Ableism is the assumption that being able-bodied or non-disabled is the default, the goal, or the standard everyone should be measured against. People who do not fit that mold are expected to adapt, work harder, or accept being excluded.
Ableism comes in many forms. It can be intentional or unintentional, external or internal, and it often appears as judgment, disbelief, or praise that comes with conditions. At its core, ableism is the belief that some bodies and abilities are more valuable than others.
Ableism is prevalent not only in the non-disabled part of society, but even among those with disabilities and within the medical community that interacts with them. One common form shows up as judgment. It often sounds like, “I have this disability and I manage to work, so she should be able to work too.”
This way of thinking assumes that all disabilities function the same way, that all bodies respond similarly to effort, and that outcomes are purely a matter of willpower. It ignores differences in severity, progression, pain, fatigue, comorbid conditions, and access to support. It also ignores the fact that some people are paying an enormous physical and emotional price for what they are managing to do.
Another deeply ingrained form of ableism is the belief that if you want something badly enough and are willing to work hard enough, you can achieve it. Many of us were raised on this idea. For people with disabilities, this belief can be especially damaging. Some push and push, convinced that if they just try harder, success will follow. Instead, they worsen their condition, exhaust themselves physically and emotionally, and slowly break their own spirit. When they fail, they blame themselves, because they truly believe success would have been possible if they had worked hard enough. That belief itself is ableist, even when it comes from within the disabled community.
Intentional ableism occurs when barriers are known and deliberately ignored or dismissed. This includes business owners who refuse to add ramps or accessible entrances because they believe it would ruin the appearance of a building, even though they understand it excludes wheelchair users.
It appears when employers decline to hire qualified candidates after learning they need accommodations, without ever discussing what support might make the job accessible. It shows up when events are consistently held in inaccessible spaces and disabled people are told they can look at photos later or simply miss out.
Intentional ableism also includes denying legally required accommodations because they are viewed as too costly or inconvenient, or framing disabled people as burdens rather than as members of the community. In many cases, accessibility features are added only after complaints or legal action, and even then are implemented in the most minimal way possible.
Another type of ableism is unintentional. Most unintentional ableism is not about being unkind. It comes from assumptions people do not even realize they are making. It can sound like telling someone, “If I can push through the pain, so can you,” without recognizing that another person’s body or condition works very differently. It appears when spaces are designed with stairs as the primary entrance and accessibility is treated as an afterthought, even though exclusion was never the intent.
Unintentional ableism includes praising disabled people for ordinary tasks because those activities are assumed to be extraordinary, or believing that assistive devices alone have solved accessibility problems. Comments like “You do not look disabled” are often meant as compliments but still reflect harmful assumptions. It also appears when activities are planned around long periods of walking or standing, and organizers are genuinely surprised when someone cannot participate.
A third type of ableism is external. External ableism comes from the world around us. It exists in systems, policies, environments, and interactions that assume non-disabled bodies and minds are the norm. It includes buildings designed with stairs as the main entrance, workplaces that measure productivity without accounting for pain or fatigue, and public spaces that technically meet accessibility requirements but are still functionally unusable.
External ableism also shows up in attitudes, such as questioning whether someone truly needs accommodations, assuming disability limits intelligence or worth, or praising disabled people only when they appear to overcome their limitations in ways that make others comfortable. These messages are reinforced through social expectations, media portrayals, and institutional practices that treat disabled people as exceptions rather than as part of the population.
The fourth type of ableism is internal. Internal ableism happens when cultural beliefs about productivity, independence, and worth are absorbed and turned inward by people with disabilities themselves. It can look like believing you should be able to do something because others with similar diagnoses can, even when your body is clearly telling you otherwise. It shows up as guilt for resting, shame for needing help, or pushing past safe limits because you were taught that effort equals worth.
Internal ableism can also mean minimizing your own needs, delaying the use of assistive devices because they feel like a sign of failure, or blaming yourself when accommodations are necessary. Over time, this pressure erodes self-trust and self-compassion, leaving people feeling inadequate for limitations that are not personal failings.
Disabled people are often just as affected by external and internal ableism as their non-disabled peers because they grow up in the same ableist society as everyone else. Long before a disability is acquired, recognized, or diagnosed, most people absorb cultural messages that equate productivity with worth, independence with success, and limitation with failure.
Those beliefs do not disappear simply because someone becomes disabled. Instead, they are carried forward and applied both to yourself and to others with disabilities. When disabled people judge another person’s limitations, compare coping strategies, or assume that effort should lead to the same outcomes for everyone, they are often drawing on standards they were taught long before they had reason to question them.
Many disabled people have also been rewarded for acting as if they were able-bodied for as long as they could. Pushing through pain, minimizing symptoms, and avoiding accommodations are often praised by teachers, employers, doctors, and even loved ones.
Over time, this reinforcement teaches people that acceptance comes from appearing capable and low-maintenance. When those expectations can no longer be met, discomfort, judgment, or resentment often follow. This fuels external ableism toward others with disabilities and deepens internal ableism directed inward.
There is also fear at the center of this. Disability is unpredictable, and progression or decline can be deeply frightening. Judging another disabled person for needing more help can become a way of distancing yourself from that fear, as if believing “that will not happen to me” offers protection.
Internal ableism often grows from the same place. Admitting the full extent of your limitations can feel like giving up or confirming the very stereotypes society fears most. As a result, many disabled people hold themselves to impossible standards and, without intending to, reinforce those same standards in others.
Medical ableism adds another powerful layer to this experience. It appears in how chronically ill and disabled people are viewed and treated within the healthcare system. Medical care is often guided by the assumption that the goal is a return to a previous version of normal, rather than helping someone adapt to a changed body and build a sustainable life within new limits. When recovery to a former level of function is not possible, care may stall, shift into dismissal, or quietly withdraw.
New or worsening symptoms are frequently dismissed as “just part of the disability,” even when they represent meaningful changes in function or quality of life. Chronic pain, fatigue, neurological symptoms, and digestive issues are especially likely to be minimized.
Instead of being investigated, they are folded into an existing diagnosis and treated as something the patient should simply endure. Over time, patients learn that reporting symptoms may not lead to help and may even mark them as difficult.
Quality of life is also often undervalued in medical decision-making. The focus tends to remain on lab results, imaging, or disease markers, while daily function, comfort, and dignity are treated as secondary concerns.
For many chronically ill and disabled people, some level of pain or limitation is unavoidable. The goal is not perfection, but a life that is manageable and meaningful. When that reality is ignored, patients are left surviving rather than living.
Pain management exposes medical ableism particularly clearly. Some patients are denied necessary medication because of fear, stigma, or rigid policies that fail to account for individual circumstances. Others are labeled as drug-seeking simply for advocating for relief that would allow them to function at all.
At the same time, some patients are given pain medication dismissively, not as part of a thoughtful plan to improve quality of life, but as a way to end the appointment without engaging in deeper care. In both cases, the message is the same. The lived experience of the disabled person is not worth sustained effort.
Medical ableism reinforces the idea that disabled lives are inherently less, or that suffering is an acceptable condition of chronic illness. It discourages collaboration, dismisses patient expertise, and places unrealistic expectations on bodies that have already changed. Recognizing medical ableism requires a shift away from restoring a past that may no longer be possible and toward supporting a new normal that prioritizes safety, dignity, and quality of life.
Ableism is not just something that happens to disabled people. People with disabilities are just as likely as those without disabilities to be influenced by ableist thinking. It is so deeply woven into our culture, our work ethic, and our way of life that no one, no matter how well-meaning, is fully exempt. It is something we must all actively unlearn.
Actively unlearning ableism is not a one-time realization. It is an ongoing practice of noticing, questioning, and changing how you think, speak, and act.
It starts with awareness. This means paying attention to your own assumptions about productivity, independence, pain, and worth. When you catch yourself thinking that someone should be able to do something because you can, or because another disabled person can, pause and ask where that expectation came from. Many of these beliefs are inherited from culture, not grounded in reality.
Listening to disabled voices is essential, especially voices that differ from your own experience. Disability is not one-size-fits-all. People with different conditions, severities, resources, and support systems will have very different limits and needs. Believing people when they describe their pain, fatigue, or barriers, without comparison or judgment, is a key part of unlearning ableism.
Unlearning ableism also means redefining success. Instead of measuring worth by productivity, endurance, or independence, it means valuing sustainability, safety, dignity, and quality of life. Rest is not failure. Needing help is not weakness. Using accommodations is not giving up. These shifts are often hardest for disabled people themselves, because internal ableism is reinforced by praise for pushing through at any cost.
Another important step is examining how you respond to accessibility. When accommodations are inconvenient, slow, or expensive, do you see them as burdens or as basic inclusion? Do you view accessibility as optional or as a fundamental part of participation? Challenging those reactions, even silently, is part of the work.
Finally, unlearning ableism requires self-compassion. Everyone raised in an ableist culture will reflect it in some way. Catching yourself in ableist thinking does not make you a bad person. It gives you the opportunity to choose differently. Over time, those choices add up. Unlearning ableism is less about perfection and more about the willingness to keep noticing, learning, and adjusting.
Thoughts from the Author: There are many adaptations that help people with disabilities function in an inaccessible world. Wheelchairs, rollators, canes, crutches, speech-to-text, text-to-speech, visual enhancements, eye-tracking technology, and more. These tools are valuable and often essential. But when the world itself remains inaccessible, the presence of adaptations can give able-bodied people the false impression that accessibility has been solved.
A person in a wheelchair still cannot cross the gap to board a train. A person using a rollator still cannot climb an outdoor flight of steps with no railing, like those found at historic and grand sites across the country. Someone using crutches may be completely exhausted after navigating a gravel path with exposed roots and brush. An able-bodied person may see a wooden pier and assume it is accessible, without realizing that uneven boards can exhaust a rollator user or leave someone using a cane or crutches constantly off balance.
A temporary ramp placed over a few steps at the entrance of an otherwise accessible restaurant may be too steep for a wheelchair user to navigate independently. Relying on strangers for physical safety turns participation into a risk calculation rather than a simple outing.
Most people with disabilities understand that not everything can be made accessible. A historic colonial manor cannot have its second floor made accessible without altering the history being preserved. Narrow hallways that are too tight for wheelchairs or rollators cannot simply be fixed.
But in modern construction, accessibility is still too often treated as an afterthought. It is framed as a regulation to be met cheaply, while millions are spent on dramatic staircases and revolving front doors. Disabled access is routed to side entrances or long zigzag ramps that lead to less prominent doors, sending a clear message about who the space was designed for.
Older buildings are frequently retrofitted with small wheelchair lifts that require finding someone with a key and waiting for another person to operate the equipment. From experience, that person is often located in a part of the building the wheelchair user cannot reach without the lift. This raises serious safety concerns. In an emergency, disabled people are once again forced to rely on strangers, potentially putting multiple lives at risk because exits are inaccessible.
And yet, many people without mobility disabilities believe the world is fairly accessible now. The harder question may be whether those of us who are disabled, but not visibly or mobility impaired, sometimes hold the same belief. Ableism is not just something that happens to disabled people. It is something we all must actively unlearn.
Other articles you might enjoy include: Can I or Should I? Living With Disability, Risk, and Hard Choices – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life
The Disability Catch-22 – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life
Designer Shoes and Disability: Why Judging Others Is Obscene – Jan Mariet’s A Day in the Life
Busting Disabled Parking Myths 
Myth 1: “You don’t look disabled.”
Fact: There is no single “disabled look.” Many disabilities are invisible, fluctuating, or not obvious to strangers. Some conditions, such as lung or heart disease, may not be visible at all but can severely limit how far a person can safely walk.
Disabled parking is an accessibility tool, not a privilege. Trust the system, respect the placard, and let disabled people move through the world without fear of confrontation. Disabled parking exists to reduce harm and increase access, not to invite judgment or interrogation. Most disabled people are already navigating pain, fatigue, and medical uncertainty. The last thing they need is to defend their legitimacy in a parking lot. A little restraint and respect go a long way. 
