Deformed Essays

I hate the word able-bodied. I would rather hear “crippled,” “deformed,” the saccharinely condescending “differently-abled,” or even “moist” whispered over and over directly into my ear, than hear someone describe the state of not being physically disabled as able-bodied . Obligatory disclaimers: I’m going to explain why I hate “able-bodied” because I’m in a complaining mood and because I can’t expect other people to alter their language or actions based on my whims without building a convincing argument. But before I do, I should acknowledge that the language I use to talk about disability is probably every bit as grating to plenty of people who aren’t me. There is not vocabulary consensus in the disability community. Lively debates rage about person-first vs. identity first language (“people with disabilities” and “disabled people," respectively). I think it’s a mistake to focus too much on language in conversations about disability. Too often, nondisabled people are afraid t

In a yoga class, you usually start with a pose called Sukhasana. Sit with your legs crossed, back straight, and hands resting comfortably on your knees. If you want your practice to feel grounded or introspective, the instructor will say, then rest your hands with your palms facing down. If you want to be receptive, your palms should face up. My friend took this picture of me looking very Zen indeed on the floor of a dive bar when I was explaining Sukhasana to him. I love yoga now, but it took me years to get to the point where I can just take a drop-in class without worrying I’ll make a spectacle of myself. My left arm and shoulder are partially paralyzed, visibly smaller and bent in odd directions compared with the hypothetical, uninjured arm that isn’t there. At first, I struggled to modify the poses and flows to fit my body. When you’re disabled, learning a new physical skill means two processes are happening simultaneously. You have to learn how a typical body would do it while