Progressing With My Disability

A short essay on a long struggle with Internalized Ableism

So much of my life I thought progress was this linear ascent. Growing up, I moved from being in my wheelchair to a walker, walker to crutches and then crutches to a cane. I saw this as the ultimate goal. I was finally eye to eye with everyone who had at one point looked down on me. I made a name for myself as the disabled guy who went from a wheelchair to a cane and then walked 6.2 miles in an AIDS Walk. I had a whole documentary centered around the theme of "progress". I had done something so difficult and I wanted desperately to hold onto it and I ignored my body even as it was telling me it needed a break. It needed help. It needed to go back.

"Going back", in my mind, was the worst thing I could do.
"Going back" was not progress.
"Going back" was giving up.

To return to my wheelchair would be like returning to a hometown where I told everyone to go fuck themselves and pissed on the beloved High School Mascot on the way out. It was just not gonna happen. Sorry Countryside Cougars, I'm off to the West Coast. No matter how much my mind was made up, one way or another, my body was going to eventually disobey. It was not a matter of "if", it was a matter of when and I was already past due.

The cartilage had vacated.
The joints were locking their doors.
The muscles were preparing for foreclosure.

Though, I'm a brunette and not a Blondie, one way or another, my body was going to find me and get me, get me, get me. My future was going to involve looking back and that was okay because it's in the past where we can find the best path forward. Once I took the pressure off of myself, I could feel the relief I was missing. Progress is not a linear ascent. Progress is knowing that if a path isn't working, you don't keep storming forward. Progress is listening in the moment, moment to moment.

Joseph in a yellow wheelchair with a green jacket, green pants and a grey hoodie.