I Don’t Identify as Disabled

In 2021, I sat down with a psychiatrist who asked me a series of questions before giving me a diagnosis. She told me that I have post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). At first, I fought the categorization of my experience. I didn’t believe that acquiring a label would give as much as it took away.

In some states, my new diagnosis could prevent me from owning a gun. It might prevent me from getting certain jobs, or working in certain environments. But what did it give me in return? It could give me a greater level of understanding about my behaviors. But I was planning on learning about myself regardless of what my psychiatrist had to stay.

I felt that the diagnosis did little to address the nuances of my experience, and that a blanket label was too short-sighted and consequential for me to jump on board.

Difficulties of a diagnosis

As someone with a Parkinson’s diagnosis, I know that my dad faces some of the same difficulties. While he and other people with Parkinson’s should, theoretically, be protected from workplace discrimination as long as they’re not a safety risk, I’m not so sure that the system really does its job.

This could be one of the reasons why many Parkinson’s patients are so secretive about their new diagnosis. But how do you adequately determine how and in what ways someone is a safety risk? Is there a disability scale that pushes you over the threshold of what’s deemed acceptable by normal society? And how do you evaluate the nuances of having a "disability," anyways?

Stuck with the label

Although most people with PTSD live with the condition for their whole lives, PTSD symptoms can lessen in severity or even disappear over the course of time. Parkinson’s symptoms vary tremendously from patient to patient. And the rate at which the disease progresses can be significantly different as well. But, according to the label, anyone with Parkinson’s or PTSD is "disabled," creating an otherness to the conditions.

While a diagnosis can be helpful in that it creates guidance and clarity for the patient and the attending physician, the associated "disability" comes with complications of its own. And that diagnosis doesn’t go away. Once you have the mighty label, it’s probably yours forever.

Language matters

So, I wonder: At what point do we truly become disabled? Does our condition have to reach a certain level of severity or detectability in order to put us on the disability spectrum? If you’re able to complete your daily tasks without help, aren’t you still "abled?" What if your symptoms don’t prevent you from driving, walking, or staying balanced? Are you disabled then?

I, for one, don’t identify as disabled. Yes, I exhibit symptoms that periodically disrupt my life. Certain situations cause my amygdala to hijack my brain, causing me to dial into minute details and scan my environment for threats. But, if anything, I’d say that my "disorder" heightens my abilities rather than takes them away.

I can’t speak for my dad or for anyone else who has Parkinson’s. But I think that language matters. How we choose to frame our situation also matters. And if there’s a way to paint our situation in a positive light, I think that we should do it. Because this strategy creates opportunities instead of taking them away. And do we really need to lose more?