What I wish I was taught in school as a disabled person

They say that your school years are some of the best times of your life. This might be true in some facets of our lives. From my experience, it was quite the opposite. My time in mainstream education was filled with inaccessibility, ableism and a whole load of barriers.

Admittedly, it wasn’t all bad though – there were some good memories, my parents showed the true definition of advocacy, and I couldn’t have asked for more supportive teaching assistants whose tireless dedication helped set me up for the path I’m on today.

Although I left school over 10 years ago, my time there has shaped some aspects of my life, even today. What sits at the forefront of my mind is the misconceptions, the assumptions from others and the lack of inclusion.

School was the first place I realised I was different. It was the place I felt most tormented by my disability – if others treated me like a human being outside, why was I so different when I walked in those school gates? Why did people have such negative views on disability and my capabilities? Why did the majority of my classmates not want to be friends with a blind person? Why did I feel like I was chasing shadows, when all I wanted to do was access the curriculum and get good grades like sighted people?

It’s no wonder all of these questions I had back then now make me reflect on my time in education. Some I have answers to, others I don’t.

If I had to do it again, I’d speak up more. Back then, I was a shy, confused little girl. I didn’t understand the multitude of being blind.

I can’t turn back the clock and do it all over again. In all honesty, I wouldn’t want to.

What I can do though, is share some of the things I wish I’d known, so others can hopefully benefit from my own learnings.

If I’ve got your undivided attention, here’s what I wish I was taught in school.

 

Independent living skills

Learning independent living skills is a postcode lottery in mainstream education. I have friends who had them integrated into their timetable. Others, like me, it was a mix. A mix of our family helping in every possible way, and teaching assistants providing support where they could. That in conjunction gave me the foundations I needed.

It was my mum and dad buying the accessible gadgets and figuring it out together.

If I’d have had it integrated into my curriculum, that would have set me up for years to come.

 

Disability advocacy

If one thing could sum up my time in education, it would be my parents repeatedly having to advocate, so I could receive the same education as everyone else. The fact is, they shouldn’t have had to do that. But they did.

Being taught disability advocacy wouldn’t have only helped me throughout my time in education, it would have also been a huge asset for the rest of my life as well.

There’s no denying that advocacy is a skill. You don’t learn to be an advocate because it’s something you choose to do, you learn to be an advocate because you have to. Many of us are passionate about our advocacy work. With that said, there can become a point where it all becomes too much. It can be exhausting. That’s only natural.

We don’t choose to read up on our rights as bedtime reading. We do it because we need to know the law and what we’re entitled to.

Being taught our rights could set us up for life-long advocacy.

This is my pledge to make disability advocacy part of the curriculum.

 

I don’t need to apologise when something isn’t my fault

I’ve done this ever since I was little. Even now, I’m guilty of doing this most days. I’m a chronic apologiser.

I hate how it’s still engrained in me. It comes off the tongue even before I can think about it.

All throughout my time in education, I got the vibes that people saw accessibility as a favour. That made me feel like I was being a problem, such as when accessing materials like my sighted classmates.

Of course, it wasn’t a favour at all. It was my right.

We live in a world that is often centred around the medical model of disability, one that tells disabled people that our disability is the problem. That makes us feel like it’s our fault.

When in fact, the onus should be put back on society, taking a social model of disability approach. I can only wish I’d learned about the social model of disability sooner. Perhaps then, I wouldn’t have felt that never-ending feeling of blame.

Over the years I’ve learned about the social model of disability and let go of a lot of that guilt as a result. Although, it still sneaks its way in.

I’m deleting the preface in emails which says “I’m sorry for any inconvenience”.

I’m trying to stop myself from saying “I’m sorry but…” before going any further. That one’s a work in progress.

After doing it for so long, it’s a really hard cycle to break.

I’m sharing this reminder for myself and anyone else: stop apologising when you don’t need to.

you are not an inconvenience.

It’s not your fault.

 

I can celebrate disability and identity, not hide it

My time in primary and secondary school were two very contrasting experiences in the way I viewed my disability.

During primary school, I knew I was different. I was slowly grasping the fact that I couldn’t see. Although, that didn’t bother me.

Despite sometimes wishing I could be in every lesson, learning braille and touch-typing were exciting in many ways.

Playing with a ball with bells in the playground with my friends added an extra touch to our lunchbreaks and playtimes.

Contrasting to that, it was when I got to secondary school that I started to notice my differences.

The stares and being treated differently to everyone else.

Grumbles about me needing materials in an accessible format.

Feeling like I stuck out like a sore thumb whenever I used my cane, so retreating and not using it felt like the only option.

Then I found people who understood my experiences. People I could relate to, that’s when my mindset shifted.

I realised that there’s so much to celebrate about being disabled.

If I’d have known that sooner, perhaps I’d have spoken up earlier.

I wouldn’t have felt like everything was my fault.

When I found the celebration in disability, that’s when the world made sense. That’s when everything fit into place.

We need to be teaching disabled young people that inaccessibility isn’t their fault. We need to be telling them that although society wasn’t designed with them in mind, that’s not something they should feel guilty about.

We should be reassuring them that there are people who get them.

We should be encouraging them to find their community, no matter what that looks like for them.

We should remind them that there’s a place for them in the world, even when it might not feel like it.

 

Needing support isn’t a sign of weakness

During my time in school, the way professionals viewed having support was very different to how I, and those around me view it today.

Back then, asking for support was perceived that I couldn’t do a task alone.

I was made to feel like I hadn’t tried hard enough, or like I shouldn’t have asked for the support in the first place.

When in truth, sometimes asking for support is the easier, and most accessible option. It doesn’t mean someone is incapable. It means that it’s the most accessible way for them.

I wish I knew that I shouldn’t have to play down my support needs to make someone else’s life easier.

My perception of independence has changed over the years. Sometimes that’s asking for support, sometimes that’s going it alone. Both are valid.

Now, asking for support can be quite empowering at times. It can mean that I can put my best foot forward without having to struggle thanks to a lack of accessibility. That for sure isn’t a sign of weakness.

 

I don’t exist just to inspire others

I’ve never seen myself as an inspiration. But at school, I was praised for the most mundane things. Professionals repeatedly praised me for:

Going to mainstream school. Oh boy, don’t get me started on that.

Walking up the stairs with my cane.

Being in lessons without the support of my teaching assistants.

Completing work on my own.

Having sighted friends.

And you know what? That set me up for a lifetime of seeking approval from others, and basing myself and my work ethic on their opinions.

We should of course be encouraging disabled children to be proud of who they are, but calling them inspirational for going about their everyday lives is not okay.

The connotations around calling a disabled child inspirational are a lot more complex than a throwaway comment.

Instead, I wish I’d been taught that I didn’t have to constantly push to prove myself, to be the person everyone expected me to be. Because that pressure got too much. It resulted in me overworking myself to live up to other people’s expectations. If I didn’t do that, I convinced myself I was a failure.

I wasn’t a failure at all. I was finding my feet like everyone else was, even if it was in a world that wasn’t made for people who can’t see. That’s not inspirational, that’s survival.

We need to teach disabled young people the true definition of what it means to be an inspiration.

 

There are so many things I wish I’d been taught in education, it was hard to pick out a few.

I hope that this can provide some comfort to some disabled people out there navigating education right now.

Being taught these would have had a huge positive impact on my life back then, and also today. They say it’s never too late though I guess.

 

Reflecting on your own time in education, is there anything you’d add to the list?

I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.

Holly x