Disability. Acceptance. Rae!

Now, other than me being the common denominator… disability and acceptance have something else in common too:

Other people’s perceptions.

The thoughts, the assumptions, the labels.

Yep.. I’m talking about the stereotypes, the categories, the boxes society likes to put us in. Usually without any actual understanding, lived experience, or even the decency to ask us first.

For some, being disabled means being “less than.” It means helplessness. It means being pitied or ignored.

People have said we’re “confined” to hospital beds, hooked up to machines and get this.. wheelchairs (spoiler: we’re not.. we use them). They’ve thrown around outdated phrases like “deaf and dumb” or “crippled,” as if we’re stuck in the past right alongside their language.

There are still people out there who think disability means you’re not capable of thought, humour, love, or intelligence.. and they treat us that way. As if having a disabled body means you must also have a broken mind or spirit.

But to others? We’re just… people. Like anyone else.

No matter our ability or disability, we’re still human. We’re still whole. We’re still worthy of respect.

Because guess what?

Even identical twins.. or triplets.. or multiples.. are different. Different likes. Different personalities. Different memories. Different stories.

We are all different. And that difference isn’t just okay.. it’s normal.

So when it comes to acceptance.. whether of someone else, or of ourselves.. it can be a minefield. Especially when the world keeps trying to define you before you’ve had a chance to define yourself.

For some of us, accepting ourselves… and our lives? It’s not easy.

Not because we don’t want to.

Not because we’re ashamed.

But because we’ve spent a lifetime being told what we aren’t, instead of being supported for who we are.

For me, acceptance comes in the form of me.

Me not being able to fully accept that this is my life now.

That the person who used to care for everyone else.. who loved doing things for others, who found purpose in helping.. is now the person who needs care. Who needs help. Who needs 24/7 support.

And let me be clear:

This does not make me any less of a person.

It doesn’t make me any less of an adult.

But internally?

This isn’t how I pictured my life.

And I think I can speak for more than just myself when I say…

This isn’t the life many of us imagined.

Not because we don’t value our lives.

Not because we aren’t grateful.

But because grief and gratitude can exist side by side.

And that’s one thing a lot of able-bodied people don’t truly get…

The disabled community live every moment with gratitude.

Because we’re still here.

Still living.

Still experiencing life.

Still finding joy in places others overlook.

But alongside that gratitude?

There’s grief. Deep grief.

Many of us mourn the person we once were.. the version of us we watched slowly fade as a new version began to take shape.

Sometimes it happens slowly. Other times, in a blink.

We’ve had to close chapters on things we loved.. on passions, hobbies, and dreams.

Some of us have walked away from careers we built from scratch.

Some of us had to put education on hold.. or give it up altogether.

Some of us rely on our partners or even our children to care for us now.

Some of us had to leave homes that held years of memories, just because they weren’t accessible anymore.

We don’t just adjust to disability.

We have to rebuild our lives around it.

We learn.

We adapt.

We change.

And that’s where acceptance becomes everything.

Not a finish line. Not a perfect mindset.

But a daily act of courage.. choosing to keep going, keep showing up, and keep finding ourselves in this new version of life.

I think I’m always going to struggle with accepting life this way.

Not because I’m unhappy. 
Not because I’ve given up. 
Not because I “can’t be bothered” to live. 
But because my life is always changing. 
Nothing stays still for long.

My disabilities are like a game of roulette.

You don’t know what’s going to happen next.. what symptom will show up, what your body will throw at you today. You don’t know if it’ll last a few minutes, a few hours, a few days… or if it’s something that’s going to become permanent.
That unpredictability?
That’s the hardest part.

It makes planning hard. It makes hope feel risky. It makes acceptance feel like a moving target.

Yes, I have my good days. 
Yes, I have my bad days. 
But ultimately… I’m still here. 
Still showing up. 
Still learning who I am in this ever-changing life.

And maybe that’s what acceptance really is.. not liking everything, but choosing to keep going anyway.

I remember sitting in my room one night thinking, “This can’t be my life.”

Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. The pain, the overwhelm, the weight of it all… it just felt impossible.
And now? I still have those moments sometimes. 
I still cry over the things I’ve lost. I still get frustrated when I can’t do simple things without help. 
But now I sit there surrounded by my art, by messages from people who get it, by little reminders of what I’ve created.. not just with my hands, but through my pain. 
Maybe this isn’t the life I planned. 
But it’s still mine. 
And I’m still building it.

We can be proud of how far we’ve come and still be angry that it’s this hard. 
We can laugh and cry in the same hour. 
We can carry on even when it feels messy, loud, unfair, or impossible. 
We don’t always do it gracefully.. sometimes we barely do it at all.. but we do it. 
And maybe that’s what acceptance looks like right now. 
Not peace.
Not perfection. 
Just showing up. 
Still here.
Still us.

And that's all we can do.. and can be.. Ourselves!!