If you had asked me at age eighteen where I’d be when I was thirty-four-years-old, as I am now, I would have had it all planned out. I’d be married and have a few kids. I’d hoped to own a farm where I would give riding lessons to people with disabilities. I’d be doing serious fundraising and grant writing so that I could expand my programs to ( Read more... )

He sat in my office and told me about his aches and pains. He seemed like a laid back guy. He was willing to tell me every detail about his health problems, and some statements were just more graphic than I needed to hear. He was one of those people that talked non-stop, regardless of me trying to hear the screen reading software I use to fill ( Read more... )

They are all around us. People with hidden illnesses, disabilities, mental health issues, and health problems they don’t want to discuss. Some of them have not come to terms with these conditions in their own minds. Others are simply too embarrassed to give voice to what ails them. They want to keep it all locked away for no one to see. They ( Read more... )

Some would say I work with the cesspool of society. Every day I meet with sex offenders, career criminals, child abusers, substance abusers, the poor, the de-institutionalized, the downtrodden, the homeless, the mentally ill, minorities in so many ways, and all of them disabled. It is often a thankless job. Sometimes I wonder why I do it, but ( Read more... )

I was fairly new at my job when I met Dangerous Mind. It is a habit of baxaphobia and I to give our clients names that protect their identity yet let she and I know who we are talking about in a conversation. We can’t talk in public about Mr. Smith but we can talk about Dangerous Mind, Violent Woman, Pregnant Girl, The Mayor and so on. Anyway I met ( Read more... )

Two weeks from today an event will occur that I dread every year. Disability Pride Day will take over our local mall. Having pride despite one’s disability sounds like a good thing, right? In fact it is. There is pride in the advocacy work we do, pride in getting up and going to jobs every day, and pride in the fact that some of us just exist ( Read more... )

In the depths of despair they perform the only actions they feel are left to them. Slitting their wrists, taking the pills they have so diligently saved up for this day, or some other act that can bring it all crashing down. They clip their own wings hoping to plummet to the depths of the earth, where in death they will find rest. They tell me ( Read more... )