By Andrea Kellaway (she/her), TTOC and teacher educator at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver
Listening to Lizzy McAlpine’s song, “erase me,” sparked a reflection on how we erase disability—not just in memory, but in our schools and society. While the song speaks to the end of a relationship and the deliberate steps taken to erase a former lover from memory, it made me think of a paper I recently read during my MA in Special Education at the University of British Columbia.
In relationships, erasure can be intentional, an active effort to remove traces of someone. But in the context of disability, the erasure often isn’t deliberate—it’s ingrained in societal norms, systemic structures, and unconscious actions. Yet, the impact remains the same: a silencing, a dismissal, a forgetting.
In this paper, a 2021 study by Carlyn Mueller, (1) a participant shared a story from a speech given by a disabled social worker connecting with a young girl in her care. The child said,
I’m glad I met you. I didn’t know people with disabilities could grow up to be adults.
This resonated with the participant, who recalled her own formative years. She knew she would become an adult but had no idea how—how to live, work, engage in relationships, or contribute. She had had no examples to refer to in her learnings at school. Disability as a valued identity wasn’t presented in her school curriculum, and there were no disabled role models to emulate. Disability was never framed as “just another way of being.”
Schools, like many institutions, have perpetuated the stigma of disability as something that needs fixing rather than as a natural part of human diversity. This stems from the medical model of disability, which sees disability as a problem within the person that requires fixing, support, or separation. In contrast, the social model posits that societal barriers—environmental, attitudinal, and organizational—are the true issues. The disability justice model goes even further, recognizing the intersectionality of disability with other forms of oppression and marginalization.
Disabled people exist. Few would argue otherwise. But do they exist in identity-affirming ways in classrooms and schools? This is the erasure I mean—children need to see themselves represented, valued, and included as part of their communities. They need role models who demonstrate that disability is not a limitation but another way of being.
So, where can we begin to address the erasure of disability?
Incorporate disability history and literature in the classroom
Teachers should include disability history, culture, and contributions in their lessons, just as they would for any other marginalized identity group. This helps students see themselves reflected in the curriculum and understand the broader context of disability rights and advocacy.
For instance, lessons could include the Disability Rights Movement, highlighting leaders like Judith Heumann, or the progression of disability rights policy and law in Canada, including our very own Accessible BC Act, inception 2021. Explore literature by disabled authors. Both Kidsbooks and Indigo offer a growing selection, as representation of dis-ability in literature continues to expand. However, not all literature about disability is created equal. Some works can perpetuate ableist stereotypes, making them ideal for classroom discussions that explore ableism in literature.
Explore ableism and adopt anti-ableist approaches
While strategies to support classroom diversity are great and necessary, they are subject to failure when rooted in unexamined beliefs. Begin by reflecting on ableism and how it might show up in your practice. Liza Talusan’s The Identity-Conscious Educator provides excellent reflection questions, and Maria R. Palacios’s poem “Naming Ableism” can provoke deeper thought. If something makes you uncomfortable as you’re reading it, it’s likely worth exploring further.
Teachers can also create classroom norms that challenge ableist language and assumptions. For example, fostering discussions about disability-related stereotypes and promoting inclusive language can help build a more respectful and supportive environment for all students.
Consider disclosure if you are a teacher with a disability
This can be daunting, especially for those with invisible disabilities who have the privilege of masking, as I have. A few years ago, I began disclosing my own disability to teacher candidates I work with at UBC. While I occasionally faced judgment, it often empowered others to share their disability status and see the value of their lived experiences in shaping inclusive teaching practices. This also prompted their non-disabled peers to recognize the benefits of their insights. Our students need this from us. And to be frank, we need this from us.
Disclosure can also model resilience and self-advocacy for students. When teachers share their experiences—within appropriate boundaries—it humanizes disability and reduces stigma. It also demonstrates that challenges can be navigated successfully, and that disability is not a barrier to professional achievement.
By embracing anti-ableism and representation, we acknowledge disability as part of the human experience and empower every student to see their worth and potential. This isn’t just about inclusion—it’s about justice.
Resources
For resources to support a disability-inclusive curriculum (including the poster featuring activist Lydia X.Z. Brown, pictured right) visit Disability Equality Education at disabilityequalityeducation.org.
References
1 C.O. Mueller, “‘I Didn’t Know People with Disabilities Could Grow Up to Be Adults’: Disability History, Curriculum, and Identity in Special Education,” Teacher Education and Special Education, 44(3), 189–205, 2021: https://doi.org/10.1177/0888406421996069