Disability is More Than Just Inspiration or Trauma. When Will Media Cover it Authentically?

A blurred photo of a scattered pile of newspapers, printed all in black and white.

When I first started getting approached to write about disability in the media, I was beyond excited. After blogging for years in my little bubble, it felt like I was finally breaking into a space where I could make some real progress. However, it quickly became abundantly clear that most of the work I was receiving fell into one of two categories: inspiration porn and traumatic events. People only came knocking when I had trauma to sell that would shock or surprise people but make no lasting impact, or when I had a story or experience to share that would warm the hearts of non-disabled people. When it came down to the hard-hitting issues affecting disabled people, mainstream media just didn’t want to know.

One contributing factor to this issue is that disabled people make up 20% of the population worldwide but there are so few openly disabled journalists. Even finding statistics on the prevalence of disabled journalists proves difficult. We are missing from newsrooms and our lack of visibility means that harmful attitudes towards disability continue unchecked in reporting. And trauma and inspiration sells, so that’s what is churned out. There simply aren’t yet enough disabled journalists in mainstream media to substantially rewrite the narrative.

The trauma narrative focuses on stories such as dramatic life changing events. You’ll often see stories in the media that focus on the ‘tragic story’ of disability. Stories like these are often over-dramatised and whenever I have shared my story in the media I have been asked leading questions designed to up the shock factor. As someone who has spent years working on my internalised ableism, I’m in a pretty empowered place with my disability now, but that doesn’t sell papers. The media wants to hear that I hate being disabled, that my life is sad and something to be pitied, when in fact, I see my disability as a positive part of my life.

The general public want to hear about shocking injuries and about how brave disabled people are for facing these challenges. Importantly, people want to hear about us overcoming these challenges, rather than reports on the barriers disabled people face that society puts in our way.

The other side to disability in the media is inspiration porn. Events like the Paralympics bring out this side of journalism in a truly horrendous way, but inspiration porn is everywhere. Whether it’s the high school student asking a disabled person to prom, met with comments of “aren’t they incredible?,” or videos of wheelchair users walking down the aisle at their wedding, this content is everywhere. Disabled people’s everyday lives are turned into inspiration porn by the public. We cannot simply exist; we must be inspiring and brave.Ultimately, both kinds of stories are designed to incite pity and do nothing to move forward the disability rights movement; instead it stalls our progress. The stories of the barriers we face and the ableism we experience get lost beneath inspiring stories of us “overcoming” our disabilities. When this becomes the only story we tell, it pigeonholes disabled people in our everyday lives.

The media we consume on a daily basis has a monumental impact on our opinions and attitudes. So often when I complain about representation of disabled people in the media I’m told, “it’s only a film” or “it’s only one person’s opinion,” but these are the ways that people form their values and morals. As human beings it is our nature to be influenced by other people’s thoughts and feelings, and this becomes dangerous when the representation of disabled people across the media is so one dimensional.

Disabled people are multifaceted individuals with a multitude of identities. We work, we socialise, we succeed, and we fail. But rarely does our diversity and individualism get reported on in the way it should. We are seen either as Paralympians or as fakers, there is often no in-between.

As a disabled freelance writer and journalist, I want nothing more than to be able to change the narrative from the inside out, but the barriers that exist in getting hired and finding a seat at the table are stalling this. In recent years spaces like Rooted in Rights and the new UK-based publication The Unwritten give disabled people like me the much-needed space to have conversations that other publications reject. They let me be heard.

But it’s about time that the mainstream media opened up their spaces to let disabled people be heard in the authentic way we deserve. Let us take control of the narrative. Trauma and inspiration porn sells because society is used to the shock factor tactics that many outlets still use, but we can choose to do better. We can change these attitudes if we’re given the space to do so.


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

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

I’m a Disability Activist Because I Have to Be, But Not Always Because I Want to Be

Hand holding a megaphone. The megaphone is white and red, and the red part fades off into multicolored paint splatters

“Congratulations,” “this is amazing Shona,” “well done!” All of these are well meaning and probably deserved comments that I often receive in response to results from my activism work, but more recently they’ve felt less like positive encouragement and more like a reminder of how shocking and surprising it is when the rights of disabled people are actually recognized. For a long time, I think I wanted to believe that I’d chosen to be an activist, that I wanted to change the world and do some good. And whilst that’s true to a certain point, I’ve come to learn recently that it’s not the full story.

Activism is not a hobby for a disabled person like me; activism is the only way I can access the world and live the life I want. The generations of disabled people who came before me fought hard for the rights and laws we have in place now to protect us, with the hope that my generation would grow up differently and that we might expect an equal chance at a job and career, fair access to public transport and accessible buildings. This simply isn’t the reality, though. In far too many cases, these laws and rights are seemingly only enforced when disabled people request it. A building or shop can get away without providing accessibility until a disabled person points it out.

Disabled people like me are forced into activism if we wish to live the life that so many of us dream of. Becoming an activist wasn’t a decision that I made overnight; it started slowly. At first I was emailing businesses asking them to buy a ramp, and when I was successful in my requests the adrenaline rush that followed was incredible. With just one email I had single-handedly enabled access to a shop for a whole new group of customers. How amazing? But when I look back now, I don’t view these events in the same way. Instead I’m asking, why did I have to do that? How come it’s down to disabled people to flag these problems?

It was an incident in 2019 that really made me come face to face with my personal battle with activism. I’m an avid theatre-goer and when one of my favourite shows announced a singalong performance I knew I had to attend. The wheelchair space for this particular show was at the back of the dress circle, meaning that when people stood up I couldn’t see. Usually this would only be at the end of a performance but people started spontaneously standing from halfway through the show. I missed whole songs and really special moments. Staff simply shrugged their shoulders in response when I pointed out I couldn’t see anything, a sure sign that if I wanted things to change for the next singalong I couldn’t rely on others to make it happen. I did succeed in getting ‘no standing’ set as a ground rule, but my experience had already been tainted and I was exhausted. From the outside people only saw the win. They didn’t see how much the process had drained me. You’d have thought I’d obtained some kind of special luxury, not just equality. And that’s what people forget: when disabled activists win, we’re only winning what everyone else already has access to, nothing more.

If I want a job, a social life, access to education, there is always a degree of activism involved. There have been times in my life that I look back on now and I think if only I’d spoken up, then maybe I would have had a better experience. And whilst that may be true, why should life be that way? My basic rights should not be dictated by whether I have the energy to be an activist in that moment. I often find myself weighing whether the argument and the battle will be worth it for the result. It feels like I’m walking a tightrope; if I push too much then I tire quickly and lose my balance, but if I stay still and do nothing, I fall.

Disabled people shouldn’t have to sacrifice our emotional and physical wellbeing to push for equality, yet we become activists because society has decided that it’s up to us to enforce laws pertaining to us. True equality should not rely on disabled people using precious energy to hold businesses and governments accountable. Instead of simply celebrating when a disabled person’s wins an accessibility battle win, think about why they had to fight at all.  And if you can, consider what you might be able to do to relieve the disability community of some of that burden.


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

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.

Is There Space for Disabled People in the Period Positive Movement?

A menstrual pad, two tampons, and a menstrual cup against a bright blue background.

Content note: menstruation


As a disabled lesbian cisgender woman, taking birth control to prevent menstruation has made my life so much easier. When I first got my period as a teenager, my health was fairly stable and managing my period every month was no more difficult than it was for my non-disabled peers, but it was after my spinal fusion surgery that the problems began. I was left struggling with chronic pain and limited mobility, which mostly restricted my ability to walk and move, but it also had far reaching consequences, like making it challenging to cope with my period.

Despite my constant efforts, I’ve never been able to properly insert a tampon due to my spinal and hip problems, leaving me with pads as my only option. I gave a menstrual cup a go, which I found a little easier than tampons, but I was still dealing with increased back pain during my period every month. When you are already dealing with chronic pain you certainly don’t want any extra added on top. As a wheelchair user I also sometimes have trouble finding an accessible toilet to change my sanitary products, with the fear of leaking through constantly at the back of my mind. So, I did my research and asked my doctor to put me on a contraceptive pill that would hopefully stop my period and eliminate all these difficulties for me.

And it worked. I’m on the progesterone-only pill and it has completely stopped my periods. I cannot even begin to explain the relief I felt when my periods began to stop. It was one less problem on my list. I wouldn’t have to worry about finding an accessible toilet anymore, or having several days a month where my pain would skyrocket to unbearable levels. I happily waved goodbye to my period.

I am a strong supporter of the period positive movement, which aims to break down the stigma that surround periods while providing education and starting a positive conversation around periods. But I felt like choosing to stop my periods made me less of a supporter, like I was contributing to the stigma or not embracing my period like others do. But disabled people are often forgotten in these conversations within the movement, making me feel even more shut out. When people encourage moving away from single use sanitary products, even though these options often suit disabled people better, we’re forgotten. We don’t all have the energy to sterilize a menstrual cup or wash reusable pads every month. Our energy is precious and we deserve the right to save it for other things in life, safe in knowledge that we are still welcome in this movement and community.

This extends beyond just dealing with periods. When it comes to anything reproductive-related, we are forgotten. Assumptions are made that disabled people don’t need reproductive services, that we don’t need birth control or advice on sex and relationships. One example are cervical screening tests, I have countless friends who have been denied or delayed access to these life saving tests due to their doctor’s not having the correct equipment they need to transfer on to the bed, or position themselves comfortably. I’m a couple of years off my first screening but it’s already something at the front of my mind, how will I be able to hold the needed position? Will they be understanding of my disability? There are barriers everywhere. Disabled people deal with the same things that non-disabled people do, and the fact that we might need to do things differently should not be a mark against us, and should certainly not deny us access to medical care and advice.

We are also forgotten in the sense that there is little to no advice out there about dealing with your periods when you’re disabled. I wish I’d known about period underwear sooner, for example. Although the industry has boomed in the last few years, period underwear is not a new idea, but the only options I was ever presented with were tampons and pads, without much explanation on how to use them. There was no one to guide me on how to insert a tampon as someone with limited mobility, no information on how to do things that seemingly looked so easy for everyone else. Everything is centred around nondisabled people, leaving many of us feeling othered.

We have a lot of work to do to make period positive spaces more welcoming and inclusive but in recent years I have seen these issues being discussed more and more, and I can only hope that people are listening so that we can work together to break down the stigma, allowing people like myself to speak honestly about my experience. While I still don’t feel completely welcome within the period positive movement I see now that stopping my period doesn’t make me a bad person or activist. Being period positive is about supporting every individual’s choice and that includes my choice to make my life easier by stopping my period.

The first line of the article has been updated from the original to ensure the language is trans-inclusive.


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

Click here to pitch a blog post to Rooted in Rights.