People feel entitled to comment on my disability – it’s exhausting

During my university graduation, as I proudly made my way toward the stage to receive my degree, a woman organising the event casually called me ‘wheelchair-bound.’
Walking behind me and talking into a walkie-talkie, checking the ramp was in place, her words hung in the air – simple and unthinking – yet they struck me deeply.

My throat tightened, and my heart beat faster.

She didn’t mean to hurt me, but her thoughtless words made me feel so small and exposed.

I didn’t respond, and just collected my certificate as if nothing happened.

The comment didn’t ruin my day, but every time I leave the house or go online, I brace myself for insensitive language.

It’s exhausting.

Throughout my childhood and teenage years, my family repeatedly told me I shouldn’t take things personally.

When I was bullied and called a ‘sp*z,’ my mother would advise me not to let it affect me.

If someone made a comment about my disability in public, she’d remind me not to be too sensitive.

But to me, it’s very personal. It makes the wheelchair I’ve had since childhood, without which I couldn’t move, seem like a burden.

When the phrase is used on TV, in the media, and in political discourse, it impacts me.

I was very young the first time I heard it on tv.

I remember thinking that it was a horrible thing to say.

But facing it up close and personal hurts far more.

My earliest memory of a family member using the phrase was my beloved grandfather.

I remember it so vividly, the tone of his voice, usually so warm and soothing, full of disgust and horror.

He was dealing with his own health issues and spat, ‘I don’t want to be wheelchair-bound.

I don’t want to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.’
To me, age 7, it meant being disabled was bad.

If my grandfather said it, it must be true.

This isn’t about blame.

As I have grown older, I have realised there was fear in his voice – my grandfather was simply a scared human being.

He hadn’t meant to hurt me.

But words can be so hurtful, regardless of how they were intended.

And it’s not just ‘wheelchair-bound’.

For years I had to hear repeatedly, often in painful detail, how hard the day I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, and my family were told I would never walk, was for my cousin.

I don’t know why it was so hard for her, and to this day she still says it ‘ruined’ my life and talks about it often.

I try not to talk about it with her – it’s been many years, and we both should have moved on.

Another cousin told her child that I was ‘wired wrong.’  
I told her it was an incredibly disrespectful thing to say.

I couldn’t imagine anyone saying anything more personal.

I can understand ignorance or thoughtlessness.

But this person had known me my whole life, and knew I had struggled with the knowledge that my disability was caused by a medical mistake, as my birth was difficult and wasn’t handled well by the medical professionals in the room.

I haven’t looked at them the same way since.

Although I think they knew they crossed a line, apologised, and are now more understanding, it still takes a lot for me to be vulnerable and trusting.
When I look back on my graduation and many similar moments in my life, I feel proud that, even though these comments hurt, I’m still trying to ensure it does not shape my life and have since found the strength to speak up.

It isn’t about being disabled – it’s about the language used to describe people who are.

Because I deserved to graduate and not be labelled ‘wheelchair-bound’ and to grow up without seeing my disability as wrong before I’d even understood it.