At Twenty-Six: Reflections as the ADA turns 27

As the ADA turns 27, I want to celebrate, and I want to talk about how far we have come, but right now, I am starkly reminded of how far we have to go.

At 26, I am the beginning of the generation of disabled people in America who have never known a world without the ADA. I have only lived in a society whose topography is a constant reminder of the existence of the millions of people like me. A society where elevators, curb cuts, and ramps make it impossible to avoid the reality that we, as disabled people, do in fact exist in your community.

At 26, I grew up with the belief that my disability would never limit me, and to this day I still believe that to be true. However, unlike the kid who once felt that my body was the problem, I now know that being disabled is not a bad thing.

Unlike the child who would have given anything to pass has non-disabled, I now know being disabled is nothing to be ashamed of. I also know disability is never something I will overcome because it's not a problem. Unlike the little girl who believed limits were defined by how well I could rise above my body, now, I realize that the problem does not lie in my body, but in the fact that the rights and freedoms of people like me are still being declared up for debate.

As the ADA has grown up, so have I. I have grown into a world where I exist within an uneasy tension.I wrestle with the knowledge that my freedom to live in my community and the city I love is determined largely by my parents’ ability to write a check. I live with the uncomfortable knowledge that it is this ability that affords me life in an apartment as opposed to an institution, and the ability to get an education, take a job far away from my family and my hometown and move out on my own.

 I live at the tenuous intersection of possibility and fear. At 26, I am coming into my adulthood with aspirations, hopes, and dreams of a life that never could have even been imagined without the ADA. At 26, I also live in fear of the terrifying reality of losing the freedom that those who came before me fought so hard for because I can no longer afford to pay for it.

[Image description: Oversized orange quote marks offset white text on a teal background that reads, “At 26, I am coming into my adulthood with aspirations, hopes, and dreams of a life that never could have even been imagined without the ADA. At 26, I also live in fear of the terrifying reality of losing the freedom that those who came before me fought so hard for because I can no longer afford to pay for it. “ Underneath the second quotation mark, white text reads, “Karin Hitselberger, At Twenty-Six: Reflections as the ADA Turns 27” a small watermark in the bottom corner says www.claimingcrip.com]

At 26, I must contend with the reality that for me, and millions of others like me the right to self-determination, and to live where we choose is not a foregone conclusion but a constant battle that is far from over. I am reminded of the uncomfortable truth that we are not yet equal, and that our liberty is not seen as inalienable right, but as something to be argued over by politicians. 

I I am painfully aware that my ability to choose where I live is still considered “optional” rather than required. I live with the knowledge that my identity is seen by many as nothing more than a pre-existing condition, and that who I am constantly puts my future and freedom in jeopardy.

As the ADA turns 27, I am grateful. I am forever grateful to all those who came before me and fought for all the things I so long took for granted. I am grateful for my community that teaches me every day to find pride, strength, and beauty in who I am. I am thankful for my family who has supported me without question. I am grateful to be part of a community, and history of resistance.

I am grateful that the ADA "tore down the shameful wall of exclusion," and I will fight like hell to keep it from being built back up.