Am I Disabled Enough

 Let’s talk about the joys of living with an invisible disability. By “joys,” of course, I mean the daily battles with your own body, managing skeptical glances from strangers, and that internal voice whispering, "Are you really that disabled?" You know, the good stuff.

As someone juggling more chronic illnesses than I can count (including a part-time relationship with my wheelchair), I’ve often found myself asking, "Am I disabled enough?" It’s a weird place to be in when you feel like you don’t quite fit in with either the able-bodied or disabled worlds. Let’s dive into why this happens and why, spoiler alert, you’re absolutely disabled enough—whether you’re sporting a cast, a cane, or just trying to make it through the day with a brain fog thick enough to rival pea soup.

Society’s Idea of Disability: “You Don’t Look Sick”

Ah, yes. The classic line. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me, “You don’t look sick,” I’d be rolling in enough cash to finally afford all the medications I need to function.

Here’s the thing: society tends to equate disability with something they can physically see. If you’re not using a wheelchair, wearing a brace, or sporting a cast, you might as well be starring in your own episode of MythBusters: Disability Edition. And what’s worse? Even if you are using something as obvious as a wheelchair, people might still say you don’t look sick. It’s a lose-lose!

A personal favourite: once, while sitting in my wheelchair at the mall (hey, walking around for hours is no joke!), someone actually asked me, “What happened to you?” The look on their face when I said, “Oh, nothing, I just can’t stand for long periods” was priceless. I wasn’t limping or bandaged up, so how could I possibly need a wheelchair?

The “But You Were Fine Yesterday!” Problem

One of the most confusing parts of invisible disabilities is their inconsistency. Some days, I’m Wonder Woman, casually conquering laundry and making dinner. Other days, I can barely drag myself to the couch. It’s like my body’s playing an intense game of "Will she, won’t she?"

You see, chronic illness isn’t always an everyday-looks-the-same affair. If you’re anything like me, one day, you might be out with friends (okay, fine, existing with friends), and the next, you’re too wiped out to even make eye contact with your family. And yet, this inconsistency makes us feel like imposters in our own bodies. If you can do it sometimes, shouldn’t you always be able to do it?

Spoiler: nope.

Internalized Ableism: When the Doubter is… You

When I first started using a wheelchair part-time, I felt like a fraud. Isn’t a wheelchair for people who are, you know, really disabled? The guilt was real. After all, I could still walk. Just not for long. Or far. Or without pain. But still! I had legs! How dare I?

This, my friends, is internalized ableism at its finest. Somewhere along the way, I bought into the lie that disability only counts if it looks a certain way—if it’s consistent, obvious, and visible to everyone else. It took me a while to realize that, no, my wheelchair wasn’t just a ticket to avoid long lines at Disneyland (though, let’s be honest, that’s a solid perk). It was a tool that let me live my life more fully. Without it, I’d be stuck on the sidelines.

It took me a hot minute to embrace the idea that disability isn’t one-size-fits-all. And that includes people like me, who can walk sometimes, limp others, and roll on wheels the rest of the time.

The Pressure to Prove

Now, let’s talk about one of the most annoying parts of having an invisible disability: the pressure to prove it. If you’ve ever felt like you’re walking around with an invisible “Papers, please” sign, you’re not alone.

When I’m out in public, I often feel like I need to explain myself—especially when I’m using accommodations that others might associate with more obvious disabilities. For example, when I park in an accessible parking spot and emerge from the car standing tall (for the moment), the side-eye from other drivers is real. People assume I do not need that spot because I can walk five feet to the store entrance.

What they don’t see is how that short walk might be all I can manage without feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck afterward. But explaining that to everyone? Exhausting. So I just smile politely, maybe give a little wave, and carry on. (Though I’ve definitely fantasized about handing out business cards that read: “Hi, I have an invisible disability. No, I don’t have to explain it to you. Have a nice day!”)

The Comparison Game: Is My Disability Disabled Enough?

Here’s where things get extra tricky: comparison. We all do it. We look at someone who has a different experience of disability—maybe theirs is more visible, or maybe they have more severe symptoms—and we think, "Well, they’ve got it worse. What right do I have to complain?"

For the longest time, I felt guilty about using mobility aids. I didn’t want to take resources or attention away from people who, in my mind, “needed it more.” But here’s the thing: there is no disability hierarchy. You don’t need to be “sick enough” to deserve accommodations or compassion. Your experience is valid, period. Whether you’re using a wheelchair or cane or just taking a few extra breaks during the day, it’s all part of the same journey.

So, Are You Disabled Enough?

Look, it’s easy to feel like you don’t fit the mold of what people expect when they think of disability. But guess what? There isn’t a mold. You don’t need to justify your experiences to anyone—not even yourself.

So, the next time someone hits you with a “You don’t look sick” or you catch yourself wondering if you’re “disabled enough” to need the help you’re asking for, remember this: disability comes in all shapes, sizes, and visibility levels. Whether you’re in a wheelchair, using a cane, or just taking a breather on the couch, you deserve the support and space to navigate your life the best way you can.

In the end, it’s not about how “disabled” you look or feel. It’s about what you need to live your life fully—and that’s always enough.