Disability Allyship in Bookish Spaces | Why I believe it's a practice
July is Disability Pride month, a time to celebrate disability identity, raise awareness about the experiences and contributions of people with disabilities, and promote disability rights and inclusion.
The month-long celebrations began in the United States to commemorate the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) on July 26, 1990, which prohibits discrimination based on disability. But in the last few years, Disability Pride Month has become recognised and celebrated internationally.
My Story
As a disabled, full-time romance author living with chronic illnesses, I spend a lot of time navigating space where disability is an after thought, both as a creator, a business owner, and a reader. I've seen the gaps. I’ve felt the exclusions. I’ve also seen how powerful our community can be when we get it right.
During Disability Pride month, I want to talk about Disabled Allyship, and why I believe it's not a title you can claim for yourself.
To be clear, this post isn’t about calling people out. It’s about calling people in.
If you’ve ever said, “I care about inclusion!” or “I want to be a better ally to disabled folks!”, firstly, welcome! You’re in the right place.
Second of all, you’re not alone. Most people want to do better, they just don’t always know what that looks like in their home life, work place, and the bookish world.
So let’s break it down.
Allyship
Let’s talk about a word that gets thrown around a lot, ally.
The Cambridge Dictionary defines an ally as,
"Someone who helps and supports other people who are part of a group that is treated badly or unfairly, although they are not themselves a member of this group."
It’s a lovely definition. But in practice Allyship often gets watered down into a self-proscribed title that carries little responsibility or meaning. Often, when someone reposts a quote or adds the title to their bio, they seem themselves as being supportive of the minority group. This form of Allyship becomes a tick box exercise rather than holding meaning.
I believe that Allyship isn’t a title we get to give ourselves. We can become an ally through our actions, by choosing to act with care, to challenge injustice, and to build spaces where people are able to show up authentically and unapologetically.
Allyship is a practice. And I believe it's a title that a group should bestow on us, not us claiming it for ourselves if that group doesn't see us as being someone who is doing the work.
In this instance, if disabled folks don’t feel safe with you, don’t feel seen by you, don’t feel supported or uplifted by you, then it doesn’t matter what your bio says.
Evie. What????
Yeah, I know. It’s a super hot take, but I truly believe that Allyship is a practice.
And I say this as someone who has had to learn, unlearn, and re-learn in so many spaces — including within disability activism itself.
For example, I recently had an online conversation about masking, and it threw me for a loop.
Someone was advocating strongly for mask usage in public spaces, especially indoors. They were reminding people that universal masking is a disability issue, a public health issue, and a matter of equity.
I was confused.
See, I still mask up (especially when I’m traveling), but I’d stopped expecting other people to do the same. I’d shifted to a personal risk-based approach, if I’m feeling vulnerable, I stay home. If I’m attending something, I accept the risk and wear my masks.
To me, that felt reasonable and reflected the same practice I was doing prior to COVID.
But then I realised, I was speaking from my specific bubble of privilege. A few things shaped my assumptions,
-
I live in Australia, where mask usage hasn’t been as politicised, criminalised, or banned.
-
I have access to affordable, universal healthcare if I do get sick.
-
I live in a country where public health is generally respected and protected by the current government.
In other words, I was thinking like a disabled person in my context — not a disabled person navigating public health in the U.S., the U.K., or anywhere masks have become a battlefield.
That conversation reminded me that allyship isn't about doing what feels comfortable.
It's about being open to hearing new perspectives, and being willing to update your actions.
It’s about remembering that our individual experiences are not universal.
Allyship isn't about perfection
If I've learned anything, it's that Allyship is not about perfection. It’s about being responsive, open, and accountable.
You’re going to mess up. We all are. You'll likely be called in and called out at various times. You'll unlock a new previously unknown bias, or you'll discover you don't understand the issue as well as you think you do.
Language will change. Terminology will differ. The political environment will shift.
What matters is what you do next.
Will you double down and defend your choices? Or will you pause, listen, reflect, and do better?
Allyship doesn’t ask you to be flawless. It requires you to keep showing up.
Where to Next?
If you're still reading, thank you!
If you'd like to know more, check out my blog posts for some suggestions on practical ways to be a better ally in the bookish space, including how to support disabled authors, improve your posting practices, make events more inclusive, and rethink how you use your platform and resources.
Before you go, let me leave you with one powerful, simple question that you can carry into most spaces.
“How can I be a better ally?”
Ask it often and with humility, and be willing to act on the answer even if that answer is uncomfortable or requires you to do nothing but listen.
Thanks for reading,
Evie