It’s Not Just Me. It’s the World.
Why a small shift in language can reveal a much bigger truth about disability and the world around us
When I first heard the phrase living with a disability, I imagined a suitcase packed with medical notes, appointments, adjustments and a quiet expectation that this was mine to carry. Mine to manage. Mine to work around.
That wording suggests something subtle but powerful. It places the challenge squarely inside the person. It implies that the difficulty belongs to me, that I must learn to cope with it, and that the main task is managing whatever my body throws at me.
Now compare that with a slightly different phrase: living with disability. It is only a small shift in wording, but it changes the centre of gravity. Suddenly the focus is not just on the individual. It opens the door to the pavements, the buildings, the websites, the policies, the services and the assumptions that all shape daily life.
That is why this is not really a debate about grammar. It is a debate about perspective.
Two ways of understanding disability
This small difference in language reflects a much longer conversation between two ways of understanding disability: the medical model and the social model.
The medical model: when the problem sits with me
The medical model treats disability primarily as a health issue. Under this view, the aim is to treat, rehabilitate, improve or cure. It sees the body or mind as the place where the difficulty mainly resides.
To be fair, that model has done a great deal of good. It drives research, supports treatment, funds specialist care and recognises the very real experience of pain, fatigue, sensory loss and long term conditions. None of that should be brushed aside. Many disabled people rely on medical support, equipment and expertise, and there is no virtue in pretending otherwise.
But when the medical model becomes the only lens, something important gets missed. The world itself often escapes scrutiny. A wheelchair user meets a missing ramp. A blind person encounters a website with no alt text. A neurodivergent student faces an exam system designed around one narrow idea of how people process information. In those moments, the problem is not simply the body. The problem is the design.
The social model: when the world becomes part of the story
The social model flips that perspective. It does not deny impairment, pain or difference. What it does is ask a harder question: what is it about the environment, the organisation or the system that is turning impairment into disability?
A curb without a dropped crossing. A helpline that only works by voice. A venue that says everyone is welcome but offers no practical access information. A digital form that falls apart the moment it meets assistive technology. All of these are examples of disability being created or intensified by the world around us.
That is where the phrase living with disability starts to feel more accurate. It acknowledges that impairment exists, but it also recognises that lived experience is shaped by barriers that could have been removed, softened or avoided altogether.
Why this matters more than it first appears
Language shapes perception, and perception shapes policy. If we habitually speak as though disability lives entirely within the person, we are more likely to invest only in fixing individuals. We focus on treatment, adjustment and accommodation after the fact.
If, on the other hand, we talk in ways that recognise the environment as part of the issue, we begin to ask better questions. Why was the building designed like that in the first place? Why was the website launched without accessibility testing? Why does the recruitment process assume one narrow type of candidate? Why is access treated as a special extra instead of ordinary good practice?
That shift matters. It influences what organisations fund, what governments legislate for and what designers consider normal. It can move accessibility from being a favour to being part of the baseline.
Where I land on it
For my part, I am comfortable describing myself as a disabled person. I use that phrasing because it aligns with the social model and because it reminds me, and others, that many of the barriers I encounter are not inevitable. They are designed. And what is designed can be redesigned.
That does not erase the reality of living in my body. It does not wish away pain, fatigue or the practical realities of using a wheelchair. It simply places the emphasis where I believe it belongs: on the shared responsibility to build a world that works for more people.
A bit of honesty about language
Of course, everyday life is rarely as neat as theory. People use all sorts of wording: person with a disability, disabled person, living with a disability, and more besides. Different countries use different conventions. Different communities do too. Some people strongly prefer person first language. Others find it distances disability rather than respecting it. Some avoid labels altogether.
That is why respect matters more than policing vocabulary. The important thing is to listen to how people describe themselves, to understand what sits behind the words, and to stay open as language evolves. What feels empowering in one place or era may feel limiting in another. None of us gets to freeze the dictionary in place.
A practical challenge
If you design products, services or places, ask yourself a simple question: are you expecting the individual to do all the adapting, or are you willing to adapt the system too?
If you are a manager, think about whether your workplace asks people to squeeze themselves into an existing culture instead of reshaping that culture to welcome a wider range of people. If you work in digital, consider whether your product assumes precise finger taps, perfect vision, fast processing, fluent hearing or one particular way of communicating. If you run a venue, ask whether your access information gives visitors confidence or simply leaves them guessing.
These are not abstract questions. They show up in recruitment, transport, tourism, technology, education and daily life. And they are often the difference between people taking part with confidence and being quietly edged out.
In the end, this is not just about words
In the end, the debate between living with a disability and living with disability is really a reflection of two worldviews. One says, more or less, the problem is yours, manage it. The other says, the world can do better, let us fix that.
The truth, as ever, is nuanced. Bodies matter. Health matters. Treatment matters. But so do kerbs, websites, policies, attitudes, signage, customer service, hiring practices and all the other things that either widen participation or quietly block it.
So choose the words that empower you. Respect the language others choose for themselves. Challenge the structures that limit people. And keep nudging the world, gently but persistently, towards something better.
After all, the goal is not simply to help people cope with disability. It is to build a society that stops creating quite so much of it in the first place.
Note: This piece reflects my personal perspective, grounded in UK language and experience. Other people and other countries will use different terms and frameworks, and that is exactly as it should be.