“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 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.

Trump Blamed DEI for a Plane Crash. Here’s Why That’s Dangerous.

Emergency response units assess airplane wreckage in the Potomac River near Ronald Reagan Washington Airport on January 30, 2025 in Arlington, Virginia.

I wish I could say I was surprised. But I’m not.

A tragic plane crash happens at Ronald Reagan National Airport, and instead of waiting for the facts, instead of mourning the lives lost, Trump rushes to the mic with an all-too-familiar playbook: Blame Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. No evidence, no logic—just another reckless attempt to weaponize tragedy to attack marginalized communities.

And this time? He went straight for disabled professionals.

In his press conference, Trump suggested that DEI efforts were responsible for putting “unqualified” people in roles like air traffic control, even going so far as to claim that under Biden, the Federal Aviation Administration was hiring people with “severe intellectual disabilities and psychiatric problems” as part of diversity initiatives. He made it sound as if DEI is about lowering the bar, as if safety has taken a backseat to inclusion .

Let’s set the record straight.

DEI doesn’t weaken standards—it strengthens them. It ensures that highly qualified individuals—people who have always had the skills but have historically been shut out due to bias—get a fair shot. The FAA’s hiring requirements haven’t changed. Air traffic controllers still go through the same intense screening, the same rigorous testing, the same high-pressure training. Nobody gets a free pass. The idea that disabled people are handed these jobs without meeting the same standards as everyone else is not just false—it’s insulting.

Maria Town, President of the American Association of People with Disabilities said it best, “Preventing the FAA from hiring people with disabilities does not make planes more safe, It just removes opportunities for disabled people."

And yet, here we are again.

For those of us in the disability community, these kinds of attacks aren’t new. We’re used to people questioning our qualifications, assuming we’re only here because of some imaginary quota. It doesn’t matter how hard we work, how much we achieve—someone, somewhere, will always suggest we don’t belong.

Trump’s words don’t just spread misinformation. They do real harm. They give people permission to question whether disabled professionals should be allowed in the workforce at all. They fuel narratives that say our presence in critical jobs is a “risk” rather than an asset.

Here’s the truth: Disability doesn’t make a person unqualified. It doesn’t make them less capable, less intelligent, or less deserving of responsibility. I know this firsthand. I have spent my career proving what I—and countless others—already knew: We belong.

Trump didn’t just attack DEI. He attacked the very idea that people like me, people like us, deserve to be here.

And we cannot let that stand. The only way to drown out falsehoods is with truth. And the truth is, DEI isn’t the problem—it’s the solution.

Trump Blames DEI, Democrats for Deadly Plane Crash

The War on DEI: What It Means for Disability Advocacy in the Federal Workforce

The image shows a close-up of a document titled "Termination of Employment" placed on a wooden desk. To the side, there is a partial view of a keyboard and a yellow-tinted pair of eyeglasses resting on a closed book.

The federal government is currently experiencing a period of significant change in areas such as Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, return-to-office mandates, and executive orders that directly affect federal policies. As a long-time federal employee, I find myself closely observing these developments and working to adapt—just like many of you. This is undoubtedly a time of uncertainty for federal workers, and understandably so. Recent rollbacks in DEI programming, elimination of related roles, and the enforcement of RTO mandates are reshaping the workplace landscape at a rapid pace.

For me, these changes feel personal. As someone with a disability—navigating chronic pain, a visual impairment, and reliance on assistive technology—this shifting landscape poses significant challenges. The pace of change is unsettling, but it’s important to acknowledge that much remains unknown. While the push for these policy changes is concerning, full implementation will take time. Many of the fears we face today may not materialize immediately.

Despite the uncertainties, one thing remains clear: we all share a responsibility to uphold the humanity of our workplaces. Whether as colleagues or leaders, it’s on us to ensure that everyone—regardless of ability—can succeed in the roles they were hired to fulfill. While DEI initiatives and remote work policies are evolving, some measures remain stable for now.

The current RTO memo includes language that supports remote work as a reasonable accommodation for employees with disabilities. This provision is a step in the right direction. However, the future of Schedule A—a hiring authority designed to bring individuals with disabilities into federal service—is less certain. While Schedule A has its limitations, it has served as a vital pathway into federal employment for many. For now, it remains intact, offering a glimmer of stability amidst the changes.

As federal employees, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the uncertainty and rapid shifts happening around us. But it’s important to take a moment to reflect and breathe. We are still in the early days of this administration, and much of what is being proposed will require time to take shape. The federal government’s processes are famously slow-moving, and significant changes often face bureaucratic resistance and legal challenges before they can be fully implemented.

This doesn’t diminish the real fears and concerns many of us are feeling. The anxiety around job security, workplace accessibility, and the future of DEI initiatives is valid and deeply felt. However, it’s also important to recognize that the laws protecting disabled workers have been hard-won and will not be easily undone. Legal safeguards and advocacy efforts remain powerful tools in preserving workplace equity.

As we navigate these turbulent times, let us move forward with care, grace, and resilience.

Reclaiming Disability Language: Empowerment, Humor, and Advocacy

A conceptual image of a large pane of shattered glass with the words "spaz," "special," and "dumb" etched into its surface. A bold red prohibition circle with a diagonal line crosses over the words, symbolizing rejection of harmful language. Cracks radiate outward from the center of the glass, emphasizing the fragility and breaking of outdated, offensive terms. The background is a gradient of teal and blue, adding depth and contrast to the image.

Words. They’re sharp, heavy, and at times, loaded. But they’re also fluid, malleable, and, most importantly, ours to shape. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the language surrounding disability and how it’s evolved—how words that once stung can now feel like a badge of defiant pride when reclaimed.

A recent TIME piece by Angela Haupt explored how to respond when someone says something offensive about disability, emphasizing the importance of educating others without assuming malice. This idea resonated with me deeply, but I kept circling back to a less discussed angle: reclaiming the very words that have historically marginalized us.

I’ve heard my fair share of slurs: cripple, spaz, retard. As a kid, these words cut deep. But as an adult, I’ve found joy—and, dare I say, humor—in reclaiming them. These words only hold the power we assign them, and I choose to wield that power on my terms.

For example, my close friends often call me “Broken Kid” or “Spaz” endearingly. It's not mockery; it’s camaraderie. “Don’t forget your broken kid card for parking,” they’ll say with a laugh. And yes, it’s hilarious to watch well-meaning bystanders recoil in horror: “You shouldn’t say that!” or “You shouldn’t refer to yourself that way.” Their shock, while understandable, underscores the power of reclaiming language. For me, humor is not only healing—it’s a form of activism.

It’s crucial to acknowledge that not every disabled person feels the same. As Katy Neas of The Arc of the United States pointed out, “So much of what we’re seeing is behavior grounded in either fear, ignorance, or the normalization of incivility.” Some prefer to challenge offensive language directly, turning these moments into educational opportunities. Others disengage entirely, protecting their peace.

Both approaches are valid. Disability is not a monolith. But for those like me, reclaiming words is about taking back agency. It’s about laughing in the face of stigma. And sometimes, it’s about asking the cheeky, yet pointed question:
“Can I ask why you think that’s funny?” (Thanks for the tip, Jennifer Gasner!)

That said, humor doesn’t erase the very real battles we face for access, opportunity, and equity. I don’t overlook the damage careless language can do, especially when wielded maliciously. But I choose to find the humor where I can, saving my energy for bigger fights. As Lachi ♫, a legally blind performer and advocate, wisely said, “We win when we include.” I’d add: We win when we laugh—on our terms.

This approach won’t resonate with everyone, and that’s okay. Reclaiming language is deeply personal. But for me, it’s a way to strip harmful words of their venom and inject them with power, resilience, and a healthy dose of comedy.

Do you find empowerment in reclaiming words, or do you see language differently?

The FTC’s $1M Wake-Up Call to accessiBe: Why Accessibility Overlays Are Failing Us

A colorful and abstract digital artwork depicting a judge's gavel. The gavel is stylized with splashes of vibrant paint in shades of yellow, green, blue, purple, orange, and black, creating a dynamic, graffiti-like effect. The background is a chaotic blend of splattered colors, giving the image an energetic and bold appearance

As someone who uses assistive technology on a daily basis, I understand the value of true accessibility. Overlays purport to perform magic, but instead simply render many websites unusable, particularly for people with screen readers or those using other assistive devices. That’s why the recent $1 million Federal Trade Commission fine against accessiBe is not just a headline — it’s a landmark moment for digital accessibility.

The Federal Trade Commission revealed accessiBe’s deceptive practices, which included paying reviewers to talk about its products. Samuel A.A. Levine, the director of the F.T.C.’s Bureau of Consumer Protection, said in the statement, “Companies seeking assistance to make their websites [accessibility] compliant need to be able to trust that products do what they promise.” When they fail to do so, everyone loses — and so does the disability community.

Advocacy groups have been ringing the alarm for years. National Federation of the Blind condemned accessiBe’s business practices as “disrespectful and misleading” and more than 400 accessibility advocates signed an open letter imploring businesses to abandon automated overlays. And the risks for companies? Huge. In 2021, over 400 organizations utilizing accessibility widgets were sued over non-compliance with accessibility standards.

This isn’t just about the failings of one company; we need to rethink our whole approach to accessibility in the digital age. You might think overlays are the solution, but the reality is, there are no shortcuts to inclusion. Real accessibility is the result of audits, user testing with people who have disabilities and compliance with WCAG standards. It’s not just about keeping away from lawsuits — it’s about building an internet that benefits everyone.

The FTC’s action should be a wake-up call. Convenience should not come at the expense of inclusion, transparency, and accountability — so it’s time for businesses to prioritize it.

FTC orders AI accessibility startup accessiBe to pay $1M for misleading advertising

Turning Frustration Into Fuel: Disability Advocacy in 2025

Portrait of Alice Wong, a disability activist and MacArthur genius, sitting outdoors surrounded by lush green foliage. She is wearing a colorful outfit, and a ventilator tube is visible at her neck. Her expression is calm and contemplative, reflecting her resilience and strength.

The world feels heavy, doesn’t it? Some days it’s hard to shake the thought that everything is unraveling. Advocacy, especially disability advocacy, can feel like shouting into the void. The uphill battle seems steeper than ever, and yet—we press on. Because we must.

Alice Wong, a luminary in disability activism, put it bluntly telling The Guardian: “Yes, life is a complete dumpster fire, but I am reminded that I am not alone.” Her words hit home. Advocacy isn’t a solitary act. It’s a collective one, fueled by the connections we forge and the communities we build. It’s messy. It’s relentless. But it’s also transformative.

Anger? It’s a battery charger. Wong speaks to this beautifully: frustration doesn’t have to drain us—it can energize us. When progress feels stagnant or outright regressive, channeling that fury into action becomes a radical act of hope. Advocacy, after all, isn’t just about surviving the chaos; it’s about rewriting the rules that made survival so hard in the first place.

And yet, advocacy isn’t solely struggle. That’s the trap, isn’t it? To define our lives by hardship alone. Wong challenges this, insisting that the disabled experience is nuanced—full of abundance, love, and joy. “One principle of disability justice,” she reminds us, “is recognizing the inherent value and wholeness of people regardless of their ability to produce.”

Pause for a moment. Let that sink in. A world that values you—not for what you can give, but simply because you exist. It’s a radical notion in a society obsessed with output and efficiency. But that’s the heart of disability justice. It’s about dismantling systems that devalue lives and building frameworks that affirm them.

Of course, it’s not easy. Advocacy is never linear. There are setbacks and moments when the weight feels unbearable. But even then, there’s power in reframing the narrative. Wong’s love of science fiction offers a powerful metaphor: infinite possibilities. Speculative fiction invites us to dream boldly, to imagine futures where inclusion isn’t aspirational—it’s foundational.

So, here we are. 2025. The world may still feel bleak, but our voices—your voice—matter. They ripple outward, shifting conversations, policies, and perceptions. Advocacy isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon. And while the finish line feels far off, every step matters.

Take your frustration. Take your anger. Take your hope. Turn them into fuel. Together, we’re building something extraordinary: a future where our community doesn’t just survive, but thrives.

MacArthur genius Alice Wong on resistance in the new year: ‘Life is a dumpster fire, but I’m not alone’

Linkedin Rewind: 2024 A Year In Review

Here's my 2024 LinkedIn Rewind, by Coauthor.studio and Hunch:

2024 was the year disability employment hit its highest rate since tracking began - 22.5% - but for me, it was also the year I said goodbye to my greatest advocacy partner, Pico.

This year reminded me that advocacy isn't just about statistics. It's about the relationships that drive change, the partnerships that challenge systems, and the deeply personal journeys that transform workplaces.

At the U.S. Department of Labor, I've watched our work translate into tangible progress. But some of the most profound changes happen in moments you can't measure - like how Pico transformed how I moved through the world and how I advocate.

Key achievements that defined my year:

Professional Impact:
• Advanced accessibility policies within federal workforce
• Published influential pieces challenging AI hiring practices
• Continued driving systemic changes in workplace inclusion

Personal Growth:
• Navigated Pico's retirement and subsequent passing
• Continued as Brand Ambassador for Canine Companions® for Independence
• Maintained advocacy momentum through personal transitions

Three posts that resonated most with our community:

1. "A Goodbye to Pico"
Reflecting on how a service dog is more than a companion - they're a partner in advocacy.
"He made me a better human, a better advocate, and someone who could navigate the challenges of the world with confidence."
https://bit.ly/4a1msBj

2. "Biden's Impact on Disability Employment"
Highlighting concrete policy changes driving real improvements.
"The employment-population ratio for people with disabilities hit 22.5% - the highest since the Bureau of Labor Statistics started tracking this data in 2008."
https://bit.ly/3ZXCOqj

3. "The Shifting Landscape of Disability Employment"
Exploring how remote work transforms employment opportunities for disabled professionals.
https://bit.ly/3ZUI6CR

Looking ahead to 2025: My focus remains bridging policy and practice, particularly in emerging areas like AI hiring and remote work policies that directly impact the disability community.

To Pico, my colleagues, and the entire disability advocacy community: Our work continues. Our impact grows. And we're just getting started.

Remote Work Isn’t a Perk—It’s a Lifeline for Disabled Federal Employees

People walking past the Department of the Treasury building, a historic structure with large columns and engraved signage, on a chilly day with some leaves scattered on the ground.

For more than a decade as a federal employee, I’ve been proud to serve the public. I’ve earned awards, glowing reviews, and built a career I love. But here’s the truth: my success wouldn’t have been possible without telework. As a disabled professional managing multiple disabilities, remote work is more than a convenience—it’s a lifeline. It enables me to thrive in an environment that meets my needs and eliminates barriers that might otherwise exclude me. Now, all of that progress is at risk.

The Wall Street Journal's John McCormick and Te-Ping Chen report on the newly envisioned Department of Government Efficiency effort to mandate full-time in-office work is alarming. Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy, leading this charge, have made it clear that they expect resignations, with Ramaswamy predicting as many as 25% of federal workers could leave. To them, this might sound like trimming bureaucracy. In practice, this is a targeted assault on equity and inclusion.

Telework gave disabled employees the chance to participate in record numbers, eliminating barriers like long commutes and inaccessible environments. Meg O'Connell, PHR of Global Disability Inclusion, LLC explained it best to HR Brew ™️'s Kristen Parisi: “People with disabilities have what they need in their homes. They don’t have to ask for accommodation [because] they’ve already built out their space.” Why dismantle a system that works?

While many argue in-person work fosters collaboration, the private sector is proving otherwise. Glassdoor’s CEO Christian Sutherland-Wong told Fortune, “The biggest benefit we’ve seen…is being able to tap into talent all around the U.S. and the globe.” If companies like Glassdoor see remote work as a future-driven solution, why is the government pushing outdated practices?

This isn’t just about where we work; it’s about who gets to work. Forcing disabled employees back into offices undermines principles of diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. Policies like DOGE’s mandate send a clear message: “We don’t trust you or value your contributions unless we see you at a desk.” As Dannie Lynn Fountain, DBA, EA, SPHR, CDR of Google said, these practices are “still disability discrimination.”

The pandemic proved remote work’s transformative potential. It shattered barriers for disabled workers and redefined productivity. Now, that progress is being reversed. The stakes couldn’t be higher—not just for me but for all of us. Are we building workplaces of the future or clinging to systems that exclude?

Remote work empowered me to thrive, but it also redefined what’s possible for our workforce. Let’s not let fear of change erase that progress. Inclusion is more than a checkbox; it’s a commitment to creating workplaces where everyone can succeed.

Musk, Ramaswamy Want Federal Workers in the Office Full Time. There’s a Hitch.

Project 2025 and America’s Choice: What Trump’s Reelection Means for Disability Rights and DEI

Black background with white text reading 'What's at Stake for Civil Rights: Project 2025,' framed by a gradient border transitioning from purple to blue to pink.

For many in the disability community, the outcome of this election is a profound blow. It's a stark reminder that this is not an anomaly; it's a deliberate choice by the electorate. As disability advocates, we must confront this reality, grieve its implications, and prepare for the arduous journey ahead.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion efforts are essential for creating spaces where all people, including disabled individuals, can thrive. Yet, with Project 2025’s clear intent to politicize the federal workforce, these efforts face a direct threat. The plan to replace nonpartisan civil servants with political loyalists doesn’t just jeopardize the integrity of government agencies; it also poses a serious risk to any DEI initiatives within the federal government. When leadership is handpicked to fit a rigid ideological mold, DEI initiatives—particularly those that protect marginalized groups—become targets for dismantling.

For disabled federal employees like myself, this change isn’t abstract. It could mean the erosion of inclusive hiring practices, the rollback of workplace accommodations, and a shift toward a culture that prioritizes conformity over diversity. By undercutting DEI, the federal government risks creating a hostile environment for all who rely on its protections, effectively shutting the door on years of progress in fostering an equitable workplace.

Moreover, Project 2025 aims to politicize the federal workforce by replacing nonpartisan civil servants with loyalists. This shift could transform agencies like the U.S. Department of Justice from protectors of civil rights into enforcers of a singular ideology, jeopardizing the rights of marginalized communities.

In 2016, we told ourselves, "This isn't who we are." Today, we must face the hard truth: This is who we are. Our society has twice chosen a path that marginalizes, excludes, and actively silences people like us. As Scaachi Koul wrote for Slate Magazine, "This is a country where half the population is content in its hatred of women, of queer people, of brown and Black people, of anyone who comes to the United States from a poorer country."

Acknowledging the pain doesn't mean we give up. We have work to do, even if it's uphill, exhausting, and heartbreaking. But we have to begin by mourning what we've lost—the hope for a more inclusive future, the belief that our voices mattered, and that progress was possible. We may be in the crosshairs, but we are not powerless. We are still here, advocating, fighting, and demanding that our nation's policies reflect everyone's needs, not just those who conform to a narrow idea of "American."

So let's grieve today, gather strength, and prepare for what comes next. Tomorrow, we continue the work, not because it's easy, but because it's necessary.