In our evolving world, the conversation around identity has shifted significantly. We’re moving away from the confines of labeling individuals and embracing a more nuanced understanding of who we are. Nowhere is this shift more evident than in discussions surrounding disability identity.
Labels have always been a double-edged sword, often reducing us to a single aspect of our identity. For individuals with disabilities, this labeling can be particularly limiting, focusing solely on our impairments rather than acknowledging the full breadth of our experiences.
For clarity, I identify as a white, heterosexual, working/middle class, property-owning, tax-paying, married male/father wheelchair user. I grew up in an upper class family that was considered well off, so I am aware that there may be an element of privilege to my worldview. I’m sure there are other things I could add here but we’ll start with that.
The concept of “Disability Identity” to me is an extremely complex and nuanced idea. There are so many elements to consider. For me, I have always self-identified that I am a person with a disability, whether it be to an employer or just generally in the world. Being a wheelchair user forces the issue, in some ways making self-identifying easier. It’s not that simple.
My journey towards embracing my disability identity began during my college years. Attending a small liberal arts college in the southern United States, I was confronted with the limitations of labeling early on. I began college in 1995. 4 years removed from the beginning of the Americans with Disabilities Act and still very much living in a society that labeled people. People were not yet talking about how an individual identifies. Our language had not yet evolved into that concept. Person-first language, such as “person with a disability” had not yet entered into the mainstream of conversation.
Upon my arrival on campus, I immediately noticed how many wheelchair users there were, along with other students that had visible mobility disabilities. Within a few days, I was invited to attend a school-run event called a “Disability Issues Forum”. This event was for all of the students who had informed the school they had a disability. I was very curious about the forum as I had never really attended one, and I decided to go.
The event was held in the lounge of a dorm where the vast majority of the wheelchair users and some other students with disabilities lived. It served almost as a 24 hour nursing facility and was staffed appropriately. Fortunately, I was independent enough not to require living in this dorm.
When the event began, I noticed there were at least 30 to 40 wheelchair users in attendance. The facilitator began by asking all of us to form a circle. I sat about halfway around the circle from the facilitator. They opened the forum with this question: “How do you prefer to be referred to? Handicapped, disabled, physically challenged, or some other term?”
I was stunned at this question. Even at 18 years old, I was in disbelief that a “Disability Issues Forum” would open with this kind of a question and set that kind of a tone. We immediately were going to be discussing labels? As the facilitator went around the circle, everyone provided an answer based on the options they had provided. When they got to me, I said “I prefer to be referred to as Jon Slifka.” There were a few seconds of stunned silence from the circle, and even some uncomfortable faces made, as if I had said something controversial. The person next to me then gave their answer, continuing the circle, and I immediately left.
It was clear to me at that moment that my thinking in terms of how I identified was more evolved than this event was considering. I had personally moved past labels, where the college, and society as a whole had not. In large part, this happened by force over the years because growing up with a visible physical disability I had encountered so many people that will never be able to look past the disability, viewing me as something other than a person. The struggle to be seen as a person started almost immediately in life.
For me, disability identity isn’t about being defined by my wheelchair use; it’s about embracing the complexity of who I am as an individual. It’s about reclaiming power and control over how I define myself, rather than allowing society to dictate my identity based on my disability.
My experience underscores the complexity of disability identity and the importance of recognizing the diversity of perspectives within the disability community. While I embrace my identity as a person with a disability, I understand that others may have different experiences and perspectives. Some may choose not to identify as disabled at all, while others may have acquired their disability later in life, leading to a unique set of challenges and experiences.
At its core, disability identity is about recognizing the full humanity of individuals with disabilities. It’s about acknowledging that disability is just one aspect of who we are and should not define or limit us. By embracing disability identity, individuals like myself are reclaiming our autonomy and asserting our right to be seen and valued for who we are—complex, multifaceted individuals with unique perspectives and experiences.
Ultimately:
I am a white man.
And so much more.
I am a heterosexual.
And so much more.
I am a middle class worker.
And so much more.
I am a husband.
And so much more.
I am a father.
And so much more.
I am a wheelchair user.
And so much more.
I am a person with a disability.
And so much more.
I am all of these.
And not any one of these.
.
I am Jon Slifka.
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