Did You Know I’m Disabled? Life with An Invisible Disability

Growing up, I had a hard time in Physical Education. I couldn’t run or do jumping jacks or any kind of high intensity activity that raised my heart rate beyond a certain level. I had a doctor’s note to prove it, but that didn’t usually stop some P.E. teachers from bullying me just as much as my fellow students did.

What no one realized was that doctor’s note was not only outlining the heart condition that kept me from completely half the President’s Fitness test, but it was telling my teachers that technically, I am disabled. There are no braces on my legs like young Forrest Gump. I don’t use an inhaler when my asthma attacks. Yet by the government’s definition, I am part of the largest unrecognized minority in the United States. It sounds contradictory that the government defines what a disabled person is, but doesn’t recognize the disabled community as a minority, yet this is true.

If your disability is invisible, life with it can be very different than expected. Why? Let me tell you.

Stigmas

My invisible disability is physical, but one of the biggest invisible disabilities is the mental health bloc and sadly, these disabilities are subject to a high degree of stigmatization. People with mental health issues tend to retreat from society because society doesn’t understand their conditions. For veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder, part of the issue is having a small peer group with whom they can empathize.

One of the most effective ways of living with any disability is having a peer group with whom you can relate, but when your disability impacts your socialization, your treatment is impacted. It becomes a vicious circle, and the mental health issue doesn’t get treated. Stigmatizing mental health issues only makes mental health patients sicker.

In my case, stigmatizing my invisible disability led to a mental issue: depression. Because I couldn’t do what my peers could, and even my teachers ridiculed me for it, my self-esteem suffered. This led to an increased susceptibility to bullying and to depression. I sought treatment for my depression, but there are still moments where I worry about people’s perceptions of me. Then I remember that I am still alive 27 years longer than I was supposed to be, and they can kiss my ass.

Someone Else Needs More

Whenever I felt sorry for myself like that when my grandmother was alive, my mother also reminded me of Grammy. At the ripe old age of 25, at the height of married life, with three young children under the age of five, and before the vaccine, my grandmother contracted polio. She spent a year in an iron lung and another year in a sanitorium.

For the remaining 54 years of her life, including a bout with colon cancer that ultimately took her life, Grammy was a quadriplegic. She lived the rest of her life in a wheelchair, but that didn’t stop her from having two more children, writing books, making art, and even having a TV show in North Dakota. My mother always reminded me that Grammy didn’t “have it worse,” but she did a lot with a lot less than I had and needed a lot more help than I did.

I recently came across the #CriptheVote movement and was reminded once again of how little assistance I need to do everyday things. I don’t need assistive technology to cast my vote this Fall, and I never needed assistive tech when I taught high school, but there are plenty of highly successful teachers who do.

In P. E., I may not have been able to run the mile; however, I was able to adapt P.E.’s challenges for myself. As noted in this resource on diversity in youth sports from Ohio University, there is at least one family for every 100 that has a child who needs adaptive technology in order to play sports. Just because the percentage is so low doesn’t mean those kids don’t deserve to play.

Sense of Pride

I speak only for myself, but I’m both proud of my heart defect and proud that no one really knows it’s there. It has nothing to do with being pride over any one group or another. I spent nearly my entire adult life using my defect as an excuse to be sedentary when I had no need, or really right to. Now I can jog, lift weights, and be the head of the pack rather than the last one up the hill. It’s pride not in overcoming my disability but how I live with it now rather than how I lived with it in the past.

Photo Credit

Photo by gratisography

Guest Author Bio

H. E. James, MBA
Hattie is a writer and researcher living in Boise, Idaho. She has a varied background, including education and sports journalism. She is a former electronic content manager and analyst for a government agency. She recently completed her MBA and enjoys local ciders.

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