Leslie Zukor

I Shouldn’t Have to Share My Mental Health Trauma to Get Scholarships for Graduate School

Posted on August 11, 2021June 13, 2023 by Leslie Zukor

As a disabled person who is set to begin graduate school this fall, I feel a sense of urgency to earn as much scholarship money as possible to keep educational debt in check. With this goal in mind, I have performed copious amounts of research as to which awards I qualify for. To my chagrin, the majority of disability and mental health scholarships require that I divulge the most lurid details of my conditions. For one of these awards, it wasn’t enough to state that I had a breakdown at nineteen from a mood disorder. As the winning essay demonstrated, I would have had to share the precise trauma I incurred in haunting detail.

The expectation that disabled people should write trauma porn to win scholarships, in which we divulge the most painful aspects of our struggles for the voyeurism of the nondisabled population, sets an ableist and unfair precedent. It buttresses the idea that our existence is pitiable, rather than exhilarating and valuable in its own right. It also lends credence to the misconception that trauma porn is the only thing that we have to contribute, and that our talents and expertise take a backseat to our struggles and trauma. Disabled people should be able to merit scholarships based upon qualities like academic achievement, leadership potential, community service, extracurricular activities or self-advocacy, not in reducing ourselves to our most humiliating moments.

From the list of awards I compiled, however, the vast majority of disability and mental health scholarships come with the assumption that not only is our existence tragic, but that we also must publicly identify with our tribulations more than our triumphs. In point of fact, I only recall one essay question that asked me about my proudest moments rather than my struggles. That disabled people should produce trauma porn for scholarships sells our community short by creating the expectation that society deserves to know our pain and nothing more from us. Furthermore, it devalues our potential by making us lean into misery.

While the principled choice would be to refuse to write trauma porn, the burden of looming debt meant that I had to acquiesce to crafting prose in this genre. This is not only harmful in the expectations of our lives it sets for nondisabled people; I have also been forced to relive my worst moments, from past regrets to the ways I’ve coped with relatives’ illnesses. Applying for scholarships should not take a psychic toll. The harsh reality of the costs associated with education, however, means that I have to choose between performing the stock character of the “disabled person painfully existing” and my own livelihood. When I weigh my options, I have to choose the latter. Everyone suffers when disabled people are forced to write trauma porn.

How may we relieve disabled people of our obligation to sell our misery to merit scholarships? The answer is for disability organizations to provide awards for students who demonstrate achievement across a wide variety of metrics. It’s about time that we are asked to showcase our joy and passions, rather than our pain and trauma. While I have found worthwhile opportunities from organizations such as the American Association of People with Disabilities (AAPD), these awards are the exception, rather than the rule. Thus, my message to disability groups with sizable budgets is to endow scholarships for the next generation of disabled changemakers. It will make education more in reach for us and will send the message that our stories have value beyond trauma porn.

Education

About

Leslie Zukor

Leslie A. Zukor is a writer and disability advocate who is an Event Host, Leader and Super Contributor for The Mighty. Her work has appeared in outlets such as the #CripTheVote blog, The Mighty and Rooted in Rights, in addition to having been syndicated by AOL, MSN and Yahoo. She plans to study Journalism in graduate school beginning in the fall of 2021. Follow her on Twitter at @LazukorD.

About Rooted In Rights

Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

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As a Disabled Person, Expanded Access to Telehealth is One Result of the Pandemic That I Hope Will Continue

Posted on August 12, 2020June 13, 2023 by Leslie Zukor

The following post is part of our series on perspectives from disabled and chronically ill people regarding COVID-19.

For as awful a toll as the COVID-19 pandemic has exacted on our medical system, telehealth has been a bright spot for many in a sea of darkness and tragedy. It used to be that insurance companies wouldn’t cover medical appointments over the phone and that the doctor-patient relationship had to be in-person to amount to an actual appointment. Now that telehealth has become part of our “new normal,” for disabled patients like me, it has made a world of difference in the accessibility of our medical appointments.

I cannot describe how much more beneficial my psychiatrist appointments have been now that I can have my appointments while I’m in the comfort of my home. My post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) means that I often have to work through difficult memories during these psychotherapeutic encounters. Being in a familiar environment has given me the best of both worlds – the ability to undergo exposure and recovery in the safety of my own home. Exposure to trauma while nestled in the blankets of my couch means my progress as a patient has been that much more pronounced.

Further, as a disabled person whose eye conditions render me unable to drive, telehealth has saved me an hour and a half commute one way to meet my vision therapist each week. Using an arrangement where I can learn new spatial processing skills at home, my optometrist has observed that I am progressing faster over shorter appointments utilizing telehealth because I don’t have to expend energy commuting.

As a visually disabled patient, telehealth also measurably benefits my safety. After my vision therapy appointments, I would struggle to even cross the street because distances between objects had appeared to change so much during my treatment. A snowstorm earlier this year is imbued indelibly in my memory, as, for my safety, my vision therapist had to hold my hand and help me across the street to the bus. Had telehealth been in use then, I never would have had to put myself in such a precarious situation. Employing remote vision therapy, I now allow my eyes to accommodate the perceptual changes I experience without putting myself at risk.

Since I have to rely in part on paratransit buses, telehealth also helps circumvent the unpredictability of this service. Using paratransit, I would often arrive more than one hour early to my appointments, creating occasional tension between myself and one doctor’s office. I also had to rely on the flexibility of local businesses which would allow me to wait in their establishments until I was picked up by often-late paratransit vehicles. Now, with telehealth, I no longer have to deal with the attitude – both overt and covert – that I am a burden because I had to place extra demands due to my dependence on paratransit.

While no one would have wanted a pandemic to disrupt daily life, the resulting expanded use of telehealth has opened up a new frontier in accessibility for disabled patients like me. Since videoconferencing is available via platforms such as Zoom and Doxy, I am still able to be in the presence of my doctors while optimizing my ability to have appointments that are safer and more effective. I cannot help but wonder how much further I would have progressed in my treatments had telehealth been available and covered by insurance years ago. Going forward, however, I can only hope that when the pandemic is over, doctor’s offices will still provide these options not only for disabled people, but for the general public which could benefit from them. That way, we could all have the energy to not only be patients, but to enjoy the free time gained by not being tethered to physical doctor’s appointments in potentially difficult-to-reach locales.

Health

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Leslie Zukor

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Low Expectations are a Form of Casual Ableism

Posted on March 4, 2020June 13, 2023 by Leslie Zukor

When I was an administrator of a disability discussion group, I advocated banning a member who was trolling another moderator. This individual was rude, condescending, and arrogant. Simply put, her behavior violated the conduct standards we had upheld on numerous occasions. Yet the group’s chair emphasized that if we were to ban this member, it would only be a temporary dismissal. The reason for the leniency? The woman had a mood disorder.

In other words, because of her mental illness, this individual might be given a second and third and fourth – and who knows how many chances. As a person suffering from a mood disorder herself, I object to this example of the casual ableism of low expectations: namely, the idea that those with disabilities are incapable of adhering to the same conduct standards as the rest of us.

While it is imperative that people with mental illnesses be given the support we need to succeed in a collaborative environment, it is ableist to assume that people with PTSD, bipolar disorder, and any number of conditions are incapable of following rules. If reasonable accommodations amount to an occasional second chance, then that is certainly fair. But to insinuate that such standards are verboten for the mental health community is profoundly bigoted.

Regrettably, low expectations for disabled people permeate American society. When I announced to the chair of a local political party that I was considering a bid for a prestigious position, for instance, I was met by an insidious form of ableism. The chair told me that my chances were nil, and instead of encouraging me to run against an established opponent, he said he would create a special disability position for me. In short, instead of being involved with the state party’s legislative body, I would be tasked with working on disability inclusion at the local level.

Without ever asking to see my resume, which has included nearly a decade of leadership in nonprofits and politics, the now-former chair dismissed me because I was a disabled person. All he knew was that I was involved in disability politics; as a result, he perceived me to only have utility as a token for a class of people he deemed incapable. Had I accepted the offer, the chair would have created an affirmative action position with incredibly low expectations, while other people in our group in my same age bracket were moving up the political ladder – even if they had less experience than I did.

Outside of the political arena, the casual ableism of low expectations extends to education. A sibling of mine who was struggling in school received a letter in the spring of his eighth grade year stating that he would be transitioned to “basic math.” Instead of targeting why he was struggling – he had focus and attention issues – the school simply sent a note to our parents with a letter couching the demotion in politically correct language.

Three years his senior, I knew that being placed in remedial math meant he wouldn’t get credit for four years of high school mathematics; in short, these low expectations would have been a major roadblock for his future career. I knew I had to intervene, and had a discussion with my Mom and Dad. Although my brother had to attend tutoring all summer, he took regular math classes in high school and now works on Wall Street for a Big Four Financial Services firm. Had his focus and attention problems been recognized by the school earlier, he may never even have struggled in the first place.

How can we combat the low expectations too often foisted upon disabled people? The answer is through continued education and activism. The more we speak out about our identities, the more we normalize the idea that disabled and chronically ill people can be every bit as successful as anyone else. Instead of dismissing us the moment we have a setback, we must advocate for the accommodations we need to succeed. Only through a culture-wide dedication to disability justice and equity shall we move beyond the casual ableism of low expectations.

Activism and Advocacy

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Leslie Zukor

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Stop Sharing Those Viral Videos of the Disabled High Schooler Scoring the Touchdown

Posted on November 21, 2019June 13, 2023 by Leslie Zukor

As a lifelong sports fan, it’s no accident that I see several suggested videos emphasizing athletics on my Facebook feed. Too often, however, the half-court buzzer-beaters and game-winning touchdowns are interspersed with benevolent athletes offering charity to those they deem too disabled to score on their own merits. For every video of a disabled athlete actually competing in a sport – adaptive or otherwise – there are at least three of abled athletes feigning competitiveness to allow a staged touchdown by a disabled person.

What could be wrong with sharing these “feel-good” videos? People inevitably presume that I am finding frivolous faults in football fanfare. While many may see these videos as proof that the abled athletes’ mothers raised them to be decent people, beneath the surface lurks a harrowing reality. Instead of centering those with disabilities, such clips have a harmful impact upon both disabled people and the wider culture. In short, these videos marginalize a community that can least afford to be further from the echelons of power.

The videos and their viewers invariably celebrate not the disabled, but the abled athletes who plot the publicity stunts. In a recent video, I scrolled past comment after comment lauding “good sportsmanship,” but could find no information even mentioning the disabled person who had suited up for the play. While I assume that he was also a high school student, there is no way to ascertain any aspect of his identity, other than the video’s pigeonholing him into a blanket category of “too disabled to compete in high school athletics.” In other words, disability is made to be synonymous with the need for athletic charity.

In a different viral video, the nameless person who “scored” the touchdown is only identified as “autistic.” Plenty of people with autism are perfectly capable of playing competitive sports with their neurotypical peers. Regrettably, this publicity stunt reinforces the idea that those with autism have no role to play in competitive varsity athletics – except as fodder for media attention for abled athletes and sports programs.

Did the videographers think to interview the disabled athletes who scored the touchdowns? Hardly. In none of these videos are disabled people given the opportunity to articulate any thoughts. After all, allowing the disabled to score touchdowns is merely a paean to the “benevolence” of the abled competitors.

After viewing such videos, I am left to ponder whether the disabled high schoolers in the videos are cognizant of the glorified acting on the part of the abled players. We’ll never know, because we are never invited to see the disabled athletes as young adults with their own aspirations, needs, and achievements. Rather, we are invited to see them as having neither cognitive capacity nor athletic acumen. If I, as a disability rights activist, question the agency of the disabled people in the videos, there’s no doubt that the wider society would dismiss their abilities altogether.

Truly disturbing is that the exposure given to such stories lead many to believe that there is no place for disabled people in sports at all. The reality is that there are tens of thousands of athletes with disabilities who are perfectly capable of competing both in adaptive athletics and alongside abled athletes. While there may be a subset of those with disabilities who would welcome the aforementioned acts of “charity,” plenty of us find them both humiliating and downright dismissive of our ability to excel in athletics.

Most importantly, it does untold damage to presuppose that the only athletic joy a disabled person can achieve is through publicity stunts. From training in the Paralympic Games to the Special Olympics and Unified Sports, as well allowing supports to facilitate disabled athletes’ competing with abled peers, there are so many opportunities for disabled people to experience the joy of striving in sport. It is this competitive capacity that should be highlighted, nurtured, and celebrated – not the cheap publicity stunts that erase disabled people’s athletic abilities.

Media

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Leslie Zukor

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Why Inspirational Memes About Mental Health Disabilities Are So Damaging

Posted on January 23, 2019June 13, 2023 by Leslie Zukor

As a person with mental health disabilities, nothing makes me seethe like those who create inspirational memes that do more damage than good to the people in my community. Whenever I encounter such feel-good shibboleths, my hands tense, my breathing becomes shallow, my face wrinkles in disgust. If someone’s only connection to mental illness is the bumper sticker slogan she has shared on social media, then she should do less speaking and more listening. The latest in a long line of viral disinformation campaigns has been shared more than 151,000 times, and that so many have been duped about my disabilities makes me dyspeptic.

“Never give up on someone with a mental illness,” inspirational author Shannon L. Alder writes. “When ‘I’ is replaced by ‘WE,’ Illness becomes Wellness.” While the meme’s message may seem pithy, “curing” mental illness is not so simple as having companionship – or, for that matter, good fortune. I remember in early 2018 when everything was going for me both personally and socially; I had just celebrated my birthday with my favorite people, I had recently won an award for my art, and I was involved on a political level in a manner to which I had aspired. Yet, in the span of the same week, my chronic depression had flared up to the point where I had almost attempted suicide.

If the quote were correct, because I had a table full of friends at my 33rd birthday party, I should have been well. I had indeed become we. Furthermore, since I had my family celebrating with me at the award ceremony, I should have been well. I had indeed become we. Moreover, since I had great connection to people in politics, I should have been well. I had indeed become we. Yet, in the midst of all of this, I was so despondent that even having company around me was more than I could take. I wanted to jump out of my own skin, run away from my body, and summarily disintegrate. My life looked promising from the outside, but it was bleak insofar as my neurochemicals were concerned.

What I wish the creators of such viral memes would recognize is that mental illnesses are disorders of the brain, and that we are looking for support, not saviors. My mental health disabilities worsen my quality of life; they rend asunder my will to live. Just as one wouldn’t say that companionship “cures” diabetes, heart disease, or any other chronic medical condition, the same is the case with my depression and OCD. In short, the reality is that I will never be “well”; my mental health disorders must always be managed. Furthermore, helping those with mental illnesses is hardly about not “giving up” on us; it is about being there through the vicissitudes of our journeys with chronic illness, while we actively work on making healthy choices.

As an individual with mental illness, I wish to shatter the shibboleth that those in my community are simply looking for neurotypical saviors – people through whose presence our mental health will be perfect. While, in an ideal world, I may wish for Juvenal’s healthy mind in a healthy body – given the realities of my condition, I want dignity, not dependence. I want for my relationships to be a blessing, not a burden. I want my friends to say that they are better for having known me, not emotionally taxed until they conclude that I am “too much.” The paternalistic idea that I should expect – or even desire – anyone to “cure” me through being there is uniquely repulsive. I’m stronger and have more self-respect than to want – or need – to be saved from myself, by an individual who likely can’t even comprehend my condition.

After fourteen years with mental illness, I have been on both sides of situations where one party has concluded that the other’s mental health is too rocky for any relationship. Several years ago, I was so unstable that I begged a buddy to be by my bedside, until, egocentric and exhausted, she bolted for good. In another case, my former friend refused overtures toward treatment, and she scolded, shamed, and slandered me for not being her ideal companion. Such comportment not only ruptured our relationship; it was deleterious to my disabilities. While the severing of ties may be viewed as “giving up” on someone with mental illness, from another perspective, it can be seen as both the setting of boundaries and self-care.

Misleading neurotypical people that with their presence we will magically be “well” is damaging for all involved. It creates unrealistic expectations and furthers stigma. When the former inevitably realize that mental illness is a lifetime struggle, the ensuing rupture may scar a disabled person’s self-concept, and may zap the latter’s desire to ever be connected to our community. Such situations can be avoided with education about the etiology of mental illness, dialogue about management of symptoms, and discussions about reasonable expectations for relationships. It is these conversations, not the propagation of vacuous memes on social media, which will facilitate authentic kinship with those of us with mental health disabilities.

Activism and Advocacy, Media, Mental Health

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Leslie Zukor

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