Military Caregiving Education

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.

By Mids Meinberg

Language inherently has a history; it’s derived from the society in which it was derived, but the meanings of words subtly change as they are filtered through contemporary culture. While the denotation of words (their dictionary definition) rarely changes, the connotation (the extra cultural meaning of a word) changes much more frequently. With more and more people gaining access to the telecommunication networks of the world via the internet, more people are able to put their input into the language we use and the meanings behind them.

In many cases, this means pointing out words that, while once commonplace, carry with them negative connotations, particularly with regard to marginalized groups. While I am disabled and queer, this does not give me universal access to the feelings of all marginalized people. In particular, I cannot speak in specifics about the role of inclusive language when it comes to people of color. Hopefully the general guidance provided here will provide a foundation for further learning about those specifics.

When talking about inclusive language, it is important to understand why people should not use words that are rooted in bigoted notions. The idea from Orwell’s 1984 that language restricts our thoughts is perhaps hyperbolic, but it is true that the way people speak about things reflects the way that we think about them.

For example, the word “lame” is very often used to refer to anything boring or underwhelming. However, it literally refers to a difficulty with walking deriving from injury or disability to the foot or leg. When “lame” is used in the connotative sense to mean these negative things, it can be easy to start thinking about people with disabilities affecting their movement as boring.

Now, this is not a guaranteed thing to happen. Most people can hold these two definitions separate in their minds. In fact, this process more frequently happens in reverse, where people begin to develop negative connotations to groups of people and then apply those feelings to the words used to describe those people. With disabled people, a lot of these words had their negative connotations assigned a long time ago to the point that it can be hard to know what words exactly have origins in bigotry.

In other cases, the linguistic shift has happened in recent memory. For example, the word “special” was used to refer to developmentally disabled people in an attempt to deflect from the heated connotations associated with the previous word used to describe them, the r-slur. Unfortunately, since society still at large holds extremely negative views regarding developmentally disabled people, using “special” to refer to a person rather quickly came to have the same sort of connotation as the r-slur.

Every term used to refer to queer people, including now widely accepted words like queer and gay but also less widely reclaimed slurs, has had a negative connotation at some point or another. “Gay” came to have connotations similar to “lame” while “queer” had a meaning that was built entirely upon alienating the target of the term, focusing on their role as an Other. Over time, efforts have been made to reclaim the use of these words, by separating them from their negative connotations and using them more specifically. Queer, for instance, has been reclaimed in large part to its use in academia, with queer studies taking on an important role in normalizing queer people. Gay, in contrast, has become reclaimed by informal conversations on the internet, with queer people of all kinds rallying behind it as a term they can embrace as part of their identity.

This points to the second major reason to use inclusive language: it helps the speaker to avoid looking like a bigot. We all screw up and use non-inclusive language in our informal speech; non-inclusive language is the default and we have to work to actively deprogram our minds from its usage, which is always going to be a work in progress. In formal speech or even when addressing a group of coworkers in an email, however, it’s important to be more diligent about inclusive language. If a set of prepared remarks contains non-inclusive language, it communicates to the listeners that the speaker does not care about the affected marginalized group.

There is a clear distinction here between slurs and non-inclusive language, however. Slurs should never be used, regardless of the context, though this is much easier thanks to the inherent hatred involved in a slur. As long as one does not hold active hatred towards the target of a slur, then the power of the word will be evident before it is said, allowing for its use to be prevented.

Another difference is that it is possible to use words that might be non-inclusive in contexts where their usage is in fact inclusive. For example, using the word “blind” to refer to someone being ignorant is non-inclusive, but using it to refer to someone who literally cannot see is fine. Indeed, the precise words for disabilities when used specifically to those disabilities is almost always a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Disability is not a slur and embracing being disabled as an identity helps to grant strength to disabled people, both in the general and with their specific disabilities.

There are some words, however, that are more general in their relationship to disability and thus should not be used by non-disabled people, like “crip” or “gimp.” These words still hold a larger amount of power in them, largely in how they had been weaponized against disabled people in the past. However, some disabled people have taken these words and harnessed their power, using them as a vibrant and striking form of self-identification. Even though these words have been used to hurt in the past, that history makes them a powerful symbol of unity and the changing tides of history when used by disabled people.

Ultimately, the key to understanding inclusive language is understanding that language has power, it has meaning beyond what you can find in the dictionary. By using language well and with understanding of the people who are most likely to be affected by it, you can use that power to bridge gaps rather than widen them.

In summary:

• Language subtly affects how we think about the world.
• Language is shaped by society’s perception.
• Avoid using words in a way that assigns negative connotations to marginalized groups.
• Using words literally is usually fine.
• Slurs should never be used by anyone outside of the targeted group.

Some examples:

• Don’t use blind to mean ignorant
• Don’t use deaf to mean callous
• Don’t use gay to mean bad
• Don’t use lame to mean boring
• Use non-verbal instead of dumb or mute
• Use little people to describe people with dwarfism

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