I don& #39;t often talk about my disability.

I still have a hard time getting that word past my lips. It feels like appropriating struggles through which I& #39;ve rarely had to view my own life.

But I was born with spina bifida. I wrote about it only once (in 2014).

In the years since I wrote this little reflection, I& #39;ve come to understand some things that - as I& #39;m laid up today, barely able to walk - have been echoing through my mind.

The first is that my condition isn& #39;t a "curse" or a "price." It& #39;s who I am. It has shaped who I am.

Do I wish I lived without the pain and the certainty that as I get older, my bipedal mobility will decrease? Of course.

Am I to some degree thankful for the ways that spina bifida has allowed me to see myself and the world around me with extended empathy? Absolutely.

The second thing I& #39;ve learned since 2014 is that I& #39;m not alone. I& #39;ve met incredible folks who live w/ disability and use it to create space for others and tell stories. I& #39;ve learned that it& #39;s a spectrum and one I& #39;m allowed to embrace.

I guess I& #39;ve learned a little pride.

The third thing, and this is the real reason I wanted to write this thread, is I& #39;ve learned how much the media I consumed as a kid reflected back to my young mind a Tragic Context for disability.

Especially in the worlds that shaped my imagination: Star Trek and Star Wars.

The only disability I saw growing up that didn& #39;t result in the character being written out of the narrative was one that could be "overcome" with a prosthesis.

Luke& #39;s robot hand. Geordi& #39;s visor.

They remained in the narrative only because they could neutralize their disability.