I had no idea Disability Pride Month existed until a few years ago. Yes, me — a full-time wheelchair user living with cerebral palsy and significant learning disabilities — had no idea. So if you didn’t know either, don’t feel bad.

Disability Pride Month was first recognized in 1990, the same year the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) was passed. Yet more than three decades later, it still slips by quietly, often overshadowed by the high visibility and cultural presence of LGBTQIA2S+ Pride in June. It’s not that these causes are competing — far from it. But in my experience, disability is often the forgotten child in the EDI conversation. I’ve seen it happen again and again.

Unless people make a deliberate effort to center disability equity, it gets sidelined. Maybe that’s because we tend to view disability through a lens of avoidance — as something to be fixed, pitied, or prevented. “Health” is often defined by the absence of disability. So when someone like me — a younger adult who’s lived her whole life with disabilities — shows up simply wanting a joyful, meaningful life, I’m often met with surprise. Or worse, tokenism.

I roll my eyes at most “awareness days” or “months.” Not because the cause isn’t worthy, but because for people like me, awareness isn’t confined to a box on the calendar. I don’t wake up on July 1st feeling more “prideful” in my disability, or more committed to inclusion. That commitment is every day, year-round.

Disability Pride Month doesn’t carry the cultural weight of Pride Month or Black History Month — and frankly, it can feel more like a whisper than a rallying cry. “Remember us? We’re still here.”

But there’s power in that whisper.

If all we can do is remind you that we’re still here, then we’ll keep doing it — again and again — until it leads to meaningful, lasting change.

Accessibility isn’t about checking boxes on a compliance form. It’s a mindset — one that values equity, inclusion, and human dignity. Too often, I’m the only person in the room speaking up for accessibility because I have to be. And too often, I find myself working with well-meaning people who say the right things but don’t follow through with actions.

That disconnect between intention and impact is exhausting and isolating.

Disability Pride shouldn’t be something you think about once a year. It’s not performative. It’s not a social media graphic. It’s about who we include, how we build, and how we lead.

So here’s what I ask of you: Be curious. Ask questions. Be humble. Keep learning. Be intentional. Make space. Be bold. Challenge the status quo.

Because disability pride starts with you. If one day I could go anywhere — a workplace, a concert, a grocery store — and find disability celebrated, normalized, and integrated into the fabric of our communities, I can’t even imagine the pride I’d feel.

“Remember us? We’re still here.”