Disability Studies debates whether disablement is located in the individual, the environment, or somewhere in between. In this section, I will explore my personal experiences of disablement within my academic experiences while attempting to locate where my disablement rests on this spectrum of liminality. This debate mirrors Wendell’s (1996)1 argument that while social factors shape disability, impairment cannot be ignored. She acknowledges that social factors alone do not create disability and that the experience of disability is determined by the interaction between bodily limitations and external conditions (p. 42). Wendell also notes that, despite recognizing disability as socially constructed, she was still “forced to acknowledge and learn to live with bodily, not cultural, limitation” (p. 169). Similarly, while I recognize that academic barriers exacerbate my disablement, my chronic pain is not solely a social issue. It is a deeply embodied experience.
My chronic pain is inherently disruptive, affecting my movement, sleep, cognitive clarity, and daily functioning. Kafer (2013, p. 5)2 argues that impairment and disability are inherently social, but my experience complicates this claim. Goodley (2011)3 also seems to argue that impairment is always framed through cultural meanings and discourses. However, my chronic pain presents moments of raw, bodily disruption that resist immediate social interpretation. What is social, relational, or political about waking up multiple times a night due to pain flares? These moments expose the instability of disablement’s location. What is social in the larger equation is the impact of my resulting fatigue on my ability to interact with my environment or, in this case, my academics. It is true that as soon as I turn to a medical remedy or worry about what the lack of sleep will mean for my productivity, those relative aspects come into play. However, at that moment, when it is simply me being woken up from my sleep and experiencing the discomfort of pain, I argue that the impairment exists in biological isolation. This is just one example of how my chronic pain defies strict categorization as solely individual or social.
My chronic pain also disrupts fundamental cognitive functions: thinking, reading, writing, and processing complex material. This impairment is disabling across all areas of my life, affecting my work, social connections, and even solitary forms of entertainment. However, it is perhaps most pronounced in academic environments. When I encountered Dr. Monteleone’s (2023)4 article on the cognitive barriers imposed by the expected complexity in academic writing, what she describes as a form of cognitive ableism, I immediately recognized my struggles. Beyond the severe cognitive effects of chronic pain itself, the medication I take to manage it adds yet another layer of impairment. My bodymind instantly relaxed when I realized that a plain English version of the article was included. The tension I had been holding in my muscles while straining to focus released, and I felt a profound sense of relief. While the article is focused on the exclusion of those labeled with intellectual disabilities, my experience shows that cognitive ableism impacts people in a multitude of circumstances.
Reading academic writing takes me twice as long due to cognitive impairments. On challenging days, I rely on AI tools to break complex concepts into simpler language, a plain English workaround highlighting my cognitive and temporal disadvantage in academia. The demand for rapid reading and processing reflects Western productivity norms, which Wendell (1996) critiques, arguing that bodyminds are expected to function at maximum efficiency at all times (p. 91). Academic culture privileges those whose cognitive abilities align with institutional norms (Monteleone, 2023), forcing disabled students to create individualized workarounds rather than institutions adapting to diverse needs.
Traditional lectures pose an additional barrier, as I depend on the ability to pause videos, take notes, and replay material. My access to SSDI allows for temporal flexibility, but my impairments remain unchanged. This highlights that disablement is not simply about resources. It is shaped by how environments impose limitations. If disablement were purely structural, these supports would erase my disability experience, but they do not. It is an ongoing negotiation between bodily limitations and institutional conditions.
If disablement lies entirely within the structures of academic culture, then perhaps the support and privileges I have access to should remove my disability status within this environment. However, my impairments remain the same, and even with these adaptations, my experience of academic work is not equivalent to that of my non-disabled peers. The boundaries between internal impairment and external disablement begin to blur. What defines disablement in my academic experience: the impairments I carry within my bodymind or the external barriers that dictate how I navigate learning spaces? Or is it something in the interplay between the two, shaped by my specific social and material conditions?
My ability to engage with academic material is shaped by fluctuating pain, cognitive fog, and fatigue. The flexibility of this course aligns with crip time, which challenges ableist expectations of efficiency (Kafer, 2013, p. 15). Rather than merely accommodating impairment, crip time restructures engagement itself. Sheppard (2020) notes that pacing is both survival and resistance, highlighting the instability of disablement—my impairments dictate my need for pacing, but disablement emerges through productivity norms.
Wendell (1996) critiques the “myth of control,” the belief that bodily functions can be regulated through sheer discipline (p. 93). Those requiring accommodations are often seen as lacking control rather than resisting an ableist system. Nevertheless, access to accommodations does not diminish my disablement; it exposes the tension between bodily limitations and structural barriers. While pacing and crip time allow me to engage on my terms, they do not erase my impairments or the disabling structures that shape academic participation. My disablement is neither wholly internal nor externally imposed. It is a negotiation process, shifting in response to my environment, institutional expectations, and bodily realities.
Wendell (1996) argues that disability exposes institutions’ unspoken assumptions, forcing them to confront who they are built for and who they exclude (p. 45). My reliance on accommodations does not erase my disability; it makes it more visible. Academic culture still centers on normative assumptions about ability and expects students to conform rather than institutions to change. The tension I experience between using supports and still feeling disabled reveals the fundamental misfit between academia and disabled bodies and minds.
Series so far:
Intro
Positionality
- Wendell, S. (1996). The rejected body: Feminist philosophical reflections on disability. Routledge. ↩︎
- Kafer, A. (2013). Feminist, queer, crip. Indiana University Press. ↩︎
- Goodley, D. (2017). Disability studies: An interdisciplinary introduction (2nd edition). SAGE. ↩︎
- Monteleone, R. (2023). Complexity as epistemic oppression: Writing people with intellectual disabilities back into philosophical conversations. Hypatia, 38(4), 746–759. https://doi.org/10.1017/hyp.2023.85 ↩︎
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