There are real-world, devastating consequences for disabled women marginalised by the kinds of attitudes that deny them full agency over what happens to their bodies.
From Stella Young
The problem for many people with disabilities is not that we are not able to work a certain number of hours a week. It's that no-one will let us.
My mother loves to remind me that about the age of four, I made a somewhat formal announcement that I was going to be a plumber when I grew up.
As a wheelchair user, I am utterly obsessed with toilets, and all my friends know it. A simple invitation to the pub is consistently followed by, 'Do you know if they have an accessible toilet?'
Physical access is one of the very first issues disability rights activists of the 1960s and '70s fought for.
Even those among us who are lucky enough to love our jobs would have to admit that at least part of the reason we work is to earn money. In between all this work, we like to eat out at restaurants, go on trips, buy nice things, not to mention pay rent and meet the cost of living.
Many of us, particularly those of us with disabilities who have faced persistent discrimination throughout our lives, not least when trying to find employment in the first place, take enormous pride in our hard-fought jobs and careers.
The purpose of our justice system is to reflect the values of our society and to punish those who violate our standards.
From time to time, people pat me on the head. It happens on public transport, in the supermarket, in bars. It's a common enough occurrence that it very rarely takes me completely by surprise.
When patronised, I'm unfortunately more flight than fight. Perhaps it's because I actually feel quite wounded.
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