My Disability Was Used as a Synonym for an ‘Undesirable’ Characteristic. Will You Join Me in Obliterating This Logic?
My Disability Was Used as a Synonym for an ‘Undesirable’ Characteristic. Will You Join Me in Obliterating This Logic?
Margaret Anne Mary Moore
Content warning: The R word, ableist slur
“If you want to make him an undesirable character, wouldn’t you just give him cerebral palsy? Nobody would want cerebral palsy.”
Sitting in my motorized wheelchair at 25 and hearing my diagnosis denigrated at a writing group meeting where members critiqued peers’ work, I was horrified. The person who said it had heard me read many nonfiction pieces about cerebral palsy (CP) and previously made gibes about disability narratives’ valuelessness—comments I countered by reminding her that writers’ chosen topics should never be ridiculed. The CP remark was more grievous—the first time anyone included my specific diagnosis in a derogatory sentiment—and was a response to a fiction story featuring a man considered an outcast in town because of his “weird” way of walking and talking.
Born with CP after my umbilical cord prolapsed, I cannot stand, walk, or feed myself, and I have a speech impediment preventing those beyond immediate family and close friends from understanding me. Besides my wheelchair, I use a gait trainer and communication device which articulates typed thoughts. I pursued regular education, athletics, and scouting alongside able-bodied peers, earning honors throughout my schooling. Raised to have a positive outlook, I appreciate every keystroke I’ve made on my communication device to become a bestselling author and motivational speaker, every step in my walker leading me to be an award-winning runner and paratriathlete, and every helping hand offered.
Margaret smiling with her fist held high as she crosses the finish in her pink walker. She has shoulder-length brown hair and is wearing a neon yellow Achilles jersey with purple pants, a black jacket, powder blue gloves, and royal blue sneakers. To the right is her female Achilles guide with brown hair, glasses, a blue jacket open over a yellow Achilles jersey, and black pants. Holding onto the walker with one hand, she is smiling and looking at Margaret. On the other side of Margaret is a male Achilles guide in a yellow jersey, red baseball cap, and black shorts. One hand grips the side of the walker while the other is waving in the air as he looks forward and smiles. Behind Margaret is another female Achilles guide with a black ponytail, yellow jersey, and sunglasses as she smiles.
Enduring discrimination many times from preschool through adulthood, I was once shy about confronting these issues—being called a retard, excluded from activities, and more—and relied on family and educators to execute grievance procedures. Now, I share my perspective, not out of anger, but in the hopes of increasing tolerance.
For many nights, this CP comment left me restless while tears fell. When I expressed how insulting it was, the perpetrator insisted she hadn’t said anything wrong. Still hurt, I quit the group. Time healed the heartache, but the comment still haunts me. Deeming CP synonymous with “undesirable” wrongfully epitomizes it as life’s disgusting characteristics and inferiorizes the approximately 18 million who have it.
Dismantling ableist language is possible. When characterizing outcasts, for instance, detailing mannerisms without incorporating diagnoses suffices. Unusual speaking or walking patterns don’t always mean someone has CP, and most people are unlikely to assume outcasts with these traits have it.
If we elevate disability narratives’ visibility, making them required school reading and spotlighting them more in media and literary events, individuals can learn invaluable information about respecting disabled people and avoiding ableism. My bestselling memoir Bold, Brave, and Breathless: Reveling in Childhood’s Splendiferous Glories While Facing Disability and Loss, for example, employs step-by-step descriptions and granular detail to depict education, athletic, and scouting endeavors with impairments. This approach is meant to provide an in-depth look at my processes for completing tasks with the help of others and assistive technology. Hopefully, readers can see how, though my body moves unconventionally and requires the support of loved ones and assistive technology, I am a person who deserves as much equity and respect as everyone else while striving to succeed and make positive contributions to the world.
A paramount step for promoting disability-tolerant discourse is opening direct dialogues. Simply asking people to identify appropriate descriptors for their disabilities is effective. Formally, primary and higher education curriculums could incorporate units on inclusive language—the younger we teach non-ableist terminology, the better. Likewise, community functions are instrumental. When I attended Fairfield University, the library hosted Human Library events initiating one-on-one and small-group conversations between patrons and volunteer “human books” about experiences as marginalized or underrepresented persons. As a human book, I explained stereotypes I face and how assumptions should never be made about my abilities or personality based on the assistive equipment surrounding me. Listeners also shared previous and new understandings of disability equity.
I have cerebral palsy, tight hamstrings, and constantly bent legs. I walk and run on my toes and rely on my gait trainer for support. Its pink aluminum frame surrounds the front and sides of my body. A seat holds me up from underneath. A wraparound cushion keeps my torso upright. My strides propel the four nonmotorized tires. An award-winning athlete on Achilles Connecticut and Gaylord ParaTriathlon adaptive sports teams, I complete 5Ks and triathlons with volunteers clutching my walker, not to push, but to stabilize it. This weird way of walking and running allows me to celebrate my abilities, conquer hills, cross finish lines, and motivate others to persevere through adversity.
I have cerebral palsy and a speech impediment. Sometimes, years pass before people develop the ability to decipher words emerging from my mouth. Each sentiment read by my communication device takes me a while to type. My weird ways of talking make others and me realize the power that words have to improve the world if we patiently listen.
I have cerebral palsy, a disability I did not choose to have, but one with which I choose to thrive. Please don’t judge me based on my impairments. Please take time to understand how I speak and stride toward a more tolerant world.
About
Margaret Anne Mary Moore is the author of the bestselling disability memoir Bold, Brave, and Breathless: Reveling in Childhood’s Splendiferous Glories While Facing Disability and Loss and is currently writing the sequel. She earned an MFA in creative nonfiction and poetry from Fairfield University. Margaret is an editor and the marketing coordinator at Woodhall Press and an ambassador for her communication device manufacturer, PRC-Saltillo. A featured book on the AWP Bookshelf, Bold, Brave, and Breathless is her debut book and is now available as an audiobook. She is a contributor to Gina Barreca’s book Fast Famous Women: 75 Essays of Flash Nonfiction(Woodhall Press, 2025). Her writing has appeared in America Magazine, Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog, Kairos: A Journal of Rhetoric, Technology, and Pedagogy, and Independent Catholic News among other publications. Connect with her at margaretannemarymoore.com.
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