What happens when I stop apologizing for my disability?

I used to apologize for my disabled body all the time.

And most of the time, it wasn’t out loud.

(Although I’m certain that I’ve said the words “sorry” in situations where I thought I was in the way or making things difficult for someone else.)

Instead, it looked like:

Not attending events so that I wouldn’t have to “burden” organizers with my needs.

Compromising on my needs to still participate in spaces that weren’t wholly accessible to me.

Feeling shame any time I asked for help doing a seemingly “basic” thing.

Getting angry at my body when it didn’t cooperate.

Doing extra work to distract people from my needs.

Feeling like I needed to compensate for the ways in which I couldn’t show up.

And while I would love to think that this part of my journey with disability is over, it isn’t, completely.

I still have moments where I feel like I’m too much. Where I convince myself — as much as my logical brain knows it’s not true — that other people in my life believe that me and my disability are an inconvenience, that they think I’m in the way, that they are hindered by the fact that they can’t do the same things with me as they do with other friends.

I tell myself that asking for something — anything — is too much.

And that leads me to preemptively apologize for (and feel shame about) not being able to navigate something on my own.

But you know what I’ve also realized? More importantly?

Asking a loved one for help is a gift.

It’s an invitation to have them show up for you in an intimate way.

It’s a way to let them into your lived experience.

It’s an opportunity to share with them.

And aren’t those all good things?

I may still battle my inner voice from time to time, she is far quieter than she used to be. And thank goodness for that.

Because in lowering that wall, that armour, I’m far more open to connection and deeper relationships and love and ease.

And we all deserve more ease.