Stop Calling Me Differently-abled

Lorelei Root works as an accessibility specialist, with a focus in game development and making digital content more accessible to people with disabilities. She is the chair of the City of Guelph’s Accessibility Advisory Committee and a board member for the Canadian Centre for Disability Studies, and serves on a number of other boards and committees in an accessibility advisory capacity. Due to the significant overlap between disabled and unhoused communities, Lorelei also does a lot of work as a volunteer with various community outreach groups serving the unhoused, low income, and food-insecure populations in Guelph.  

As a disabled woman who uses various forms of assistive technology and assistive devices to access the world, cross-disability accessibility advocacy is a driving passion of Lorelei’s. She is a firm believer in "nothing about us without us," which states that any progress toward accessibility inclusion needs to centre the voices of disabled individuals.  

As we near 2025, there are a number of unintentionally ableist habits I wish we could all leave in the past. And perhaps chief among them is the habit many people have of calling me “differently abled,” “special needs,” “handicapable,” or some other euphemistic nonsense in an effort to avoid calling me what I actually am: disabled. 
 
Many times in life I’ve referred to myself as disabled only to have non-disabled people in the room chime in to say, “Oh don’t say that, you’re not disabled, you’re just differently-abled!” or “I think you meant to say you’re a person with a disability.” I really hate when people do that, and one of the main reasons why is rooted in my feelings about person-first versus identity-first language. 

Person-first vs. Identity-first Language 

If you’ve never heard of those terms before, they are basically just two different ways of referring to disabled people. When using person-first language, I would say “I am a person with a disability,” but if I were to use identity-first language, I would say “I am a disabled person.”   

Person-first language is just what it sounds like: an attempt to show that someone is considered a person first who exists separate from their disability. You literally acknowledge the person first and list the disability afterward. In doing this, some people think they are humanizing the person they are talking about. In comparison, identity-first language acknowledges the disability as part of someone’s identity and doesn’t attempt to separate the person from the disability; it lists the disability first as an adjective. I prefer identity-first language because my disability is a part of who I am, not just a loosely associated noun I carry around with me. It’s a big part of my identity that doesn’t carry any shame, so I don’t see the need to separate myself from it by using person-first language. I‘m not a fan of any attempts to isolate me from my disability, because that feels like people are saying my disability is bad, or that considering it as a part of me is insulting, which it isn’t.  

So which should you use? Honestly, in the world of disability rights advocacy, language is constantly changing and evolving. But at the moment, the most commonly accepted choice I see folks using is identity-first language because it tends to be the preference among disabled individuals.  

But since it's such a personal preference for a lot of us, your best bet when speaking to a disabled person one-on-one is simply to take their lead. Listen to how they refer to themselves and follow suit, or if you are really uncertain you can even ask. It can be as simple as saying, “I know some people have a strong preference, so do you prefer to be called ‘disabled’ or ‘a person with a disability’?” Don’t comment on their response with approval or disagreement; don’t start a debate about how you feel one option is better than the other. Just ask and move on using whichever they prefer. Treat it like it’s not a big deal to tweak your language, because it isn’t!  

So that’s your crash course on identity-first versus person-first language. 

I’m Not “Differently Abled” 

When it comes to being called “differently abled” or any other euphemism like it, my reason for disliking it so much has multiple layers. I’ll start by pointing out the one most closely linked to my preference for identity-first language, which is that I find it irritating that anyone would make an effort to separate me from my disability or act like it isn’t part of me. Some people seem to think the phrase “differently abled” humanizes disabled people by focusing on our abilities rather than our disabilities. But there’s nothing negative or dehumanizing about disability, and it bothers me when people make deliberate language choices that make it seem like there is. If we’re being honest, living life as a disabled person is honestly about as human as it gets. No one has a body that functions at 100% all of the time, and no one is indestructible or immune to aging. Being disabled doesn’t dehumanize us; on the contrary, it’s actually a great example of exactly what it means to be human. 

Another reason I hate terms like “differently abled” is that they are euphemistic. As if the term “disabled” needs to be avoided in the first place, which it totally doesn’t. Using a euphemism instead of the actual word reinforces stigma that disability shouldn’t be discussed—that disabled folks and our experiences should be hidden away or not spoken of when, in reality, diversity is awesome and should be celebrated. These euphemisms are also sort of fluffy—borderline cutesy, even—which diminishes the actual experiences of disabled people while also casting negative connotations on the word disabled. As if the word needs sprucing up before it can be said aloud. 
 
Something else that bothers me about “differently abled” is that it’s just plain inaccurate. Terms like this are misleading and reinforce the misconception that disabled means UNable. As though the “dis” part is offensive or somehow suggests that we are incapable. For those people, saying “differently abled” or “handicapable” feels like a more respectful choice. But disabled doesn’t mean less able, or less valuable, or less of anything. Disabled is not a negative word!  
 
From a purely objective standpoint, ALL humans are differently abled. We have different levels of ability in all areas, not just in relation to our health and disability. I am really good at video games but can’t play the banjo. My friend can play the banjo but doesn’t know how to bake. I can bake but am a horrible artist when it comes to drawing. “Differently abled” also suggests that there is a “normal” level of ability that exists, and that disabled people are different from that, which isn’t true. Ability and disability exist on a spectrum and aren’t black and white. There’s nothing abnormal about disability. 

The Adjective You’re Looking for Already Exists 

What disabled people experience is more than just having different abilities, and the challenges we face have more to do with the world and the way it is built than they do with our medical histories. When we say we are disabled, it describes more than just our bodies and minds or where we are allowed to park our cars. “Disabled” represents the reality of experiences that are ingrained in our daily lives, inseparable from our existence. When I refer to myself as disabled, I’m not putting myself down or saying I’m less capable than anyone else. I’m honouring my body and my identity by acknowledging that my body functions in an atypical way, and that it affects my experience interacting with the world due to barriers that are built into everyday life. When I call myself disabled, I’m recognizing that the world wasn’t built for people like me, which allows me a starting point to push for change. When I refer to myself as disabled, I am hardcore rejecting the idea that it is wrong to have a body like mine. I’m owning my skin and my experience in a beautiful way. My disability is a part of me that intersects with many other cool parts of me, all of which make me who I am. None of the things that make me “me” deserve to be hidden or glossed over.  

So, if you are searching for a word to describe me, look no further because the word already exists. My name is Lorelei, and I am disabled.  

-Written by Lorelei Root