Ableism

Introduction

Ableism is everywhere, and it is often invisible to those who don’t experience it directly. It’s the reason buildings have stairs but no ramps, why job interviews focus on eye contact, and why people assume someone who looks “normal” can’t be disabled. At its core, ableism is a system of discrimination that treats disabled people as less valuable than non-disabled people.

This system doesn’t just hurt individuals. It harms our entire society. Ableism shapes the schools we attend and the jobs we can access. It affects the words we use and the technology we create. It determines how our world works and who gets to participate fully in it.

Understanding ableism means looking at it from multiple angles. It exists in massive institutions and quiet personal moments. It shows up in obvious ways, like inaccessible buildings, and in subtler ways, like the assumption that everyone processes information the same way. For Autistic, ADHD, and dyslexic people, ableism might mean being told to “just focus harder” or having differences seen as problems to fix rather than natural variations in how brains work. For someone who is mobility-impaired, ableism may mean needing to ask someone to walk slower, only to receive an exaggerated eye roll and a sigh of annoyance.

This article explores the many dimensions of ableism, from societal structures to personal experiences, showing how they connect and reinforce each other. By understanding these different layers, we can better identify ableism when we encounter it and work toward creating more inclusive communities.

Background and Context

Disability rights movements gave the concept of “ableism” broader recognition in the 1980s, but the experiences it describes are as old as human society. For centuries, disabled people have faced exclusion, institutionalization, and discrimination based on the idea that there is a “normal” way to be human and anyone who deviates from this norm is deficient.

What makes ableism complex is how it intersects with other forms of oppression. A Black Autistic person faces both racism and ableism simultaneously. A disabled woman experiences the combined effects of sexism and ableism. A neurodivergent person from a low-income family encounters barriers related to both class and disability. Cultural barriers add another layer. First-generation college students may need to advocate against family members who don’t “believe” in disabilities or view seeking support services as bringing shame to the family. In some cultures, disability is interpreted through spiritual or religious frameworks that conflict with accessing institutional accommodations, while immigrant families often face the dual burden of navigating complex systems while managing the cultural stigma around disability. Research confirms that these intersecting systems create compounding disadvantage, not merely additive hardship (Bixby, 2024; Frederick & Shifrer, 2019).

The disability rights movement has worked to shift the conversation from viewing disability as a personal tragedy to recognizing it as a natural part of human diversity. This perspective, often called the social model of disability, argues that people aren’t disabled only by their conditions. They’re also disabled by society’s failure to accommodate different ways of being.

The social model is one of several disability models, different frameworks for understanding what disability actually is and how society should respond to it. Think of these models like different maps of the same territory. A medical model focuses on diagnosis and treatment, a cultural model examines how different societies create meaning around disability, and a rights-based model emphasizes legal protections and accommodations. These models aren’t just academic theories. They shape real-world attitudes and policies. They influence the words we use, the solutions we create, and whose voices we prioritize. Different models often work together: a doctor might use medical approaches to treat pain while also using the social model to support workplace accommodations and respect a patient’s disability identity (Putnam et al., 2019).

Understanding these different frameworks helps explain why ableism takes so many forms and why addressing it requires multiple strategies.

In-Depth Exploration

Provincial Ableism: “Because It’s Always Been That Way”

Provincial ableism refers to the systemic barriers and discrimination that disabled people face when local leaders combine ignorance about disability rights with a narrow-minded resistance to learning or seeking outside expertise. The term “provincial” captures both geographic isolation and a limited worldview that treats local customs as more important than disabled people’s civil rights. It’s the ableism of people who can’t see past the end of their nose: leaders who prioritize familiar ways of doing things over accessibility and inclusion (Peterson & Woodward, 2025).

This form of discrimination often stems from a genuine lack of specialized knowledge about disability law, accessibility standards, and inclusive practices. Local officials may not know what they don’t know, but their provincial mindset prevents them from seeking expertise or recognizing the gaps in their understanding. Instead of consulting accessibility specialists or learning from other communities, they rely on outdated assumptions and resist outside guidance.

The result is a system where your zip code determines your access to basic rights as a disabled person. A wheelchair user might find that their town’s newly renovated city hall still has inaccessible entrances because officials explain they “did their best” without ever consulting accessibility experts or current ADA standards. A neurodivergent student’s family discovers that their school district makes accommodation decisions based on what administrators think sounds reasonable, not on disability expertise or legal compliance.

Provincial ableism thrives in the gaps between different levels of government, where federal mandates, state funding, and local implementation create a maze where disabled people get lost while authorities debate whose responsibility it is to help. Local communities sometimes resist accessibility improvements by claiming they conflict with “traditional” ways of doing things or would be “too complicated” for their small community. This narrow perspective treats accessibility as a luxury rather than a civil right.

The resource allocation patterns reveal provincial ableism clearly. Communities with provincial leadership often underfund accessibility improvements while spending money on projects they consider more important or familiar. A city’s leadership might ask a former school district employee to train department heads on ADA facility inspections, not because they sought out accessibility expertise, but because they happened to know someone locally. They don’t realize that accessibility specialists and consultants exist, and their provincial mindset never considered looking beyond their immediate network for proper training.

Understanding provincial ableism reveals how discrimination persists not just through malicious intent, but through willful ignorance and narrow-minded resistance to expertise. Good intentions mean little when combined with a provincial mindset that assumes local leaders can handle complex disability issues without specialized knowledge or outside guidance.

Our city council spent months debating whether to put in a new accessible playground, with members asking questions like “How many disabled kids do we really have?” They never thought to ask disability organizations what makes a playground truly accessible. They just assumed they could figure it out themselves. When I offered to connect them with playground accessibility experts, they said they didn’t need outside help for “something this simple.”​ — Disabled parent and former city councilor, 45 ‡

The school district keeps making decisions about my son’s autism supports based on what they think makes sense, not on any actual autism expertise. When I bring research from autism organizations, they act like I’m trying to tell them how to do their jobs. But they’ve never bothered to learn about autism. They just wing it and hope for the best.​ — Parent of Autistic child, rural advocate, 38 ‡

Cultural Ableism: Stories That Harm

Cultural ableism lives in the stories we tell about disability. It’s the movie plots where disabled characters either die tragically or overcome their disabilities through sheer determination. It’s the assumption that disability is always a struggle to overcome rather than a natural part of human diversity. It’s the way disability gets used as a metaphor for everything wrong in the world.

Media representation of disability often falls into harmful patterns. Disabled characters are portrayed as either helpless victims needing to be saved or inspirational figures who overcome their disabilities. The fact that villains in horror films disproportionately carry visible disability markers is no accident. Rarely are disabled people shown as complex individuals whose disabilities are just one aspect of their lives.

The language we use reflects cultural ableism too. When someone says “that’s so bipolar” to describe changing weather, or “don’t be so OCD” about someone’s attention to detail, they’re using disability conditions as casual insults. This language tells disabled people that their experiences are either jokes or character flaws.

Cultural ableism also shows up in our aesthetic standards. Fashion, art, and media typically feature bodies that meet narrow standards of ability and appearance. When disabled bodies are included, it’s often in ways that highlight their differences rather than showing them as a natural part of human diversity.

Every time someone uses “bipolar” to describe their moods or “OCD” to describe being neat, it feels like they’re making a joke out of my actual medical condition. I live with bipolar disorder every day. It’s not a metaphor for being indecisive. It’s a serious condition that affects my relationships, my work, and my health.​ — Mental health advocate, 35 ‡

Growing up, every disabled character I saw in movies either died tragically or was magically cured by the end. The message was clear: my disabled life wasn’t worth living as it was. When I finally found stories by actually disabled creators, it was the first time I could imagine a future where I wasn’t defined by tragedy or triumph, but could just exist as a whole person with a disability that was simply part of me. — Disabled writer, 28 ‡

Cultural ableism creates the background assumptions that support discrimination in all other areas of life. When stories consistently frame disability as tragic or burdensome, they influence how legislators vote on disability funding, how employers approach hiring decisions, and how healthcare providers treat disabled patients. Individual awareness alone isn’t enough when cultural messages consistently reinforce ableist assumptions at levels deeper than conscious thought.

Academic Ableism: When Learning Becomes Inaccessible

Academic ableism is a form of systemic oppression in education that disadvantages disabled students by treating certain abilities, like speaking, writing quickly, or sitting still for long periods, as “normal” and more valuable than other ways of being and learning. This leads to discrimination, inadequate support, exclusion, and worse outcomes for disabled students. Dyslexic students may struggle in classrooms that rely heavily on timed reading tests. Autistic students may be penalized for not making eye contact. ADHD students may be disciplined for behaviors like fidgeting or difficulty staying seated, rather than being supported with appropriate accommodations (Dolmage, 2017; Price, 2011).

I’m dyslexic and incredibly smart, but academic ableism made me feel stupid for years. I think in pictures and connections, not linear text. When teachers only accepted written essays in specific formats, I couldn’t show what I knew. Once I found professors who let me submit video presentations or create visual projects, my grades shot up. I hadn’t gotten smarter. I’d finally found ways to show the intelligence that was always there. — Dyslexic graduate student, 26 ‡

As someone with a spinal cord injury, I see academic ableism in the physical barriers but also in the assumptions. Inaccessible classrooms are obvious, but the subtle stuff hurts more, like when professors assume I can’t do fieldwork or when they speak slowly to me like my brain was injured too. My legs don’t work, but my mind is fine. — Doctoral student, spinal cord injury, 29 ‡

In the early 1900s, education pioneer Ellwood Patterson Cubberley wrote that schools are, “in a sense, factories, in which the raw products (children) are to be shaped and fashioned into products to meet the various demands of life.” This factory-like view of education still influences schools today. Students who don’t fit the mold, whether because of disability, learning differences, or other needs, often encounter resistance from educators and administrators who feel obligated to maintain the system as it is rather than adapt it to support diverse learners. This resistance is a recurring feature of academic ableism (Wells, 2023).

Medical Ableism: When Healthcare Systems Fail

Medical ableism occurs when healthcare providers assume disabled people are inherently broken, focus only on deficits, dismiss patient expertise about their own bodies, or refuse to provide appropriate accommodations during medical care. This form of discrimination within healthcare systems treats disabled individuals as medical problems requiring correction rather than as complete human beings deserving comprehensive, respectful care.

Medical ableism creates significant obstacles to accessing quality care, often resulting in delayed diagnoses, inadequate treatment, and real harm to disabled communities. Healthcare systems frequently lack accommodations for neurodivergent communication styles, sensory needs, or cognitive processing differences. Research suggests that Autistic people and those with other disabilities face substantially greater barriers to healthcare access, including fear or anxiety, difficulty processing information fast enough to participate in real-time medical discussions, and facilities that cause sensory distress (Raymaker et al., 2017).

Medical professionals may exhibit ableist behaviors by dismissing patient concerns, attributing all symptoms to a patient’s existing disabilities, refusing necessary accommodations, or displaying paternalistic attitudes that undermine patient autonomy. Pain in disabled patients is particularly likely to go unrecognized or undertreated, including among people with intellectual disabilities (El-Tallawy et al., 2023). Medical ableism appears when emergency rooms fail to provide quiet spaces for patients experiencing sensory or emotional overload, when doctors dismiss chronic pain as “just part of your condition,” or when mental health professionals assume disabled individuals cannot make informed decisions about their treatment (Lindsay et al., 2023).

Intersecting with medical ableism, Black disabled people face compounding barriers rooted in both ableism and racism, with their concerns more likely to be dismissed or attributed to factors other than the actual medical issue at hand (Alhusen et al., 2023).

Every doctor’s appointment feels like a battle. I have to fight to be taken seriously, to get basic accommodations like dim lighting or written instructions. They see my autism first and assume I can’t understand my own body. It’s exhausting having to prove I’m a real person with real medical needs. — Autistic graduate student, 28 ‡

As a Black disabled woman, I face assumptions about both my race and my disability when I’m pregnant. Doctors either dismiss my concerns because I’m Black or assume I can’t handle pregnancy because I’m disabled. I had to fight for basic accommodations during labor, and when complications arose, they acted like it was inevitable because of my disability rather than addressing the actual medical issue. — Black mother, physical disability, 31 ‡

Technoableism: When Technology “Fixes” Instead of Accommodates

Technoableism refers to how technology is often designed to make disabled people conform to societal norms, rather than meeting them where they are. Rooted in the medical model of disability, it assumes technology should “fix” disabilities instead of supporting diverse, self-directed ways of living.

A common example is assistive tech aimed at hiding disabilities, like flesh-toned hearing aids, prosthetics designed to look like “real” limbs, or apps claiming to “cure” autism by suppressing traits. These tools offer little to no personalization, reinforcing the idea that disabled people should blend in rather than self-define.

Technoableism also shows up in mainstream technology that excludes disabled users. Even government institutions, such as schools, often adopt inaccessible tools: websites incompatible with screen readers, apps with seizure-triggering visuals, or video calls requiring verbal communication. These choices reflect narrow assumptions about how people interact with technology, leaving disabled users behind.

The development process itself often reflects technoableism. When disabled people aren’t included in designing assistive technology, the results frequently miss the mark. Technology developed by non-disabled people for disabled people focuses on what non-disabled people think disabled people need rather than what disabled people actually want. This is where the principle “Nothing about us, without us” expands to “Nothing for us, without us either.”

There’s all this excitement about apps that can “train” Autistic people to make eye contact or suppress stimming. But these technologies are trying to make us act neurotypical instead of creating spaces where we can be ourselves. I don’t need to be fixed. I need technology that works with how my brain actually functions. — Autism advocate and software developer, 31 ‡

I’m a wheelchair user and I’m tired of seeing “innovative” technology that’s supposed to help me walk again instead of making the world more accessible. There are millions of dollars going into exoskeletons and experimental surgeries, but I can’t get a reliable elevator in half the buildings I need to access. I don’t need to be “cured.” I need society to include me as I am.​ — Disability rights advocate, wheelchair user, 37 ‡

When innovation focuses on removing barriers rather than changing people, it contributes to genuine inclusion and accessibility. When it focuses on eliminating disability itself, it reinforces the idea that disabled lives are problems to be solved.

Interpersonal Ableism: Daily Microaggressions and Assumptions

Interpersonal ableism happens in everyday interactions between people. It’s the coworker who speaks louder when talking to a blind person, the stranger who pets a service dog without permission, or the friend who says “you don’t look disabled” as if it’s a compliment.

These interactions often come from good intentions but reveal deep assumptions about disability. People might offer unsolicited help, ask intrusive questions about medical conditions, or make assumptions about what disabled people can or can’t do. While individual instances might seem minor, they accumulate to create an environment where disabled people constantly have to justify their existence and experiences. Research suggests that ongoing experiences of ableist microaggressions are correlated with negative mental health outcomes, and that disabled people with more visible disabilities tend to experience more frequent microaggressions (Kattari, 2020).

Microaggressions include subtle, often unconscious expressions of bias that communicate dismissive or derogatory messages. Examples include asking disabled people what “happened” to them, assuming they’re constantly suffering, or expressing surprise when they demonstrate competence. More obvious forms of interpersonal ableism include being excluded from social activities, having people speak to caregivers instead of directly to disabled people, or being treated as inspirational simply for existing in public spaces.

People are always shocked when I tell them I’m Autistic because I “seem so normal.” They mean it as a compliment, but it tells me they think Autism is inherently bad and that I’m only acceptable when I’m hiding who I am. I’ve gotten really good at masking, but the energy it takes is exhausting.​ — Autistic graduate student, 24 ‡

I have multiple sclerosis and people constantly tell me how “brave” or “inspiring” I am for just existing in public. I’m not brave for going to the grocery store. I’m just living my life. This inspirational narrative puts pressure on me to always be positive and grateful, even when I’m dealing with real barriers and discrimination.​ — Writer, multiple sclerosis, 36 ‡

The disability community has developed various strategies to navigate interpersonal ableism, ranging from charts describing how to communicate with a Deaf person through their interpreter to adding spiked handle covers to wheelchairs to discourage unwanted physical assistance.

Internalized Ableism: Believing the Negative Messages

Internalized ableism is when disabled people absorb society’s negative messages about disability and apply them to themselves. It’s the Autistic person forcing painful eye contact, the ADHD person avoiding medication because they see it as “cheating,” or the person with multiple sclerosis refusing a wheelchair to avoid appearing weak.

This often leads to masking, where people push themselves mentally, emotionally, or physically to fit in, which can cause real harm to mental and physical health. Disabled people might feel guilty for needing accommodations, seeing them as “special treatment” instead of legal rights, and may push themselves too hard to avoid confirming stereotypes.

I spent years forcing myself to work through executive dysfunction episodes because I thought needing breaks meant I was lazy. I’d work twelve-hour days to prove I was just as capable as neurotypical people, then crash for weeks afterward. It took a long time to realize that working with my brain instead of against it wasn’t giving up. It was self-care.​ — Marketing professional with ADHD, 32 ‡

I have a degenerative condition that affects my mobility, and I internalized the message that I needed to push through pain to prove my worth. I’d skip using my mobility aids when I could barely walk because I didn’t want to seem “weak.” Now I realize that using my wheelchair when I need it isn’t giving up. It’s giving me freedom to participate in life without destroying myself.​ — Teacher, degenerative joint condition, 41 ‡

Ableism encourages people to act and appear as “normal” because that’s where social rewards and opportunities lie, creating a gatekeeping system that limits who gets recognized or promoted in society. The pressure to be a “good” disabled person, someone who is inspiring, grateful, and never complains, can stop people from advocating for themselves or expressing their true experiences. This not only harms individuals but also makes it harder for the disabled community as a whole to achieve real inclusion and equality.

“I can’t shake the immediate thought that I should try harder not to seem so Autistic in public. I would dissolve into a complete meltdown and berate myself in my mind for being such a clumsy, stupid, worthless piece of crap.”​ — Lydia X. Z. Brown, disability rights lawyer and Autistic activist

Lateral Ableism: When Disabled People Discriminate Against Each Other

Lateral ableism occurs when disabled people perpetuate ableist attitudes toward other disabled people. This can happen when disability communities create hierarchies based on functioning labels, visibility of disability, or perceived legitimacy of different conditions.

Sometimes physically disabled people dismiss mental health conditions as “not real disabilities.” Sometimes people with diagnosed conditions question those who are self-diagnosed. Sometimes people with invisible disabilities feel they need to prove they’re “disabled enough” to access services or community spaces.

Scarcity often drives these divisions. When resources are limited, communities sometimes compete rather than collaborate. These patterns can also reflect internalized ableism, where disabled people accept hierarchies that position some disabilities as more “legitimate” than others. Lateral ableism can be especially isolating because it comes from within communities that should be supportive.

There’s this weird hierarchy in disability spaces where some people act like their disability is “more real” than others. I’ve been told my ADHD isn’t a “real” disability because I’m not physically disabled, and I’ve heard people with physical disabilities say mental health conditions are just “excuses.” We’re all fighting the same system. We should be supporting each other, not competing.​ — Disability rights advocate with ADHD, 28 ‡

I use a power wheelchair and I’ve seen lateral ableism when people who use manual chairs or walk with mobility aids act like I’m “more disabled” or “more tragic.” It creates this hierarchy where we rank disabilities instead of recognizing that we all face barriers. The ableist system benefits when we’re divided against each other instead of working together.​ — Graduate student, power wheelchair user, 25 ‡

Conservatorship Ableism: Doing It for “Their Own Good”

Conservatorship ableism describes how society creates an entire system designed to take choices away from disabled people, all while claiming it’s for their own good. Think of it this way: imagine if every major decision in your life, where you live, who you marry, what medical care you receive, how you spend your money, could be made by someone else simply because they decided you couldn’t handle it yourself.

This isn’t just about individual prejudice. It’s a network of laws, institutions, and cultural beliefs that work together to maintain control over disabled people’s lives. Medical professionals, courts, schools, and social services all participate in this system, often with genuinely good intentions, but the result is the same: disabled people lose the basic human right to make their own choices.

Approximately 1.3 million disabled Americans currently live under court-ordered guardianship, which can remove their right to vote, marry, make medical decisions, or control their own money. Courts often approve these arrangements based on having a disability rather than on any proof that someone actually cannot make decisions. Unlike other areas of law, disabled people must prove they’re capable of making decisions rather than having that capacity assumed by default (Putnam et al., 2019).

The system operates through countless small moments where disabled people’s voices are ignored, overruled, or never asked for in the first place. A wheelchair user goes shopping and the cashier asks “Where are your parents?” as if disabled adults can’t leave home alone. An Autistic person in a group home wants to date someone, but staff members decide whether the relationship can continue. A person with intellectual disabilities expresses clear preferences about where they want to live, but their guardian makes the final decision based on what seems “safer.”

Rather than helping disabled people make their own choices through supported decision-making, the system defaults to having others make decisions for them entirely. Doctors regularly talk to caregivers instead of disabled patients. Schools make educational decisions with minimal input from disabled students or families. Social workers discuss disabled people’s needs as if they aren’t in the room during planning meetings.

“When I was starting to meet legislators, I felt some of them would feel sorry for me and my friends. We never wanted pity, we just wanted respect and to be treated just like everybody else.”​ — Nancy Ward, founding chair of Self Advocates Becoming Empowered (SABE), intellectual disability advocate

Understanding conservatorship ableism helps explain why disability rights aren’t only about accessibility ramps and parking spaces. It’s about fundamental human freedom, the right to make your own choices, even bad ones, just like everyone else.

Practical Applications and Implications

Understanding ableism has practical implications for how we design systems, policies, and communities. In education, this means creating multiple ways for students to demonstrate knowledge and participate in learning. In employment, it means focusing on job-relevant skills rather than normed social conventions. Research consistently suggests that workplace accommodations are low cost and high impact, with the majority costing nothing at all, and that the benefits to employers far outweigh the costs (Job Accommodation Network, n.d.).

For neurodivergent people, understanding ableism can help explain why certain environments feel hostile or unwelcoming. It’s not that you’re “too sensitive” or “making excuses.” It’s that these environments were designed around neurotypical assumptions about how people function.

Recognizing ableism also supports self-advocacy. When you understand that barriers you face are often systemic issues rather than personal failings, it becomes easier to ask for accommodations, set boundaries, and advocate for changes.

In design and technology, understanding ableism means creating products and services that work for diverse users from the beginning, rather than adding accessibility as an afterthought. Universal design benefits everyone. Curb cuts help wheelchair users but also people pushing strollers. Captions help Deaf users but also people in noisy environments.

Challenges and Considerations

Addressing ableism faces several challenges. One is the invisibility of many disabilities, which can make it difficult for non-disabled people to understand the need for accommodations. Another is the diversity within disabled communities: what works for one person might not work for another.

Economic factors also play a role. Accessibility improvements often require upfront investment, even though they typically save money over time. This can create resistance from institutions focused on short-term costs.

There is ongoing debate within disability communities about language, identity, and priorities. Some people prefer person-first language while a growing majority prefer identity-first language. Some focus on seeking cures while others focus on acceptance and accommodation. These differences can make it challenging to build unified movements.

The medical model of disability, which focuses on fixing or curing disability, remains influential in many institutions. This can create tension with social model approaches that focus on removing barriers rather than changing people.

Empowerment and Advocacy

Despite these challenges, there are many ways to address ableism and create more inclusive communities. Individual advocacy can include educating others about ableism, requesting accommodations, and sharing experiences to increase understanding.

Community organizing can address systemic issues by advocating for policy changes, accessible design, and inclusive practices. Many successful disability rights campaigns have combined individual stories with collective action to create real change.

Allyship from non-disabled people matters too. This means listening to disabled people’s experiences, advocating for accessibility, and examining one’s own assumptions and biases. Good allyship involves following the lead of disabled people rather than making assumptions about what they need.

The neurodiversity movement has been influential in changing how we think about neurological differences. Rather than seeing Autism, ADHD, dyslexia, and other neurological variations as disorders to be cured, neurodiversity advocates argue these differences are valuable expressions of human diversity. This shift from deficit-based thinking to difference-based thinking has real consequences for how disabled people understand their own experiences and how systems get designed to include or exclude them.

The neurodiversity movement gave me language to understand my experiences. Instead of seeing my Autistic traits as problems to fix, I learned to see them as natural variations in how humans can be. This shift from deficit-based thinking to difference-based thinking changed everything for me. — Autism self-advocate and researcher, 34 ‡

Learning about ableism helped me understand why I felt so exhausted all the time. I was constantly trying to fit into neurotypical expectations instead of finding ways to work with my ADHD brain. Once I started asking for accommodations and finding systems that worked for me, my productivity and well-being improved dramatically. — Freelance writer with ADHD, 29 ‡

The disability rights movement taught me that my muscular dystrophy isn’t a personal tragedy. It’s a difference that becomes disabling when society fails to include me. When I stopped seeing myself as broken and started seeing barriers as the problem, everything changed. I went from hiding my disability to becoming an advocate. — Disability rights organizer, muscular dystrophy, 31 ‡

Related Concepts

• Academic ableism
• Ableist language
• ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act)
• Conservatorship and guardianship reform
• DisCrit (Disability Critical Race Studies)
• Disability identity
• Disability justice
• Disability models (medical, social, cultural)
• Internalized ableism
• Masking
• Neurodiversity
• Neuronormativity
• Nothing About Us Without Us
• Supported decision-making
• Technoableism
• Universal design

About the Authors

Nancy R. Peterson (they/them) is an Oregon Disabilities Commissioner, Disability Services Accessibility Specialist at Columbia Basin College, and former Hermiston city councilor. For over 25 years, Nancy Peterson has worked in education across just about every setting imaginable: kindergarten classrooms, college campuses, and even a prison once. They hold degrees in teaching, special education, and business administration, the last of which was earned so they’d be less incompetent when they got into public office. As a lifelong Autistic person and neurodegenerate, they know firsthand the complexities of disability, especially on days when they’re stuck in bed with no one around to monologue to. Outside of work, they’re the proud mom of two sons and one three-legged furry demon disguised as a cat. Contact: npeterson@columbiabasin.edu

Todd D. Woodward (he/him/theirs) is an Oregon Disabilities Commissioner, member of the Oregon Health Sciences University (OHSU) University Center for Excellence in Developmental Disabilities (UCEDD) Community Partners Council, and financial eligibility specialist with the Office of Aging and Disabilities at the Oregon Department of Human Services (ODHS). As an Autistic, ADHD, dyslexic and dyscalculic advocate, he brings both lived experience and professional expertise to disability justice work. Todd is a recognized voice on neurodivergent advocacy, sharing insights through writing and community education focused on strength-based approaches and neuroequitable practices. He is a member of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network, NAMI Oregon, Learning Disabilities Association of America, and the International Dyslexia Association. In his free time, Todd enjoys time with his wife, son, two cats, papercraft, and music. As a lifelong learner, his interests include machine language (AI) governance and oversight by the disability community, complex systems theory, and telling really bad “dad jokes” while trying desperately to keep up with his hyperlexic and hypernumeric son. Contact: todd.d.woodward@gmail.com