How I Write and Talk About Disability

As a writer, I am legally obligated to believe that language is important, and it is. But when it comes to identity and activism, language is not just important. It's vital, complicated, and evolving. Many of the words I was taught to use three years ago are now, if not offensive, at least no longer in use.

While every identity deserves to have its own language disambiguation post—and does somewhere I'm sure—I'm choosing to write one about disability, primarily because it's something I write and talk about a lot, and secondarily because I am familiar with SO many conflicting arguments around terminology, reclaimed language, and so on. Because language around identity is first and foremost personal, I don't feel that I can write anything definitive about how other people should talk about disability. What I can do is lay out my own explanation of the language I use and why, so that anyone within or outside the disability community wondering why I use a certain term, or why I sometimes seem to be inconsistent with my language use, has a place to look.

This post is a work in progress. Because language is ever evolving and because my knowledge of the disability community is by no means complete, I am open to critiques and suggestions of how to make my language more inclusive, specific, or appropriate. Please feel free to bring problems or suggestions to my attention in the comments.

Rule Number 1: I Use People's Self Designations

As with any identity, if I'm writing about a specific person, and I have access to information about how they identify, I will use those terms. So, if I'm writing about a specific friend of mine who identifies as Deaf and tends to use identity first language, I will say, "My Deaf friend," whereas to write about a person whose writing seem to suggest person first language and use the term hearing loss, I might say, "John, who has hearing loss." Describing people with the language they have chosen is a sign of respect and basic decency.

My one caveat here is that I will often steer clear of reclaimed language for a group I am not a part of, even if it is someone's self designation. I am very cautious about my use of the word "crip," for instance, and will usually use it to talk about a specific political and academic approach to disability, rather than as an identity descriptor.

How Do I Describe Myself?

I identify as legally blind, visually impaired, and blind. I have also been known to describe myself as "non-sighted," "seeing's not my thing," and "stop pointing at stuff" (no, the grammar here doesn't work, too bad).

I tend to use identity first language for myself, (e.g., disabled person, not person with a disability), although I prefer "I am" statements even more (see below for more on this).

I have a complex relationship with the word "blind." I used to hate it, primarily because I felt that most people used it only to describe people with no sight, and therefore applying it to me was inaccurate. As I wandered deeper into the world of the disability community, I decided that I would rather reclaim blind as a term that can apply to people with many different levels of sight. As such, it feels somewhat like a reclaimed language situation to me, in that I often don't want people who don't know me well describing me that way. I get to say I'm blind, but I'd really rather strangers didn't. Legally blind or visually impaired are better.

Person First versus Identity First

This refers to the grammatical construction of the sentence disclosing someone's disability. Do you put the disability first, or the word person? Are you a disabled person, or a person with a disability?

Person first came about as a response to the dehumanizing aspects of ableism. Many people with disabilities felt (and still feel) that non-disabled people only saw their disability, and could not look past it to learn anything else about them. As a result, they called for language that would emphasize that humanity over their disability. Not blind people, but people who are blind. Not wheelchair users, but people who use wheelchairs. This allowed them to present themselves as individuals who could not be reduced to one aspect of their identity.

Identity first came about partly as a response to person first, and partly as a response to the identity-erasing aspects of ableism. For this group, person first language suggests that we can be separated from our disabilities, that there is some non-disabled person inside us who just happens to have a disabled body or neurodivergent mind. This group introduced identity first language to emphasize that disability is part of their identity, inseparable from the rest of them. Deaf person. Autistic person. Wheelchair user.

As mentioned above, I tend to lean more towards identity first language for myself, but mostly because it tends to be shorter and easier. Philosophically, I identify with the goals of both person first and identity first. Disability is a part of my identity ... and I'm a person. They're not mutually exclusive. So, in my writing about disability, I will sometimes switch between the two modes.

I also try to switch up the construction of the sentence. Instead of beginning, "I am a ..." I will often just say, "I am ..." The "I am a" construction can continue with a person first or an identity first statement, but the "I am" construction is automatically going to be identity first ... except that the person actually came first in the subject of the sentence, "I." See what I did there? The actual person first construction is, "I have ..." which I will use for people with chronic illnesses or other disabilities who wish to be referred to that way.

Why the Word Disability?

I use the term "disabled" to refer to myself, and to a community more generally. I prefer this word over other designators like "differently abled," "handicapped," or "impaired" because to me it states a categorical truth. I am dis-abled: constricted in my ability both by the limitations of my body and by society's failures to see my body as whole and accommodate it as such. To use other, softer language feels like a devaluation of my social and embodied experience. Furthermore, disability is the commonly used designator for the community I identify with, and it is most easily recognized by those within and outside of that community.

Of course, Rule Number 1 is still in effect. I will not refer to a person or group as disabled when they have requested not to be described that way. For instance, I will not describe members of the Deaf community as disabled, but will instead link their experience to mine by describing as all as affected by ableism.

Physical Disability: Terms I Will Use 

• Physically disabled
• Wheelchair user
• Mobility impaired
• Blind
• D/deaf
• Chronically ill
• "She is/has ..."
• Crip (occasionally, see above)
• Etc. Etc. Etc.

Physical Disability: Terms I Will Not Use 

• Wheelchair bound
• Differently abled
• Handicapped
• A whole host of slurs and reclaimed language that I hope I don't need to write out.
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Mental/Psychological Disability: Terms I Will Use

• Neurodivergent
• Mental disability
• Mental illness (sometimes)
• Psychological disability
• Learning disability
• Autistic
• On the autism spectrum
• Depressed
• Has depression
• Etc. Etc. Etc.

Mental/Psychological Disability: Terms I Will Not Use

• Crazy
• Psych case
• A whole host of slurs and reclaimed language I hope I don't have to write out.

How Do I Describe People Without Disabilities

This post, and much of my writing, is falling into the trap of assuming there are only two kinds of people in the world: those with disabilities and those without. This is a lie. Disability is a huge and complicated spectrum. Most people will experience some form of disability at some point in their life. Many people fall under the legal definition of disability, but do not experience their condition as disabling. The number of people I meet who are confused about their disability status is staggering, and they should not be forced to pick a side and stay there.

On the other hand, there are some very real differences between those who experience themselves as unequivocally abled and those who cannot avoid the label of disability. Some of these differences have to do with embodied experience, and some of them have to do with power and privilege. To leave these differences unacknowledged is to leave unnamed the ableist power structures that hurt us all, whether we are disabled, nondisabled, or somewhere in between.

The Able: Terms I Will Use

• People without disabilities
• Non-disabled
• Abled
• Neurotypical
• Able bodied
• Temporarily able-bodied
• Sighted/hearing/walking etc.
• Privileged
• The able
• Our ableist overlords
• Just about whatever I want (I'm punching up here)

The Able: Terms I Will Not Use

• Normal