By Alicia Krage

I’ve been blind practically from birth. I had vision for a month, so I obviously don’t remember it. So in my mind, while there are likely visual memories stored from my very early days of life, being blind is the only life I’ve known. That being said, I’m very used to advocating for all kinds of things — inclusion and accessibility, mostly.

This might sound a bit negative, but this world was not designed for people with disabilities. If it was, we’d always have audio description, wheelchair accessible entrances, ride-share drivers ready and willing to take passengers and their service animals, etc. But sadly, this is not the case. We have to find resources for audio-described content. We have to report ride-share drivers who won’t accept a guide dog. We have to make companies aware if their apps or websites don’t work with screen-reading software. I’ve gotten pretty used to that, and while it does frustrate me more often than not, it’s also a lesson in how to make others aware. I don’t think it’s always intentional. Not all companies have an accessibility team full of screen-reader users, for example, who know the inner workings of it all and how it should work with navigating apps and websites. So we educate. We inform people what our access needs are. And when we encounter people who may offer to help too much when we’re out and about, we tell them if we need help or not — and if we do, we tell them how to help us.

I don’t mind doing these things, because the only way for people to know how to accommodate us is for us to educate them, and it teaches us to be advocates of the disabled community. I think it also helps others become comfortable asking what we need, or how we do things, or how they can help. In the end, that’s all I want. All I want is for people to ask and educate.

I know that for some, I am the first blind person someone has ever encountered, whether it’s close friends I have now and we were once strangers, or ride-share drivers or even airport staff. It isn’t news to me, and I don’t mind. But sometimes I think that people are so nervous to ask us questions that they’d either rather (1) help in the way they think is appropriate, or (2) assume they know what we need or where we’re going. As frustrating as this can be to navigate, I’m learning that most people do have good intentions.

When I’m out and about in the world, I have a lot of respect for those who are very upfront about the fact that they don’t know how to guide me. It’s the same kind of comfort you get from talking to someone about something difficult and they say, “I don’t know what to say, but I’m listening.” I know that we’re all human, therefore we don’t always have the right answers or take the right actions, but being transparent about that is much appreciated, especially for me. People who just flat out ask, “How do I guide you?” Or, “I’m new to this, what would help you?” goes a long way. This happens to me a lot at Southwest Airlines when navigating airports. Often times, they’re used to assisting disabled passengers, but as we know, “disability” is a broad term and can mean all types of disabilities. They may have more experience with another disability that isn’t blindness. In these cases, I’ve had a lot of airport assistance just ask me how to help, and I think that’s so important for non-disabled people to do. You won’t know our access needs and accommodations if we don’t tell you. And in order for us to tell you, you have to ask. We don’t ever expect you to just know, but we do expect respect.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t always happen, and since relocating from my hometown and transitioning from suburban life to a big city, it sometimes feel like I’ve had to start from scratch. While Houston does seem to have a familiarity with blindness, I encounter people who get flustered and uncertain sometimes. Sometimes it’s as simple as correcting them (“I’ll take your arm,” when they take hold of my wrist to guide me), and other times it’s having to stand my ground a little. I’m working on finding the line between educating others politely and being assertive. Because a lack of knowledge is one thing, but disrespect is another whole other ball game that I feel like maybe I have been tolerating for too long. I think it’s okay to give people the benefit of the doubt sometimes, but not always.

Recently, I was going with a friend to get her nails done. She’s also blind. When we got off the bus and were heading toward the doors, someone approached us and asked if we needed help. My friend replied with a polite “no thank you.” After being asked two more times, there was a bit of a pause before I then heard her tell them that she didn’t need help and to please not touch her. Often times, people will put their hands on our shoulders to steer us, or often grab our arm to turn us in the right direction, even though we said no and even though we aren’t lost. Sometimes this happens without even asking if we need help, and as you can probably imagine, can be pretty startling. But watching her navigate this situation and using an assertive tone but not being overly aggressive made me realize that I have let others take away my autonomy for far too long. People won’t know what I need and what’s okay and what’s not okay unless I tell them. If I tell them that isn’t okay and educate them, this’ll benefit both of us.

I’m learning that maybe that’s how we advocate. Maybe we watch others. Maybe we see the way others conduct themselves and follow in their footsteps. At least, that’s how I want to learn. I want to surround myself with people who are good at educating others on their access needs but also being firm about their boundaries. And you can make this easier by just asking how to help. Ask and educate.

Alicia Krage is a graduate of Northern Illinois University. She relocated to Houston, Texas in early 2023 where she found a great community of people with disabilities. She has a passion for writing, centering her posts on advocacy, inclusivity, and relationships as a totally blind person.

By Leah Smith

‘Tis the season to be jolly, or so the saying goes. But what if you aren’t? While the holidays can offer opportunities to gather with family and loved ones, they can also bring feelings of loneliness and isolation, especially if you’re not able to be with your (chosen) family for any number of reasons. With 11 different holidays packed into the month of December alone, it can often feel as if everyone but you is surrounded by people who love them.

The experience of isolation is something many disabled folx face year-round, but it can feel especially overwhelming during the holidays. The holidays are often framed as a time for family gatherings, socializing, and celebration. There is a societal expectation to be surrounded by loved ones, engaging in festive activities. Depending on one’s disability, physical, emotional, or logistical barriers—such as difficulty attending large gatherings, pain, or the lack of an accessible space—can make this idealized version of the holidays feel out of reach. The pressure to conform to these expectations can intensify feelings of loneliness and exclusion.  

Ableism, stigma, and a lack of accessibility are just a few of the barriers that often pave the way for this sense of loneliness. Ableism, simply put, is the discrimination people with disabilities experience. During the holidays, ableism can take many forms, both overt and subtle, and can amplify feelings of isolation, exclusion, and marginalization for disabled individuals. For those who are neurodivergent, this ableism might be experienced in the pressure to conform to social norms or participate in celebrations. For those who have mental health disabilities, ableism can be in the pressure to be “happy.” And for those with physical disabilities, an inaccessible event space or a lack of accessible bathrooms can send clear messages about whether or not a person belongs at this event. Many holiday gatherings and public events—whether they are family dinners, office parties, or festive celebrations—are not designed with accessibility in mind. However, there are also ways we, as disabled people, can push back against these barriers and challenge the assumptions about ‘disability’ and ‘community’ that often get in our way the most. 

First, if you are reading this article as an ally to the disability community, there are a few things you can do to help us mitigate the isolation we face. Addressing ableism and stigma in yourself and in your community can be one of the most impactful. As Andrew Pulrang so eloquently noted in his article 7 Things Disabled People Have to Think About Every Day, “The goal is to foster practical knowledge of disabled life, so disabled people’s needs might be better anticipated, and so their requests for accommodations are more readily accepted and met, rather than doubted, picked apart, and denied.” 

What is Ableism Anyway?

Talila Lewis’ working definition of ableism is my favorite, as it so nicely illustrates the intersectionality of ableism with other systems of oppression, like racism, sexism, and capitalism. Intersectionality is the idea that one’s identity consists of multiple overlapping categories, such as disability, race, gender, class, and/or sexual orientation. Many people with disabilities are not just disabled but experience other marginalized identities in which their experience is also framed.

Fighting ableism is one big way we can all address isolation in the disability community.  From my perspective, this fight requires a combination of personal reflection, systemic changes, and cultural shifts in attitudes and beliefs. Ableism can manifest in many forms, from individual biases to structural barriers and can all lead to the social isolation of people with disabilities. From decades of experience from disability activists and allies, to effectively challenge ableism, we must approach it from multiple angles. This includes, education, advocacy, allyship, creating more inclusive environments, and ensuring we have disabled voices at every table.  

The Disability Community 

Photo from Disabled and Here, photographed by Chona Kasinger.

As for those reading this in the disability community, you are not the only one feeling alone and isolated. Sometimes loneliness and isolation are referred to as the “invisible enemy,” but, without a doubt, research shows that we’re facing a mental health crisis in our community. In fact, 61% of disabled people say they are experiencing chronic loneliness. Further, 70% of young disabled people (ages 16 to 24) report feeling lonely “always” or “often” (sense.org). However, when in the depths of feeling isolated, I can guarantee that it doesn’t feel like you are actually part of the majority in this experience.

Unfortunately, the health risks of feeling prolonged loneliness and isolation are equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day and can further cause depression, pain, or fatigue (chrt.org). But if you’ve ever experienced being socially isolated, I don’t have to explain these statistics to you. You’ve felt them. It simply feels awful to not feel included in any given community.

So, What Can We Do About It?

It seems to me that while fighting ableism and ensuring spaces are accessible for all of us might be one of the first steps, joining community comes even before that. Joining the larger disability community in the fight against discriminating policies, social norms, and attitudes can be an incredibly powerful experience. Maybe this means following other disabled people on social media, reading a book by a disabled author, or forming friendships with other disabled people in your community. But in whatever capacity makes sense for you, joining other disabled people to break some of the unspoken rules nondisabled people hold for disabled people can be a huge step in resisting the ableism and stigma we experience. I have personally seen people with varying disabilities break these unspoken rules by collectively not worrying about how loud they are being in a public setting, as some members of the group are hard of hearing; or by going out for a drink when some in the group have an intellectual disability (drinking for someone with an intellectual disability is often seen as forbidden, even when they are of age); or when a group of Little People collectively take on someone who has taken their picture without consent. Pushing back against systemic ableism and stigma simply requires us to band together. As a reminder for myself included, community, joy, and rest are all forms of resistance.    

While the holidays can often amplify feelings of isolation for disabled people, they also present an opportunity to reflect on the systemic barriers that contribute to this sense of loneliness and to think about ways we can resist them. Whether through addressing ableism within our own lives, advocating for accessibility, or building more inclusive communities, we can all play a part in fostering a world where disabled individuals are not left at the margins. For those who experience loneliness, remember that you are not alone in this struggle—many of us share these feelings, and together, we can create spaces where joy, connection, and belonging are not reserved for some, but available to all. In the fight against ableism and stigma, community, rest, and collective resistance are not just political acts; they are essential for our well-being and survival. As we move through this season and into 2025, let’s keep in mind that resistance starts with solidarity—and sometimes, the greatest form of resistance is simply choosing to be in community with one another.

Leah Smith is the Associate Director of the National Center for Disability, Equity, and Intersectionality. Leah intentionally uses identity-first language throughout her writing as a way to resist the notion that disability is something negative or should be avoided. By using identity first language, she hopes to convey the idea that disability is an integral and positive part of who she is.  

By Mids Meinberg

Community is an ever-precious commodity, for everyone, everywhere. In community, people find support and conversation and a mutual understanding. Only by working together can we hope to achieve truly great things, and the community is the first step in that. For most of human history, community had been organized around physical spaces, but now truly communal spaces are slowly disappearing. Add in the difficulties that disabled people have getting to physical spaces in general due to the inaccessibility of transit, and disabled people are more bereft of these traditional communities.

There is another way, though, and that is through the creation of online communities.

Some of the first uses of the internet for general use (which is to say, not for the military or for research institutions) were Bulletin Board Systems (BBSes). These were essentially very early forums, and allowed people who knew how to find them to communicate together, gathering information and just chatting. The very first public dial-up BBS was put into effect in 1978, as a way for friends to communicate when the Great Chicago Blizzard prevented transit.

Since then, networks of connections have expanded and the specific ways that people communicate online have evolved. From forums to chat messengers to social media to video game streaming, the internet has created digital spaces for communities to be brought to life. Much of my youth was spent playing games online with people who were once strangers, spread across the world, but after years of playing together, we had become friends.

Not all of these communities have been the healthiest, but the same could be said for all communities. There is always some degree of risk associated with opening oneself up to be vulnerable to a group of people, but it’s a necessary risk to keep from becoming entirely isolated in a world that so often seeks to separate us.

Online spaces benefit from being very accessible. Computer technology has reached the point where almost everyone can use the internet, so long as they have the right accessibility tools available. The ability to access the internet from home is great for people with mobility disabilities and those that cannot otherwise get to places. The emphasis on just words, rather than words and non-verbal communication, (except in easily parsable emojis) also makes text communication much easier for many neurodivergent people. The ability of multiple people to write at once and have a legible conversation helps a lot with me, as otherwise my social anxiety makes it difficult to know when it’s okay for me to talk.

Gaming has become a very major focus for communities online. Thinking about most kinds of media (broadly speaking) is something that can be done alone, and then shared. The kinds of tools that help to analyze one work in a medium apply to all works, i.e. knowing how to look at the themes of one book allows a person to look at themes in all books. Playing video games, however, does require new strategies for each game, which mostly takes the forms of guides and guidance from peers, rather than publisher-printed strategy guides. Video games thrive when in conversation, with players helping each other to overcome challenges and learn about secrets in order to master the games, and these conversations are happening online.

Many games are also best played with a group, and so having spaces to organize playing together makes sense, and as those organizational spaces become places for discussion around the game, it’s inevitable for the conversations to broaden and become the seed of a proper community.

Discord is a chat program that allows individuals to host servers that others can join. The servers can be aligned around any theme, though usually they have a hobby or a personality at their core. For example, popular streamers typically have their own Discord servers and most individual games also have their own Discords. Particularly large multiplayer games will have multiple Discords, organized around people who play it together.

Discord is one of the most popular apps for community creation. This is partially because invites can be shared freely, and partially because a given server is broken up into different channels. Channels then are about specific subjects, allowing for a more organized flow of conversation. Typically, the primary subject of the server has multiple channels devoted to it, but there are also channels for general discussion, link sharing, and other off-topic conversations.

While the primary purpose of a given Discord remains important, it’s these side channels that really elevate Discord’s ability to create a community. A space to unwind and just enjoy spending time with others online is necessary to create a space that is more than purely functional. In these side channels, participants can get to know each other as people, to offer emotional support in difficult times, to provide distractions from day-to-day stresses, and to commiserate in shared difficulties.

In this way, the sort of digital spaces offered by Discord are especially ideal for disabled people, as it removes the barriers that are often present in physical spaces and provides a space where disabled people can freely discuss their disability with others who might be across the globe, but sharing in a similar struggle against ableism.

ES Gaming, powered by Easterseals, has a Discord community where disabled and non-disabled gamers can meet and talk with each other. Solutions to inaccessible controls can be workshopped, multiplayer games can be organized, and all-in-all the participants are able to know that they are not alone in their identity and their interests.

Gaming might seem somewhat trivial in terms of the grander issues of the world, but to some degree that is its power. It is entertainment, and in that entertainment players are able to find a degree of control. In addition, games are a major medium in the world, a part of the global culture. Though games are not always accessible, people working in all parts of the industry are doing their best to improve that, with sensitivity editors, disabled play-testers, and accessible controller manufacturers leading the way.

ES Gaming also runs streams where disabled people are given the focus. Disabled gamers are disproportionately under-represented in streaming, and ES Gaming is doing its best to change that, to create a community where disabled faces are put to the forefront, rather than relegated to the background. ES Gaming regularly runs special streaming events where community members can take part in the games and just have a good time together.

Mids Meinberg is a writer and game designer working out of New Jersey. They have an AA in Creative Writing from Brookdale Community College.

By Keah Brown

I am a person who traffics in hope. Hope is my favorite word, and I even have it tattooed on my left arm. But I find that lately, hope has been elusive, sneaking out of my bedroom before sunrise, ghosting me like an attractive person on a dating app. I move forward because I have to, not necessarily because I always want to. Something I learned from a very young age is that most things are not easy. As a woman with cerebral palsy, I have spent my life adapting to the world around me in order to survive. I have had to find workarounds for broken stair railings, inoperable elevators, and a lack of places to rest my body when it gives out in public places. In a society hellbent on productivity and efficiency, I have had to live my life by the guide of “I’ll figure it out.” no matter how long it may take. I have figured out ways to get dressed, type, eat, play piano, zip up coats, put my hair into a ponytail unassisted and more, with the full use of only one hand. The journey wasn’t easy, and, on some days, I still find myself asking for help when I am on a deadline or time crunch, but I am proud of all that I have accomplished in my body. So, yes, I am not the wet dream of productivity and efficiency that America prides itself on. Still, my existence matters, and the way I chose to present myself to the world despite its ideas of my believed inherent worthlessness as a person who “fails” at being the model of the American dream, is worthy of respect and care. I will not acknowledge anything less.  

Photo of Keah by Grayley’s Moon.

Recently, I flew to New York City to see Suffs: The Musical, a musical about the journey for white women to get the right to vote. I have always loved musicals; I am currently co-writing one. What surprised me was how moved I was by the show. I was grateful for the inclusion of the difference in journey between the black and white women. I watched with teary eyes as Ida B. Wells, played by Nikki M. James, sang about constantly being told to wait her turn. The irony lies in the fact that, today, Black women are told the same. I cannot and will not speak for all Black women as we are not a monolith. However, I am dog-tired. I am so tired of the constant work of being the one who thinks of the greater good, who understands that as a Black woman in my every identity, I am considered the lowest rung on the ladder. I think about a world that would rather I not exist. The myth of the strong Black woman is just that. Black women are magical, sure, but we are human more importantly. 

However, the plea I find myself asking for is not a plea to the people too far gone to ever care about people like me: disabled, Black, queer, and a woman, but a plea to those of us who do care. When you have had to fight tooth and nail to exist in a world not designed for you or interested in your wellbeing, you learn that the only person eager and willing to share the journey of how you continue to fight is you. If we do not address the -isms now, progress will be harder to make in the future. All I want is freedom, and I want to make that desire known. I have always believed in speaking the things I want most into existence. As woo-woo as it sounds, it has worked for me more times than I can count. So, all I want is freedom. The freedom to be my full self: Black, disabled, queer, messy, awkward, eager, and more. I want to rest both physically and mentally while looking out for and sharing space with the people who have always done the same with me. I want to be selfish and angry; I don’t want to pretend like everything is okay. I feel like I have been doing that for far too long and the only person suffering because of that choice is me. I want to take off the white Olivia Pope hat and close the curtains from the comfort of a couch and my favorite romcoms. I don’t have the answers and I won’t go looking for them just yet. The only thing I need to concern myself with is my own safety, happiness, and dreams. As far as hope goes, I would love for it to return to me before the year is out and give me something worthwhile to hold onto.

Keah Brown is a writer, journalist, and disability rights advocate known for her impactful work on the intersection of disability, race, and self-love. As the creator of the viral hashtag #DisabledAndCute, Brown promotes body positivity and self-acceptance for disabled people. Her works include The Pretty One, The Secret Summer Promise, and Sam’s Super Seats.

By Mids Meinberg

Slowly, the world is coming into a greater understanding of the effects of mental illness. Despite this, there are still many who view those with mental health disabilities as broken. They might also think that we are wrong in the way that we look at the world and at ourselves. In truth, there are undeniably downsides to some kinds of mental illness, but these downsides do not make us any less or worse than other people, and it does not mean that we are inherently wrong. We are just different, and our differences should be celebrated and embraced.

Of course, this is complicated by the relationship between mental illness and neurodivergence. Neurodivergence refers to people who have different ways of looking at the world because of a neurological condition. Many neurodivergent people do not see their disability to be mental illness, though the conditions that cause neurodivergence have been considered to be mental illnesses in the past. Examples of neurodivergent conditions include autism, ADHD, and learning disabilities.

Neurodivergent activists as well many other disabled people are very clear that they do not need to be cured, but rather they see their disability as an integral part of their identity. Attempting to remove this part of a person would be like trying to cure someone of being gay, something unconscionable to any compassionate person, but with a deeply tragic history of being attempted. There is no denying, though, that having ADHD or a learning disability makes it hard to navigate society, but this difficulty can be mediated in many ways, through accommodations, medication, and services, but most importantly with compassion, care, and understanding from those in the lives of the neurodivergent person.

People with mental illnesses, however, tend to have a more complicated relationship with their disability than neurodivergent people. Indeed, some mental illnesses are inherently temporary, like a case of major depression following a traumatic event. Some come and go, cycling in and out of the person’s life, like Seasonal Affective Disorder. Some cause great difficulty in interacting with others, like social anxiety. And some are greatly villainized to such an extreme that having them is seen as being “evil,” like narcissism or borderline personality disorder.

My most prominent mental illness, chronic depression, is something that I do struggle against. It makes it harder for me to do the things that I need to do, and it makes me find less joy in the things that I want to do. It reduces my capability to act in the world, and, when combined with my other mental illnesses, makes it very difficult for me to form and maintain strong interpersonal relationships. But, this is why I have therapy and medication to help mediate the worst symptoms of my depression.

Indeed, most mental illnesses can be made more manageable with therapy, medication, and other forms of care. Even with these aids, though, most mental illnesses cannot be cured, cannot be completely removed. Even if I could be cured completely, though, I would not want it.

I have talked many times about how my depression has helped to shape my worldview, helped me to think about where I stand in society, and what society truly means, in ways that someone without depression simply could not. A concept called depressive realism suggests that people without depression inherently have a slightly higher view of themselves than is strictly accurate. This slight self-bias is almost certainly a healthy thing, necessary in a world that can be so casually cruel to those who are not able to stand up for themselves.

So while my perspective may hurt me, it does help me see the world slightly more clearly, forming a foundation that I have expanded upon as I’ve continued to live with my depression. The treatment I receive for my depression also helps me from sliding too far in the other direction with my views, helping me to achieve a balance that is only possible through the intersection of my mental illness and my continued existence within society.

I have only my lived experience with mental illness to rely on in terms of finding the strength in my thinking, but I can see how a person with borderline personality disorder could use their self-perspective to be excellent promoters of themselves and the things they care about. Well-crafted coping mechanisms for social anxiety, created with the aid of therapy, can help a person to create space in a healthy way in conversations.

This is also the case for neurodivergent people, though neurodivergent people have become increasingly vocal at advocating for their value and the value of their perspective in society. Mentally ill people can follow the lead of neurodivergent activists in becoming prominent advocates for themselves, and for the proper care for their disabilities. Socially ostracizing narcissists will not help them to better balance the needs of others. Sticking schizophrenic people in mental institutions where they cannot be seen will not help them to find the inner understanding they may need. Telling depressed people to be happier will only make us more miserable.

But despite the difficulties that come with mental illnesses, we are not broken. We are not monsters, we are not anything other than human. Unfortunately, there are those in our culture that seek to demonize all people with mental illnesses, to make us seem dangerous and a threat to the well-being of an ordered society. They see the ways that we struggle against the constraints of the day-to-day, of the ways that we are constantly let down by systems of oppression, and these people see the problem as us.

But we aren’t the problem. We are human, with all the imperfections and grace that comes with our species. We aren’t a threat, we aren’t a burden. We’re just different, and our different experiences and perspectives add to the complexity and beauty of our society.

Mids Meinberg is a writer and game designer working out of New Jersey. They have an AA in Creative Writing from Brookdale Community College.