“We All Have Something” Is a Lie That Harms Disabled People—Here’s Why

Quote graphic with a photo of Ryan Honick and the text:
“Disability isn’t a metaphor. It’s not a personality type. And it’s definitely not something you can pray, push, or positivity your way out of.”

I’ll be honest: I’m tired. Not just physically—existentially. Because every time I talk about disability, someone inevitably says:

“Well, everyone has something, right?”

Everyone’s a little neurodivergent.

A little ADHD.

A little OCD.

We all have trauma.

We’re all on the spectrum.

Except… no.

We’re not.

And saying we are? It’s not inclusive. It’s dismissive.

You don’t have to flatten the disability experience to feel connected to it. And yet, this "everyone has something" mindset keeps popping up in classrooms, in DEI trainings, and on conference panels—as if lived experience is just a vibe we all sort of share.

Here’s the thing: “Relating” to something isn’t the same as living with it.

It’s one thing to feel distracted. It’s another to navigate the world with ADHD while constantly masking to meet neurotypical expectations.

It’s one thing to like your desk organized. It’s another to live with OCD and be consumed by intrusive thoughts that disrupt your entire day.

It’s one thing to be upset. It’s another to be triggered—and suddenly transported into a trauma state that can take hours or days to come down from.

When we use clinical terms casually—or treat disability like a shared inconvenience—we erase the people actually living it, day in and day out.

Disability isn’t a metaphor.

It’s not a personality type.

And it’s definitely not something you can pray, push, or positivity your way out of.

And yet, society loves a good overcome story. It makes people feel comfortable. But comfort has never been the goal of disability justice. Equity is. Access is. Dignity is.

We’re not here for inspiration. We’re here for infrastructure.

Disability is real. It’s physical. It’s mental. It’s emotional. It’s systemic.

And while yes, it’s common—1 in 4 people in the U.S. have a disability—that doesn’t make it universal. And it sure as hell doesn’t make it insignificant.

So please. For the love of accuracy and advocacy:

Stop saying “everyone has something.”

Say:
✅ I’m listening.
✅ I want to understand.
✅ I’ll advocate for accessibility.

Because that? That’s how we move forward.

The Night Democracy Didn’t Sleep: Lessons from Cory Booker’s 25-Hour Stand

What does it look like when one man decides that rolling over is not an option? When instead of sitting out the fight, he stands up—for 25 hours straight?

Let me paint the picture.

Senator Cory Booker, hoarse but unshaken, stood on the Senate floor and made history. Not just by breaking Strom Thurmond’s record—because let’s be honest, Thurmond fought against civil rights. Booker stood in spite of him.

He spoke with fire and fasting, quoting John Lewis, calling on us to “get in good trouble.” He did what so many of us dream of doing in moments of despair: he showed up with courage and conviction and refused to sit down.

“This is a moral moment. It’s not left or right. It’s right or wrong,” he said. And if that doesn't feel like a TED Conferences Talk for the soul, I don’t know what does.

He wasn’t just protesting policy—he was defending democracy in a courtroom where the judge is all of us. He called out plans to gut Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. He grieved the loss of dignity as thousands of public servants were fired via broken badge readers. He named the absurdity, the cruelty, and the stakes.

“Please, God, don’t let them take Medicaid away from 10, 20, 30, or 40 million Americans,” he pleaded. And in the background, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) had just laid off workers administering Meals on Wheels and disability services. Entire federal divisions—just... gone.

But this post isn’t about despair. It’s a montage moment. A chance to lace up your sneakers, get your Kleenex, refill your water bottle, and say, “Let’s go.”

Because Senator Booker didn’t speak for 25 hours just to break a record. He spoke so we’d get off the sidelines and lead. So we’d bury apathy once and for all.

Let this be the eulogy:

“Here lies Apathy. It died when people remembered their power.”

So what are you willing to stand for? What issue makes you feel like you can’t sit down until something changes? What’s your version of a 25-hour stand?

This isn’t just about Booker. It’s about all of us.

The Cost of Silence: How DEI Rollbacks Are Erasing Disability from the Conversation

Person tied to a ship’s mast in stormy seas, surrounded by flying papers, rough waves, and glowing lights on rocky shores—symbolizing focus amid chaos and distraction.

I’ve been thinking a lot about sirens. Not the ones on ambulances—the other kind. The ones Chris Hayes describes in The Sirens’ Call: mythic, seductive, dangerous. They don’t just scream for your attention—they lure it, sing to it, steal it. And they drag you straight into the rocks.

What happens when an entire government starts operating like that?

Over the past few weeks, the Trump administration has turned civil rights enforcement into political theater. Agencies like the EEOC and Federal Communications Commission are being used not to protect marginalized groups—but to punish them. DEI programs that once opened doors for Black and Brown students, queer workers, and yes, disabled professionals, are being framed as threats. The EEOC has launched investigations into university internships and law firm diversity programs. The FCC is probing The Walt Disney Company over inclusive storytelling. The OFCCP, once a watchdog for federal contractor discrimination, is being gutted from the inside. And while that’s happening, the president is casually floating the idea of a third term—telling NBC News, “There are methods.”

It’s not just authoritarian. It’s a masterclass in distraction. And in that swirl of headlines and spectacle, something deeply dangerous is happening: disabled people are disappearing from the narrative. Again.

We are not just being excluded. We are being erased. DEI policies that included disability are being dismantled. Federal workers with disabilities—many who’ve built careers serving their country—are being laid off or pushed out, quietly and en masse. States like New York and Wisconsin are scrambling to rehire them, but the national spotlight is elsewhere. The sirens are too loud.

Chris Hayes writes, “Attention is the substance of life… Every moment we are awake, we are paying attention to something.” That means what we don’t pay attention to? It can be just as powerful. Just as dangerous. I’ll be honest—this isn’t theoretical for me. I’ve been in the rooms where disability was a box no one wanted to check. Where accessibility was always someone else’s job. Where inclusion didn’t extend to people like me. And now those gaps have become openings for erasure, policy by policy, silence by silence.

We’re watching a full-scale rollback of civil rights—framed as “equity” for those who already hold power—and it’s working because we’re not paying attention to who’s falling through the cracks. Especially disabled folks. Especially those at the intersection of race, gender, and disability.

So here’s my ask: Pay attention. Look past the spectacle. Follow the stories that aren’t being told. Because attention isn’t just a resource. It’s a form of protection. And when we withhold it, people get hurt.

The sirens are singing louder every day. Some of us are still tied to the mast. Don’t look away.

Rest as Resistance: How Disabled Advocates Fight for Change While Caring for Themselves

A digital illustration in a comic book style depicts a young person with curly hair resting on a cozy couch, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. Their eyes are closed, and they are holding a book in their lap, with a laptop open beside them. A service dog is curled up and sleeping next to them. The background features a bookshelf filled with advocacy and activism-related books and posters. bA speech bubble above the person reads, "You deserve rest too."

I’ve been absent from LinkedIn for a few weeks. Not because I wanted to be, but because chronic pain has completely sidelined me. And let’s be honest—the world isn’t exactly making it easy to step away. Every time I glance at the news, it feels like everything is on fire—politically, socially, literally. But here’s the thing: even in times like these, we have to put on our own oxygen masks first.

The reality of chronic pain (or any chronic condition) is that it doesn’t just ask for your attention—it demands it. It forces you to recalibrate, to step back, to turn down opportunities and outings that mean everything to you. And that’s been my reality lately. My pain levels have been high, my capacity has been low, and that means my public advocacy has slowed. But that doesn’t mean the work ever truly stops.

Because even when we aren’t writing, speaking, or showing up in visible ways, we are still advocating in our daily lives. We advocate in doctor’s offices. In the ways we navigate inaccessible systems. In the way we care for ourselves when society tells us to just push through. And yes, sometimes the most radical thing we can do is rest.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be “silent” in moments of crisis. How absence is often misread as disengagement when, in reality, it’s survival. My absence hasn’t been because I don’t care—it’s been because I’ve been managing my health. And right now, that balance between chronic pain, advocacy, and the rest of life feels like an endless, spinning carousel.

I don’t have an easy answer. But I do know this: rest is not a retreat. And we do not owe anyone our suffering to prove our commitment to justice. I’ll keep showing up the best I can, when I can. And if you’re in a season of needing rest too, know that you’re not alone.

Disability Accommodations at Work: Why Employees Fear Speaking Up

A diverse group of professionals, including wheelchair users and employees with headphones, collaborate in a modern office, promoting workplace inclusion and accessibility.

Who gets to be "disabled enough"?

That’s the uncomfortable debate unfolding in workplaces across the country—and one I recently discussed in The Wall Street Journal alongside Justina Plowden and Keely Cat-Wells.

As more employees request accommodations, some worry we’re stretching the definition of disability too far. But here’s the real question: Are we diluting the meaning of disability, or are we finally acknowledging the full spectrum of barriers people face?

Here’s where I stand: Pitting disabilities against each other is dangerous. It’s not up to me, an employer, or anyone else to decide whose disability is “valid enough” to deserve support. If someone says they need an accommodation, believe them. Full stop.

And yet, many disabled employees don’t feel safe disclosing their disability at all. Why? Because they know what happens next:

🚫 They’re seen as less competent.
🚫 They’re overlooked for promotions.
🚫 They’re often the first to go in layoffs.

This is why so many people don’t ask for accommodations, even when they’re legally entitled to them. It’s not simply that remote work itself makes disabled employees more vulnerable—it’s that stigma and workplace bias make disclosing a disability a risk.

I appreciate WSJ and Callum Borchers for giving space to this conversation, and I hope it pushes more employers to rethink how they support disabled workers—both those who disclose and those who don’t.

Disabled Workers Debate Who Is Really One of Us

“What Did You Do This Week?” – The Bureaucratic Nightmare That Sent Federal Employees Into a Frenzy

A futuristic office scene featuring Elon Musk in a suit, sitting at a high-tech workstation. He stares at the screen with an intense, authoritative expression. The glowing text overlay reads: 'What did you do this week?'

Anything interesting hit your inbox this weekend?

Nothing says "competent workforce management" like a weekend email from U.S. Office of Personnel Management (OPM) demanding that 2.3 million federal employees submit bullet points of their accomplishments.

And the best part? Even the government doesn’t know what to do.

Some agencies: “Reply immediately.”
Others: “DO NOT REPLY.”
NOAA: National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration: “Maybe reply, maybe don’t? We’ll get back to you Monday.”

It’s a choose-your-own-adventure, but every ending involves getting yelled at.

Why is this happening?

Because Elon Musk—a man who spends more time posting memes than running his companies—has apparently been put in charge of federal workforce management. His grand strategy? A mass email. And nothing says ‘productive workforce’ like an email from your new billionaire overlord.

Which is adorable because absolutely no one is reading all these emails.

🔹 That’s 11.5 million bullet points.
🔹 If printed, 700,000 filing cabinets of bureaucratic joy.
🔹 At best, this is going straight into a Microsoft Excel sheet that an intern will delete in three weeks.

But wait, it gets better.

Musk implied that failure to respond = resignation.

Which is, in legal terms...completely illegal.

OPM literally said mass email responses must be explicitly voluntary. Yet here we are, wondering if silence will get people removed from payroll.

Meanwhile, employees are being told to CC their managers. Because nothing builds trust like looping in your boss on an email you don’t understand.

So what’s the right move?

Some agencies handled this beautifully:

The Washington Post reports:

U.S. Secret Service almost had agents send: “This week, I accomplished 100% of my job. Also, I exceeded expectations.”

Meanwhile, a U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) Survey employee simply replied:"I categorically refuse."

Which, frankly, is the energy we all need.

If you’re a federal employee caught in this mess, just copy-paste this:

To: Elon Musk, OPM, and whoever is pretending to be my boss this week

Subject: RE: What did I do last week?

Hello,

Last week, I accomplished 100% of my required duties, as outlined in my position description.

✅ I supported critical government operations.
✅ I successfully maintained employment, despite this nonsense.
✅ I did not accidentally leak classified information to a billionaire.
✅ I watched in horror as my inbox became a battlefield of conflicting instructions.
✅ I exceeded expectations by not rage-quitting over this email.

Please do not hesitate to reach out if you’d like to waste more taxpayer-funded bandwidth on this charade.

Best,
A Federal Employee Who is Definitely Real and Not a Bot™

So let’s recap:
🎯 This is dumb.
🎯 The government doesn’t know what to do.
🎯 Elon Musk should not be running OPM.
🎯 And the only rational response is to mock this until it disappears.

Mass Federal Layoffs: How Schedule A Employees Became the First to Go

A digital illustration of an email notification with the bold subject line "You're Fired" displayed on a white sheet emerging from an open blue envelope. The background shows a blurred email inbox interface with unread messages, reinforcing the theme of job termination or layoffs.

It’s Valentine’s Day. A day for love and connection. But instead of unwinding, I’m fuming.

Because once again, disabled federal employees are being treated as disposable.

Last night, reports by The Washington Post, The New York Times and others confirmed what many of us feared: the Trump administration has escalated mass federal layoffs, targeting probationary employees first—including those hired under Schedule A, the federal hiring program for workers with disabilities.

It’s infuriating. It’s discriminatory. And it’s completely predictable.

For those unfamiliar, Schedule A is not a handout. It’s a hiring path for people with disabilities that requires extensive documentation, qualifications, and agency approval.

But here’s the kicker: while most new federal employees serve a one-year probationary period, Schedule A employees must prove themselves for two years. The justification? That disabled workers need extra assessment to determine if they "belong" in public service.

It’s blatant discrimination baked into policy.

And now, those extended probationary periods have made Schedule A employees an easy target for mass layoffs.

On Thursday, 200,000 probationary workers were put on notice. The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, U.S. Department of Education, and U.S. Small Business Administration were hit hard.

🔹 More than 1,000 VA employees—gone.
🔹 Entire teams at U.S. Office of Personnel Management (OPM) and SBA—fired overnight.
🔹 Education Department employees helping disabled students—cut loose.

These weren’t performance-based firings. No warnings. No due process. Just emails that never arrived and pre-recorded layoff videos.

This isn’t just about budget cuts. It’s part of a broader attack on disability inclusion in federal employment.

This administration has already gone after:
✅ Remote work policies (which help disabled workers)
✅ Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives
✅ Reasonable accommodations (now “under review” by some agencies)

The pattern is clear. They don’t want us here.

What Needs to Happen Next?

🔹 Share this post. Get the word out.
🔹 Contact your representatives. Demand oversight.
🔹 Support federal worker unions. AFGE is fighting back—help them.
🔹 Push for Schedule A reform. The two-year probation rule is discriminatory and unjust.

People with disabilities fought for decades to secure a place in the federal workforce. We’ve been overlooked, underestimated, and discarded at every turn.

And now, we’re being purged again—just because we were the easiest to cut loose.

If we stay silent, this will happen again.

And next time, it might be worse.

The Fight for Disability Rights: How Dismantling the Education Department Endangers Millions

A low-angle view of the U.S. Department of Education building at 400 Maryland Avenue, SW, Washington, D.C., with a brown sign in the foreground displaying the department's name. The sky is partly cloudy with a lens flare visible.

Let’s be real: Without the U.S. Department of Education, millions of disabled students will be left behind.

If you’re not paying attention to what’s happening, now is the time to start.

The Trump administration is making good on its long-standing goal to shut down the Department of Education—a move that could hamper enforcement of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, the very laws that make education accessible for students with disabilities.

Additionally, 17 states have filed a lawsuit aiming to dismantle Section 504 entirely.

I know firsthand how much these protections matter.

Without Section 504 accommodations, I wouldn’t have made it through school, let alone built a career. I had the tools I needed not because the system was generous, but because it was my legal right. These protections weren’t optional, and they weren’t a privilege—they were the reason I succeeded.

Now, those rights are under attack.

Trump’s nominee for education secretary, Linda McMahon, has been told to “put herself out of a job”—meaning her role isn’t to strengthen education but to dismantle the very department she’s supposed to lead.

Without the Department of Education enforcing these laws, millions of disabled students will face fewer services, fewer trained educators and fewer legal protections.

Denise Stile Marshall, CEO of the Council of Parent Attorneys and Advocates, Inc., put it bluntly to Disability Scoop: “We see no indication that the administration understands its obligation to protect our kids.”

And that’s the terrifying part: They don’t care.

People love to talk about how “resilient” disabled people are, how we should just keep fighting. But here’s the truth: We’re exhausted.

Every single day, we have to fight for basic access, for accommodations, for a seat at the table. And now, we’re fighting to keep the very laws that made our education possible.

If you care about equity, if you care about education, if you care about civil rights—this is your fight too.

Federal Workforce Cuts Are Coming—And Disabled Employees Are the First to Go

Elon Musk, with his son X Æ A-Xii, speaks with President Donald Trump and reporters in the Oval Office at the White House on Tuesday.

When the now infamous “buyout” offer hit my inbox a few weeks ago, I was dumbfounded. Just type, ‘resign’ in the body of the e-mail and we’ll pay you through September. It’s that easy!

I’ve seen Nigerian princes put more energy into their scams.

Federal employees like me—many of whom are disabled—are being left in limbo as the latest executive orders attempt to gut the federal workforce under the guise of “efficiency.” The latest round of chaos?

👉 A deferred resignation program designed to “persuade” employees to quit, which a judge has already paused due to legal challenges.
👉 A hiring freeze that mandates one new hire for every four who leave—essentially ensuring agencies shrink rapidly, with no plan to sustain essential functions.
👉 Agencies signaling they may reevaluate reasonable accommodations, adding yet another layer of red tape for disabled employees who already face enough hurdles.

These executive orders aren’t about “efficiency.” They are designed to break the civil service. And disabled employees—who rely on accommodations to do their jobs—are among the most vulnerable.

A judge temporarily paused the deferred resignation program after unions representing 800,000 civil servants called it an “arbitrary, unlawful, short-fused ultimatum,” according to The Washington Post. Yet OPM is still pushing it, with the White House calling it a “very generous, once-in-a-lifetime offer.”

This administration has already been slapped down in court multiple times for executive overreach. Trump’s orders gutting birthright citizenship, freezing federal grants, and mass-firing USAID employees have all been blocked. That doesn’t stop them from trying.

When agencies need to cut positions fast, who gets targeted first? The
answer isn’t theoretical—it’s happening now:

✅ Federal workers with disabilities already face disproportionate scrutiny. Any reevaluation of accommodations means we’ll have to fight harder just to keep the support we already have.
✅ Layoffs disproportionately harm disabled employees who may have fewer opportunities to find comparable private-sector jobs with the same level of accessibility.
✅ The rhetoric doesn’t match reality. They claim this is about “efficiency,” but efficiency doesn’t look like forcing out experienced professionals while agencies struggle with understaffing.

As one EEOC lawyer put it:

“OPM’s breezily condescending emails don’t mention federal ethics laws at all. They’re either intentionally lying to us or didn’t bother to do basic research. Either way, they can’t be trusted.”

I have been a federal employee, a disability advocate, and a firsthand witness to the barriers disabled people face in the workplace. If these executive orders move forward unchallenged, we will see an exodus of talented, dedicated disabled professionals—pushed out not because we can’t do the job, but because bureaucracy is being weaponized against us.

Trump executive order vows substantial cuts to federal workforce

The Harmful Myth of “Never Letting Disability Stop You” – Why We Need to Rethink Resilience

A screenshot of a tweet by Ryan Honick (@ryanhonick), posted on March 3, 2020, at 1:59 PM. The tweet reads: 'I don’t know who needs to hear this but the “I never let my disability/pain/illness stop me” is an ableist and harmful narrative. Sometimes chronic issues are debilitating and they do stop you. And you shouldn’t be made to feel guilty about it. Period.'

On March 3, 2020, I wrote a tweet that continues to resurface in conversations about disability and chronic illness:

"I don’t know who needs to hear this, but the ‘I never let my disability/pain/illness stop me’ is an ableist and harmful narrative. Sometimes chronic issues are debilitating and they do stop you. And you shouldn’t be made to feel guilty about it. Period."

I wrote that in the midst of the most painful period of my life, after years of chronic pain. I didn’t expect it to go viral, but it did—and it still does. It has been screen-grabbed, reshared, and discussed across Meta, Instagram, Reddit, Inc., and Twitter/X, popping up repeatedly like clockwork. The response? A mix of gratitude, validation, and, of course, criticism.

Too often, society presents disability as something to be overcome rather than lived with. We hear phrases like:

👉 "Mind over matter!"
👉 "You’re so strong for pushing through!"
👉 "You’re such an inspiration!"

While well-intended, these comments send a damaging message: that acknowledging our limitations means we are weak. They erase the reality of chronic pain, energy limitations, and the simple fact that sometimes, our disabilities do stop us—and that’s okay.

This kind of toxic positivity pressures disabled people to perform an unrealistic level of resilience. It tells us that resting or honoring our limits is "giving up." But accepting the reality of disability isn’t defeat—it’s survival.

Over the years, responses to my tweet have fallen into predictable categories:

✅ “Thank you. I needed to hear this.” Many disabled people found validation in the idea that it’s okay to rest, to pause, to honor what their bodies need.

❌ “This is just giving up.” Some—both within and outside the disability community—claimed my perspective promoted a defeatist attitude. 🤦

These reactions highlight a deeper societal issue: many people are uncomfortable with the idea that disability is, at times, limiting. They need the feel-good narrative of disabled people triumphing over adversity because it reassures them that they would do the same in our position. But disability isn’t a morality test—it’s a reality of life.

Disabled people don’t exist to inspire you. We are not here to be motivational backdrops for non-disabled people. We have our own goals, dreams, ambitions, and struggles—just like anyone else.

Here’s the truth:

• Some days, I can push through. Other days, I can’t—and both are valid.
• Disabled people don’t need to perform resilience for your comfort.
• Accepting our limits isn’t "giving up"—it’s respecting our bodies.

We live in a world that tells us we must constantly justify our existence. That we must "overcome" disability rather than demand societal changes that accommodate us. But disability isn’t a battle to be won—it’s a reality to be acknowledged.