Dear K,

Today you read your IEP for the first time after your mom went to your annual case conference. You read words that you could barely pronounce. You read information about yourself that you never learned in the first 11 years of your life. You are confused, and you are scared. You knew for years that something was different about you, but you never knew why. Reading the word disability attached to your name made you tense up just as the words physical, therapy, and braces have made your heart start pounding since you could first read those three words.

Before you let your thoughts get the better of you, I want you to read the words: you are worthy as you are. I know. You are only in middle school and you’re already insecure about your hair, let alone the idea of having a disability. In the world and time that you are living in, society doesn’t want you to believe that you are worthy as a person with a disability. Society wants you to believe that there is something broken about you. The world wants you to hate your body.

So it’s understandable that you hate the left side of your body for it’s inadequacies. It’s understandable that you get mad that your left foot won’t go up as much as your right foot. It’s understandable that you hold onto the belief that one day your ankle will just snap and you will be able to lift your foot all the way, so you won’t have a limp. I mean, even the Bible tells you that Jesus can miraculously heal people, so why wouldn’t he heal you?

By the time you read this, you already know you’ve been through a lot more than most kids your age. You can remember going to physical therapy, getting painful Botox shots, and wearing braces on your feet. As you think about how much more difficult your life seems than other kids you know, as you start to ask why me, I want you to read the words: you are worthy as you are.

You feel alone. You don’t think anyone can or will understand what you are going through as a child with a disability in a world designed for able-bodied people. I know you won’t believe this now, but it will get better.

It will be another 9 and a half years before you hear the word ableism, so it’s understandable for you to internalize ableism without even knowing it. At the time you are reading this, nobody is talking about disability on MySpace, on TV, or in general. You don’t have disabled people to look up to or relate to. All you can feel is shame and helplessness. I know you can’t believe it now, but it will get better.

So:

When you don’t make the soccer team at the beginning of 7^th grade, and you hate your body for not running fast enough, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you get cut from the soccer team on the first day of 8^th grade, and again you hate your body for not being able to run fast enough, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you have anxiety about going to soccer practice for the second time in one day because you know you will be the last one to finish the run; when you have to stop to catch your breath because the combination of your anxiety over running up the hill again and your exercise-induced asthma makes you start wheezing; when you start crying during your first official practice of your senior year because you are tired of always having to try so hard to be only half as good as the other girls, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you fail your driver’s test the first time, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you are scared about getting a summer job after your first year of college and you don’t get the one job you interviewed for that summer, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you find the folders with all the therapy notes, medical invoices, and evaluations from when you were little, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you see a presidential candidate mock a person with a diagnosis, and then that same candidate become president of the United States, remember you are worthy as you are.

When a man tells you that he’s “traveled to Africa and healed people who were blind and had other illnesses” by praying for them, and then asks you if he can pray for you because he noticed you have a limp, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you have anxiety over your senior literature thesis because you don’t think you’re as smart as the other literature majors, remember you are worthy as you are.

When you feel demoralized at the end of a school day during your first year of teaching because you weren’t the teacher you want to be that day, remember you are worthy as you are.

I’m writing to you during July which is Disability Pride Month. I know right?! Who knew there was a month specifically for people to express how proud they are of having a disability? Again, I know you won’t and can’t believe me, but it does get better. There is a whole community of people with disabilities who are fighting against the very evils in our society that are making you feel alone, ashamed, and helpless at this very moment. So many people on Instagram (you haven’t heard of it yet – it’s a website where you can post pictures and videos) have shared their own experiences of having all different types of disabilities. What’s great about this community is that even though we all have different disabilities and different experiences with having the same disabilities, we can all relate to one another’s experiences of people making us feel broken. Making us feel ashamed. Making us feel that because they didn’t see us as disabled, our feelings weren’t valid.

As I read other people’s posts about their experiences; as I see people – both disabled and non-disabled – posting about what ableism is and how we can fight against it; as I allow myself to be vulnerable and share our experience here on this blog – I cry. I cry because I wish you could experience this at 11 years old. I wish you could have the word ableism in your vocabulary and understand what it means, so that you could know it’s society’s prejudice against disabled people that’s fighting against you and not your own body. I wish you could see Emily, a model a little older than you who has cerebral palsy and wears braces, in the Target ads. I wish you could see Briella who is a model for Kohls and has cerebral palsy. I wish you could see and hear from Emily Voorde who worked on your future mayor’s presidential campaign and uses a wheelchair. I know. You can’t and won’t admit to yourself that you have a disability, and your internalized ableism tells you that you don’t have cerebral palsy nor do you use a wheelchair, so you are nothing like these three people. I just want you to know that you will not always feel alone.

I won’t say I’m sorry because I know you are tired of hearing that. I won’t tell you it’s okay because it’s not. I won’t tell you to be brave because that’s gross. While it does get better, it’s still not easy. It will take you another 10 years to start unlearning the ableism that is woven into every fabric of our society. And even now, I am continuously learning about what ableism looks like and how to be anti-ableist. I am still reminding myself:

You are worthy as you are.