If you are asked to describe a disabled person, how would you describe them? I bet the majority of answers would include a wheelchair or mobility aid of some sort. In the UK, the figures state that 1 in 5 people have a disability, 80 per cent of which have a hidden disability. This means that every single day, you are surrounded by individuals who may be silently living with their own challenges, yet their struggles remain invisible. But make no mistake—just because you cannot see their disabilities does not mean they aren’t agonisingly real. Invisible Disability Awareness Week looks to raise awareness and reduce the stigma around people living with hidden disabilities. Invisible disabilities cover an expansive range of physical, neurological and mental conditions.
Since my own physical disabilities have become worse, I’ve become brutally aware of the inadequacies of our society’s treatment of disabled people. Any day I leave my house I find myself asking for accommodations that should be automatically provided for both my visible and invisible disabilities. It’s an exhausting battle that no one should have to fight. We shouldn’t need to conform to the stereotype of what “looking disabled” means to have our voices heard and our needs met. We owe you no diagnosis, no justification for our access needs—only the simple request for understanding and respect.
It’s astonishing how the world perceives and treats me differently depending on whether I am in a wheelchair or walking unaided. People jump to offer you help if you’re in a wheelchair, which is obviously lovely and I appreciate the gesture; I just wish they’d ask before pushing my chair! People want proof and evidence, like I need to spill my medical backstory before they’ll take me seriously. We shouldn’t need to conform to the stereotype of what “looking disabled” means to have our voices heard and our needs met. We owe you no diagnosis and no justification for our access needs.
People living with invisible disabilities have an extra emotional toll. I meet a friend in a café needing some time to look after my emotional wellbeing. I'm in my wheelchair and at best, others will make understanding assumptions why I’m there and not at work. I look disabled; therefore, I am excused. Then imagine it’s still me, equally disabled but not needing my chair that day. That casual observer may jump to very different assumptions. "You don’t look disabled, why are you not working. You are clearly just after benefits and are lazy." The guilt that disabled people can be made to feel is huge, and even more so when the disabilities are invisible.
Accessibility should not be dependent on the disclosure of a diagnosis; it is a fundamental human right that should be afforded to all. We shouldn’t have to "look disabled" in order to access good spaces, awareness, and care. Just because the struggles are invisible does not mean they are any less significant.
