It still surprises me that, after more than thirty years of workshops, the same questions keep coming back.
Policies shift. Language evolves. Organisations rewrite their strategies and frameworks. Yet when the floor opens—when people are invited to ask what they really think—the same uncertainties surface, again and again.
So I start there.
I invite people to say what they’re unsure about, even what they’re afraid to say out loud. Not to catch them out, but to meet them where they actually are. Because disability is a vast subject, and time is always limited. If we don’t address the real questions, we’re just performing understanding rather than building it.
These are the questions I hear most often. Simple on the surface. Much deeper underneath. They form the backbone of my book.
Is “disabled” a bad word?
No. It’s a working term—one shaped by lived experience, research, activism, and professional practice.
In the UK, “disabled” reflects a broad consensus across Equality, Diversity, and Disability Studies. It’s not something I invented, and it’s not about personal preference alone. It’s about clarity in public and professional contexts.
We don’t typically question the language people use to describe their own identity in other areas. Yet disability remains an exception—still treated as negotiable, open to reinterpretation by those without lived experience.
That inconsistency tells us something.
Language isn’t arbitrary. It carries history, knowledge, and meaning. To dismiss it lightly is to dismiss the perspectives it represents.
Can disabled people be ableist?
Of course.
None of us grow up outside systems that sort people by ability. We absorb messages early—about who is valued, who is not, and what success is supposed to look like.
Unlearning that takes time. And honesty.
Ableism isn’t just something “out there.” It’s something we all have to recognise, question, and actively dismantle—including within ourselves.
But aren’t some disabled people lazy, dishonest, or difficult?
Some people are. That’s not the point.
Every group contains difference. Disabled people are no more likely to be any of those things than anyone else.
The problem isn’t that individuals vary—it’s when stereotypes are applied as if they explain the whole group.
People are just people: capable, flawed, complex.
Are ableist assumptions really that harmful?
Yes.
Not always loudly. Not always dramatically. But persistently.
Harm is often reproduced through repetition—through assumptions that go unexamined and therefore unchallenged.
A throwaway comment. A quiet doubt. A lowered expectation.
Over time, these shape decisions, opportunities, and outcomes.
The question isn’t whether harm is intended. It’s whether it’s happening.
Don’t disabled people get extra help and support?
This is where things often get distorted.
Human rights include the right to work—not the assumption that people should be excluded from it.
Being unemployed isn’t a benefit. It’s often repetitive, exhausting, and erodes confidence over time.
Work is not just about income. It’s about belonging, contribution, identity, and exchange.
When people are shut out, they lose far more than a payslip.
Can I help a disabled person?
Yes. But how matters.
“Can I help?” or “What would be useful?” goes a long way.
Taking over without asking rarely does.
Helping someone across a road they didn’t want to cross isn’t kindness—it’s assumption in action.
Good support is offered, not imposed. It respects timing, autonomy, and context.
In truth, helping a disabled person isn’t fundamentally different from helping anyone else. It just requires attention and respect.
Is your partner your carer—or disabled too?
It’s a strangely common question. And a revealing one.
It assumes dependence. It assumes roles. It quietly suggests that relationships must be explained through disability.
But relationships don’t grow from labels. They grow from connection—shared humour, time together, mutual care, ordinary human compatibility.
Wine!?
Like anyone else.
Can I ask what someone can and can’t do?
Sometimes. But context matters.
Questions that might seem practical can quickly become intrusive—especially in professional settings.
There’s a difference between necessary information and personal detail.
A simple rule: if you wouldn’t ask it of someone else in that setting, pause.
Curiosity isn’t the problem. Timing, relevance, and respect are.
None of these questions are “wrong.” Many are well-intentioned.
But together, they reveal something deeper: how organisations think, how assumptions are formed, and how everyday interactions quietly shape inclusion—or exclusion.
This book takes these questions seriously. Not to shame them. Not to shut them down. But to follow them further.
To unpack what sits beneath them—culture, power, language, and the gap between intention and impact.
Because if we don’t examine the questions we keep asking, we’ll keep reproducing the same answers.
If these questions feel familiar, this book is for you.
Not because you have everything wrong—but because you’re willing to look more closely.
And that’s where real change starts.
Adapted from A Different Perspective on Disability Equality & Accountability
📚A Different Perspective on Disability & Accountability 📚
“A powerful blend of critique and compassion. It exposes institutional failure without losing sight of the individual, making it both intellectually rigorous and emotionally resonant.”
