Growing up, I learned early that the world doesn’t always know how to treat those who are different. As a child with a visible disability, I quickly became a target. The names they called me still echo sometimes. The way they stared, laughed, or excluded me wasn’t something I could ever forget. I didn’t understand why I was treated differently—I only knew that I was. But what began as a painful childhood of bullying slowly became a story of resilience, growth, and pride. Today, I stand as a woman who not only accepts her disability but embraces it fully. And getting here wasn’t easy, but it was powerful.
The Early Years: Learning Shame Before I Learned Pride
Children are often honest to a fault, but honesty without kindness becomes cruelty. I remember being picked last in gym class, having my desk moved “to give others more space,” and hearing whispers that made me shrink further into myself.
I internalized every insult. I started to believe that I was a burden, that I wasn’t good enough, and that my differences were something to hide. I perfected the art of invisibility. I laughed off the hurt and pretended I was okay. I tried to be smaller, quieter, easier. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t change my body. And I began to resent it.
The Teenage Struggle: Between Silence and Survival
Adolescence brought new challenges. I craved belonging, yet I was constantly reminded that I was “other.” Friendships felt conditional. Social events were landmines of judgment and inaccessibility. I wanted to be seen as normal, and so I pushed myself to the limit just to fit in.
But inside, I was exhausted. The emotional toll of masking my pain, pretending not to notice the stares, and constantly trying to prove my worth was overwhelming. Still, I didn’t speak up. I didn’t advocate. I didn’t know I could.
My silence wasn’t weakness. It was survival. It was the only way I knew how to cope with a world that seemed determined to tell me I wasn’t enough.
The Turning Point: Finding Language, Community, and Power
Everything began to change when I met others who lived with disability—not in silence, but with strength. They didn’t apologize for who they were. They didn’t try to be invisible. They celebrated their existence loudly, with pride and defiance. It was the first time I saw disability not as a flaw, but as a form of identity.
I began reading about disability rights, about ableism, about accessibility and advocacy. For the first time, I saw myself reflected in stories that weren’t filled with pity or tragedy. I started to speak up. I claimed the word disabled not as something to be ashamed of, but as a part of who I am.
Reclaiming My Body and My Voice
As I embraced my disability, I also began to heal the relationship I had with my body. I stopped seeing it as broken and started seeing it as worthy. My body had carried me through pain, isolation, and misunderstanding. It had adapted, endured, and survived. That strength was something to honor, not hide.
I also found my voice. I started writing, speaking, and sharing my story. Not to be inspirational, but to be visible. To show others that it’s okay to take up space. That we don’t have to be silent or ashamed. That pride and disability can exist together.
Becoming the Woman I Needed as a Girl
Today, I carry that bullied child with me—not as a wound, but as a reminder. She deserved better. She deserved love, understanding, and safety. And so I give those things to myself now. I advocate for accessibility, inclusion, and representation not just for me, but for every child who has ever felt like they don’t belong.
I’m no longer trying to be “normal.” I’m trying to be real. Honest. Proud. I wear my disability with confidence because it has shaped who I am in the most profound ways. It taught me empathy, strength, creativity, and courage. It brought me community. It gave me a mission.
Frequently Asked Questions
How did bullying impact your sense of identity as a child?
Bullying made me question my worth and feel ashamed of my disability. It created emotional scars that took years to understand and heal.
What helped you move from shame to pride?
Connecting with the disability community, learning about disability rights, and finding others who shared similar experiences helped me reclaim my identity.
Why do you identify as disabled instead of using euphemisms?
Because disability is not a bad word. It’s a valid identity, and using it proudly helps challenge stigma and normalize difference.
What advice would you give to a young person with a disability who is being bullied?
You are not the problem. Your value is not up for debate. Find community, speak up when you’re ready, and know that it gets better.
How do you practice self-acceptance today?
By setting boundaries, honoring my needs, speaking kindly to myself, and surrounding myself with people who respect and uplift me.
What’s one message you want others to take from your journey?
That disability is not something to hide or overcome—it’s something to embrace. Pride in who you are is a powerful act of resistance and love.
I was a bullied child who learned to carry shame like a shadow. But now, I am a proud woman with a disability who walks with her head held high. My story is not about perfection or pain—it’s about growth, truth, and the power of becoming who you were always meant to be.
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