled people themselves. There are many great resources out there. If you need somewhere to start, go to my socials for ideas. Educate yourself about what it means to live with a disability, what kind of barriers we face every day – in attitudes, physical spaces, the medical system, in our social groups. You can do this through reading own voices books, blogs, articles, essays and social media content. Listen to music written and performed by disabled musicians. Watch movies and series written and/or produced by disabled people. Listen to a podcast hosted by disabled people. Search for disability stories wherever you get entertained.

Think of disability as a regular, common, normal experience, and commit to thinking from this lens when you live, love and work. A tip to remember and priorities this is filling your social media feed with disabled, cool people (like me) who will remind you that accessibility and acceptance are critical. Ask yourself how accessible is your workplace. Advocate for change as needed.

Call out ableism in physical spaces – Think of access when you visit public places. Consider asking about accessibility before your visit any venue – and put your money into accessible venues. When you visit the next coffee shop, restaurant, hotel, caravan park, etc, consider its accessibility. Does it have wide, step-free access? Can a disabled person reach the toilet and open its door easily? Is there a step to get in to the premises or the bathrooms? These are just examples (not an exhaustive list). When you visit obviously-inaccessible spaces, challenge this and invite the owners to make access a priority. You can do this with any of the options below:

I’m wondering why you have a step here rather than a ramp? | I’m curious to know why your toilet is upstairs? | Did you notice you have a step at the entry? Do you know that there are 1 in 5 people in Australia living with disabilities? Making your shop accessible will help you get more customers.

Talk to your family and friends about ableist slurs. Show them my post about ableist slurs if you need a starting point. You can start the conversation with “I read something interesting recently about ableist slurs, do you know what that is? Just like there are racist slurs we know are inappropriate, there are ableist slurs we should think about. I’ll send you a link to read about it.”

Call out ableism in everyday language – calling out slurs is a great start, and you can do this using the following suggestions:

“Did you know that’s actually an ableist slur? I’d appreciate if we can avoid those in respect to the many people living with disabilities.” |“The word ***** is actually a slur. Do you mind using something else instead? You can try ludicrous, unpredictable, ridiculous, absurd, unreal, unbelievable”. |“Did you know the word ****** is actually a slur? Instead you can say silly, ignorant, impulsive, risky, dipshit.”

Make your holiday social media posts accessible – start with an image descriptions for your pics, captions for your video, and high colour contrasts for your text. 

If you have a useful strategy to carry the advocacy burden, feel free to comment below or on my socials (@Lielkbridgford). 

May we all have a happy, accessible and welcoming holiday season. 

Until next time, 

Liel K. Bridgford 

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Make Mental Health a Priority

Trigger warning: mental health, anxiety, mention of suicidal thoughts and a brief mention of suicide attempts. 

Mental health has been for many years and in many cultures, a taboo topic to be avoided. The mental health of individuals with physical disability is often overlooked in the medical system and society. Still to this day, specialist clinics caring for infants and children with disabilities rarely employ mental health trained professionals, nor does emotional, psychological or social wellbeing is included in treatment goals and choices. I know this from working in mental health and from my personal and community experience. 

We know that children and adults with physical disabilities are more susceptible to social difficulties, mental distress, suicide thoughts and attempts[i]. It has previously been recommended that physicians become aware of such issues[ii]. Unfortunately, little seemed to have changed since my days of growing up in the 1990’s. 

When I was growing up, my treatments, managed by leading paediatric orthopaedic surgeons, focused on my leg’s shape, length and angle. The social, emotional and psychological implications of my treatments and disability, were a sidenote for my family to deal with. My family has done their best to handle my huge feelings as I was growing up, with little mental health literacy or support. Throughout the years I have gone through multiple traumas, stemming from my environment, rather than my body. My self-esteem and self-worth have suffered as I’ve watched only able-bodied people succeeding in society. I’ve experienced anxiety and suicidal thoughts as I was excluded and forced to quietly take bullying and discrimination (Just ignore it!). I’ve developed a problematic relationship with food and my body. It is no wonder – as a kid who was repeatedly told by society and their doctors they are broken.

There was never appropriate support for my mental health or social barriers. When I expressed distress brought about by bullying or unsolicited treatment or discrimination – the message was that I needed to handle these on my own, or within the family. The psychological and social issues impacting me were my burden to carry, and if I couldn’t cope – well, that was not an option. 

My mental health has significantly improved throughout the years since the end of my treatment – not because my leg is ‘normal’ (it isn’t), but because I have gained control over my life and body, as well as a community to connect with and a voice to advocate with. Using knowledge, vocabulary and safe spaces I acquired, I can now recognise more clearly when I’m struggling. I have learned what my anxiety feels like and how my downward spirals look like. Facing my mental health just like any other health issue, helps me find old and new strategies to channel my strengths and handle distress. I often write some of my best pieces in weird mental spaces!  

I have been very lucky to have supportive family and friends throughout the years, who have helped me get through and find my paths. I have also been privileged to access wonderful support in recent years, as well as a community. Not everyone is as lucky. 

The mental distress risks for any child, adolescent and adult living with physical disabilities, are often preventable. Our society needs to change – visibility, inclusion and access are essential. Just as important is the consideration of psychosocial factors in disabled children and adults’ treatments and supports. Every health professional caring for people with disabilities must be aware of these risks and enable appropriate supports and advocacy. Every mental health professional must become aware of disability issues. 

It is time to talk about how ableism in society, in the medical system, in workplaces and in the education system – all impact mental health of individuals with disabilities. We must acknowledge that ableism, discrimination, bullying and exclusion all have a huge part to play in disabled lives’ mental health. We must acknowledge that much anxiety, depression, frustration, trauma and suicidal ideation, can be prevented through social change. Prioritising each individual’s needs is key. Disability equity should look like every disabled person having a full say in what they need, children included. Social and psychological supports, including advocacy and decision-making supports, should be prioritised as essential services, not a side-note. 

This is a matter of life or death, as well as respect and quality of life. We all deserve to live our best life, and no one’s health should suffer because of their race, disability status, gender, or sexual orientation. 

Like many other disability advocates, I too want to dispel stereotypes about disability being a horrible thing. What we need to include in this conversation is the intersection between physical disabilities and mental health. I certainly don’t have all the answers. We all must ask the questions.

Let’s practice thinking of the complex – instead of oversimplifying this world. Having a disability is normal, it is cool, and it is sexy. Experiencing mental distress and social struggles because of it – is not. 

Liel K. Bridgford

[i] https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1746-1561.2008.00297.x https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0002713809604155

[ii]https://csds.qld.edu.au/sdc/Provectus/GAPP/Impact%20of%20childhood%20illness/files/Cadman%20chronic%20illness%20&%20social%20well%20being%201987.pdf