For a long time, I had a narrow view of what disability really was. I saw it as something that only affected a person’s body in obvious, visible ways. I thought it was solely about what a person couldn’t do physically. Well, there is much more to it.
What truly defines disability is the barriers people face; not just in their bodies, but in society. Disabilities could include things like anxiety, PTSD, learning differences, or chronic illnesses that come and go. People could look fine on the outside and still be fighting an invisible battle every day.
Disability is also about how the world responds. The real problem isn’t the disability itself; it’s how the world sees and treats people who live with them. Ableism is that invisible force that makes someone feel “less than” just because their body, mind, or way of being doesn’t fit into what society calls “normal.” It’s not just about ramps or elevators. It’s about being left out of conversations, decisions, opportunities. It’s being told in small and big ways: you don’t belong here.
Unnoticed for a long time, disability showed up in my life as ADD. Meaning I deal with things like forgetfulness, difficulty staying focused, a mind that takes a little longer to process information and challenges with visual memory-like remembering images, faces, or things I’ve seen. It is not obvious to others, but it affects how I move through each day. Some days, it feels like my brain is buffering while the world rushes on. I used to blame myself; thinking I just needed to be more disciplined or try harder. And the real issue isn’t my brain; it’s the pressure to perform like everyone else, without support or understanding. That is ableism; making you feel like you’re failing, when in reality, you’ve just been navigating a world that refuses to make space for difference.
We build systems for the “average” person and expect everyone else to adapt. But what if the problem isn’t the person? What if it’s the system itself?
When I was in school, my cousin, who has Cerebral Palsy, was allowed to attend assembly while sitting under a shed nearby, because standing still for long periods was painful. That simple adjustment wasn’t about giving him an unfair advantage; it was about letting him be part of things, just like everyone else. Accommodations are not special treatment; they’re fairness. If we believe in equity, we have to stop seeing accommodations as ‘extra’; they’re ‘essential’.
One thing that has always weighed on my mind is that people who advocate for themselves often face backlash; what is called Reprisal. You might ask for accommodation at work, and suddenly your hours are cut. Or you report harassment, and next thing you know, you’re being left out of meetings. These subtle punishments send a clear message: stay quiet. But that fear shouldn’t be the price people pay for standing up for themselves.
And for many, disability doesn’t exist on its own. It’s entangled with other parts of who they are. Imagine navigating the world as a young Indigenous student with dyslexia, or a single mom from an immigrant background dealing with postpartum depression. These intersections matter.
In many developing countries, including the one I come from, people with disabilities are still excluded from regular schools or workplaces. I’ve seen eligible children in my community sent to distant “special” schools just because of minor differences in ability, while their friends attended local public ones. It quietly sends a message: you don’t belong here.
Disabled people need to have a voice in shaping decisions; whether in education, healthcare, policy, or media. They aren’t passive recipients of help; they’re active contributors with insight, skill, and value.
If you’re reading this and realizing, you might have overlooked the daily barriers people with disabilities face. I used to, too. But now that we know better, we can do better.
Preety Majhi