The Day I Stopped “Overcoming” My Disability and Started Living My Life

I hear perfectly. I do not speak. I have lived this reality since I was two years old. Yet in a society where communication is measured by sound, silence is often treated like a malfunction. Something to be fixed.

Growing up, I learned early that the world prefers a specific operating system. One where communication is, verbal, fast and familiar. Anything outside that framework feels inconvenient, confusing, or admirable in a way that quietly lowers expectations.

I adapted.

I moved through life like a laptop running on power-saving mode. Tabs carefully managed. Energy rationed. Explanations prepared in advance. I typed fast, over-prepared, and learned to anticipate confusion before it surfaced. I adjusted constantly, not because I could not function, but because the environment demanded it and people noticed. They called me inspiring, they wondered how I managed and even said they could never do what I do.

At first, those words felt encouraging. Over time, they began to feel like overdraft alerts. Polite reminders that I was operating outside the expected budget of normal.

What I did not realise then was how deeply the idea of “overcoming my disability” had shaped my mindset.

When you are constantly told you are strong for surviving, you slowly internalise the belief that struggle is your natural state. You begin to expect obstacles everywhere. You brace yourself before anything even goes wrong. You start living from a place of endurance rather than agency.

Without meaning to, I had slipped into a quiet victim mentality. I accepted barriers as inevitable. I lowered my expectations to avoid disappointment. I told myself, “This is just how it is,” instead of asking why things are designed the way they were in the first place.

The “overcoming” narrative taught me to survive systems instead of questioning them. It trained me to be grateful for crumbs and patient with exclusion. It made me believe that my role was to cope, not to challenge.

Life eventually started to feel like trying to download a heavy software update on unstable Wi-Fi. Everything worked, but slower than it should have. And somehow, the delay was always attributed to me.

I felt like I was spending more time translating my existence than I was actually living it. That was the moment I stopped and questioned the logic.

Why was my speech treated as a personal deficit? Who says communication must be measured by sound only? That changed how I understood disability.

I stopped treating my disability as a personal challenge and started seeing it as information. Useful information that exposes weak systems. 

Something shifted within me. I stopped rushing my communication as if time itself was doing me a favour. I stopped introducing my disability before my ideas. I started occupying rooms without shrinking to fit poorly arranged furniture.

Today, I work as a communications officer. I work with words every day. I simply release them differently. Through writing. 

I am also a disability rights advocate, locally, regionally, and internationally. Vocal in ways that do not rely on my speech only. It is about consistency and the refusal to disappear quietly.

Assistive technology has become my microphone. My phone is my access point to different conversations. It has enabled participation where physical and attitudinal barriers once closed the doors.

This does not mean barriers will disappear magically. Some systems still equate speed with competence. Some people still speak around me instead of to me.

The difference now is perspective. These moments no longer feel like personal shortcomings. They feel like reminders that inclusion is unfinished work. Work that belongs to institutions, employers, designers, and policymakers, not to individual endurance.

Letting go of the “overcoming” mindset did not make life smoother. It made it more honest.

It released me from a quiet victimhood I had not even realised I was carrying. It redirected my energy from fixing myself to questioning systems. From absorbing blame to advocating for change. From surviving quietly to participating fully.

This shift matters, not just for me, but for many persons with disabilities who grow up believing their role is to adapt endlessly while society remains unchanged. The charity model reinforces this belief. It centres gratitude, resilience, and patience. The rights-based model does the opposite. It centres dignity, access, equity and inclusion.

If you are a person with a disability and you are tired of being brave, tired of being inspirational, tired of constantly adjusting yourself for environments that barely move, hear this clearly. You are allowed to live.

Sometimes you are not lost. Everything is just unfamiliar. Sometimes your instincts are right, but novelty clouds your confidence. Sometimes asking for help is not a weakness.

Stopping the cycle of “overcoming” begins with one small decision. To stop apologising for your access needs. To stop measuring your worth by how well you blend in. To start asking different questions, not about how to fix yourself, but about how systems can do better.

The day I stopped “overcoming” my disability was the day I stopped waiting for permission to exist fully.

And life, since then, has made a lot more sense. Start asking yourself and the systems some hard questions. 

Article by: Maryanne Emomeri