Growing Up Disabled In Australia, edited by Carly Findlay
“I didn’t grow up disabled. My body and its place in the world seemed normal to me. Why wouldn’t it?”
- ‘Question Marks and a Theory of Vision,’ by Andy Jackson
Compiled and edited by writer and appearance activist Carly Findlay OAM, more than forty writers come together in this rich collection from a group whose voices are not often heard: those negotiating disability in their lives. Drawing on the breadth of experience of those living - and growing up - in an Australia where disability continues to be misrepresented and underrepresented across media and literature, this is an ambitious blend of memoir, non-fiction, poetry and one graphic novella. Writers from all over Australia share their experiences, ranging from physical disabilities, chronic illness, visual and hearing impairment, mental illness and neurodiversity.
This is the latest instalment in a series focused on “Growing Up” in Australia: anthologies of differing perspectives responding to one overarching theme, published by Black Inc Books. It’s the first I’ve read in the series myself but certainly won’t be the last. I do not identify with any form of disability, but am conscious of the ways my ideas and views about disability have been shaped by the limited interactions with peers in my life and my cultural education around disability. I’m also conscious that the experience of reading such an anthology, and what individuals will take away from it, will be highly personal.
One of the things that hit home for me as I read through the collection was the depth of perseverance each author vocalised around living with their disability, and in many cases, having their disability identified and taken seriously. In “Noisy Silence” by Anna Whateley, she discusses her lengthy journey to discovering the correct diagnosis - and, ultimately, labels - that offered not only support for her disability but a firmer grip on her own identity. Whateley’s and other stories along these lines explore the complex relationship between labelling and not-labelling in this context:
“Don’t fear the labels. They can mean the difference between being voiceless on land or singing among an ocean chorus. A label or two as a child and I could have more readily found a community, a group of disabled people to make into an ‘us’ and a ‘we’. A simple pronoun changes everything.”
Community and its complexities are also touched on repeatedly by many of the writers. While each discusses their individual journeys, almost everyone celebrates the discovery of a community in relation to their disability and the phenomenal power it had in their lives. But community can also be troublesome. A few write about their experiences of being paired up with others who are disabled ‘like them’ by the able-bodied parents and carers in their life and the issues this causes. In “Falling in Love, Fanfic, and Bone Fusion”, Kit Kavanagh Ryan says: “Annie had cerebral palsy too… We were matched up at school as fellow crips for years, and we hated each other’s guts because of it.” Olivia Muscat echoes a similar sentiment in her work “Selected Epistles” with “Just because we’re both blind doesn’t mean we will be friends.” Astrid Edwards talks about how the visibility of disability can also cause issues both within and outside the disabled community in her essay “Who Counts As Disabled Anyway?”:
“The problem is, not everyone thinks I have a disability. Or thinks I have the right to say that I identify as a person with a disability. I feel welcome in the MS community, but I have not always felt welcome in the disability community.”
Another vital aspect of the chosen work in this collection is the incredible breadth of lived experience: it spans generations, gender, sexuality, rural and city living, perspectives from those remembering how they grew up, and those telling us how they’re growing up now. It documents the trajectory of ableism across Australia and the ongoing role and attitudes from the medical profession for how disability is ‘treated’ more broadly across society. In her introduction, Carly Findlay notes that the existence of the publication creates history and calls for better visibility across the publishing industry for disabled narratives:
“This book will change history. It’s the first of its kind in Australia. And I hope it won’t be the last. Publishers - both literary and news - need to commit to publishing work by disabled people. We deserve better representation in literature.”
Packed with inspiring, heart-wrenching, and sometimes confronting realities of the world the writers have grown up in, this anthology will go a long way towards reshaping the conversations around disability across our shared spaces and communities.
Elaine Mead is a freelance writer and book reviewer, currently residing in Hobart, Tasmania. She is passionate about the ways we can use literature to learn from our experiences to become more authentic versions of ourselves and obsessed with showing you photos of her Dachshund puppy. You can find her online at www.wordswithelaine.com.
