Disability Pride Month: Not Just Surviving, But Thriving

Kathryn Reinders is a PhD candidate with the Social Practice and Transformational Change program at the University of Guelph. Her research is focused on human rights, disability studies, public policy, and political action. In addition to her PhD, Kathryn also completed her Master’s and Bachelor’s degrees at UofG in political science. Kathryn has been a member of the LWWRC team since 2020, working as a graduate research assistant on projects such as Disability & Livelihoods in Canada, Reimagining Livelihoods, and the EDID-GHDI partnership.  

July is Disability Pride Month, a time to celebrate the identities, cultures, and contributions of our community members with disabilities. It is also a time to challenge the stereotypes, barriers, and ableism that prevent disabled people from achieving their goals. This month, we reached out to Kathryn to share her experiences as a disabled student-researcher working on disability research.  

People who know me often tell me that I think through my life, my feelings, and my dreams through writing and telling stories. Which makes sense because I grew up in a family of storytellers, listening to my Grandpa Calhoun recite stories like “The Cremation of Sam McGee” and my Great-Aunt Louise sharing tales of my family’s past and present. So when I was asked to write a blog for Disability Pride Month, it’s only natural that my first reaction was to tell a story.  

I don’t remember a time when my family’s experiences were not shaped by disability. Growing up in a home with a sibling with disabilities meant that I understood disability as just a normal piece of human experience from my earliest memories. However, as I grew up, I started to understand that disability—for many other people—made my sister different. And this difference wasn’t always understood as a positive thing—sometimes she was teased, and people treated her differently because “she won’t understand anyway.” But mostly, I grew up in a home where disability was just something that existed alongside my sister’s other wonderful qualities—her kindness, sense of humour, and loving approach to living.  

Disability wasn’t about what my sister couldn’t do— it was about fighting for what she could do. It was about my sister learning to advocate for herself. It was about my mom refusing to accept less for her child and demanding she have access to work-skills training in her special education program. It was about my elder sister helping her figure out what bus route she was on when she got turned around on the city bus. It was about my sister meeting her goal to live independently. Disability was about my sister living her life in a way which was authentic to her experiences, impairments, and goals.  

I came to disability as an area of research because I saw the frustrations my family has had to fight through, just so that my sister could get the same opportunities for freedom and autonomy as anyone else. However, in coming to disability rights as an area of research, I have learned more than I ever thought possible—more about myself, my own disabilities, and what it even means to be “disabled.” 

As a researcher (or aspiring researcher), I am often not considered “disabled” by those I interact with—nor did I consider myself disabled for the first 30 years of my life. But I am. I am neurodivergent, and while the barriers I face are distinct from my sister who experiences different impairments, I am still disabled.  

Throughout the research projects I have been lucky enough to participate in, I have met so many women with disabilities. Women with disabilities are often discussed as being marginalized, victims, or in need of protection. But the women with disabilities I have met through my research have a lot to be proud of. They are committed to thriving and building their communities—that is something to be proud of. And maybe that is exactly why something like disability pride is so important, because it reminds all of us with disabilities that—whether we appear disabled or pass as non-disabled—we are people with disabilities. Our disabilities affect how we interact with the world, in a completely unique way that non-disabled people can never understand.  

But there is a lot of learning that comes with disability pride too. As a student-researcher, one of the most challenging (in a good way) projects I have worked on was a collaborative presentation and book chapter for a graduate symposium about settler-colonialism. My co-author and I wrote about how prevailing approaches to disability rights or Indigenous rights don’t capture the unique experiences of Indigenous women, girls, or 2SLGBTQQIA people with disabilities.  

First, many Indigenous languages and knowledge systems don’t have words for disability but instead discuss how each member of the community has unique gifts or abilities.  

Second, many Indigenous people are uncomfortable with the label of disability because it is a Western label which focuses on a deficit of functioning rather than on the unique skills each person has to offer.  

Third, disablement in this context is tied to colonial violence and public policy, where policy choices contribute to the ongoing disablement of Indigenous Nations along with preventing sufficient access to disability services and supports.  

I’ve been really lucky to have been exposed to these ideas by scholars like Dr. Lynn Gehl, because it’s built new space for me to reflect on what disability pride means to me, within the political context of Canada. 

Which is why the most important thing I can take from my research is that disability pride means paying attention to what disabled women, girls, and gender-diverse folks living at the margins tell me about their lives and their experiences. It means promoting their stories and the changes that need to be made for people with disabilities to thrive in our communities. But it also means working for researchers who are committed to moving past stories of survival and into stories of thriving, hoping, dreaming, and change-making which truly represent all the gifts we collectively bring to the world as disabled people. 

-written by Kathryn Reinders