I won’t whisper this to make others comfortable.
I won’t dilute it so it fits inspirational posters.
I am disabled.
And my disability saved my life.
🧠✨
My disability stripped away illusions early. It burned down my tolerance for bullshit. It made me immune to mediocrity dressed as charisma – that smooth, empty confidence that passes for competence in rooms full of nodding heads.
I see it immediately.
The hollow authority.
The confidence without substance.
The rules enforced by people who never once asked why.
And I can’t unsee it.
While others learned how to blend in, I learned how to see.
I see power hiding behind procedure.
Cruelty hiding behind “policy.”
Fear hiding behind authority.
And I can’t unsee it. That’s not a defect. That’s clarity.
🐾💙
My disability taught me where safety actually lives:
Not in institutions. Not in titles.
But in animals. In loyalty. In those who don’t lie because they don’t need to.
It taught me that needing support is not shameful—and that demanding dignity is not aggression.
🔥
Yes, it hurts.
Yes, it costs more.
Yes, the world is built to exhaust people like me into silence.
But here’s the part they never say out loud:
Disabled people are dangerous – to unjust systems.
Because we ask why.
Because we don’t forget.
Because we don’t accept harm just because it’s normalized.
My disability didn’t weaken me.
It made me impossible to gaslight.
🌱
So don’t pity me.
Don’t patronize me.
And don’t confuse my refusal to comply with injustice as a flaw.
I am disabled.
And that disability is a blessing – one that came wrapped in pain, truth, and an unbreakable spine.
And I wouldn’t trade it to be comfortably blind.
