Anyone can be disabled at any time. I know this all too well because when my mother began showing symptoms of a chronic health condition several years ago, it impacted our entire family. Recently, I decided to write about her story, using her as the subject of a prerequisite course assignment for the Master in Social Work program I am starting in the fall. Because it seemed appropriate for Disability Pride Month, I agreed to share the article on her platform in support of all she has accomplished.
Life Trajectory: Introduction
My mother, an African-American woman in her 50s, is a licensed professional counselor, homeowner, and published author who owns her own private practice. Her life trajectory is a story of courage, resilience and dedication. Raised in public housing, my mom stated “all I knew was poverty,” and over the course of her life she has worked indefatigably to provide economic stability for both herself and my brothers and me.
Contextual Set Up
The following interview touches on my mother's childhood to contextualize the path(s) she would follow throughout adulthood. It then fast forwards to her adult life, where she discusses the effects of her childhood economic instability, as well as her experience being diagnosed with a chronic illness and becoming disabled. My mother's life trajectory is informed by her experience growing up in poverty, the wealth disparity between white and Black people and the United States’ cultural view of disabled people.
My mother was born in 1973 to a single mother in public housing in Goldsboro, North Carolina. Her mother worked part-time at a grocery store, but my mother learned the importance of obtaining an education early on, because “my friends who didn’t live in the projects, their parents were educated. So I translated that to mean if I got an education, I could have a better job and have a better life.” Across race and gender, education is correlated with higher income. According to a Brookings report, 51% of students from low-income families enroll in college, compared to 89% of students from affluent families. Directly after high school in 1992, my mother enrolled in college after receiving a plethora of scholarships, but had to unenroll during her third year due to both economic hardships and mental health struggles. My mother was able to return to school after marrying my father, who could afford to provide for the both of them. She had my two brothers and me within a four year span and became a stay at home mom, which she recognizes as a privilege because “not too many people, especially Black people, that I knew, had that luxury.” My brother, her youngest child, was born in 2002, and my mother received her bachelor’s degree in 2004. She later went on to obtain her master’s in counseling and became a Licensed Professional Counselor.
In 2016, my mother woke up and her entire left side was numb; days later when she finally went to the doctor, she was hospitalized for a week and a half and diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and Sjogren’s Syndrome. For the next year, she was unable to walk or work, and later started her virtual private practice in part because she feared she would not be able to provide for us if she could not walk. She shared that even when she regained her ability to walk, she was nervous that it wouldn’t last, stating that if she had her own practice, losing her ability to walk again “would not impede my ability to provide for my children.” She was born able bodied, and before her diagnosis, “all the disabled people I knew were homebound” with limited abilities to work; she never imagined she herself would become disabled. When I asked her about this, she stated “Who thinks of not being able to use their faculties? That was not something that ever crossed my mind.” Currently my mother can walk, but her MS and Sjogren’s can still flare up when she is stressed or spends too much time in the heat; even still, she suffers from chronic fatigue and lacks the energy she had before her diagnoses.
When my father lost his job in 2011, my parents had to foreclose on their home. He and my mother divorced two years later (for unrelated reasons), and she did not think of buying another home for the next 5 years. As of 2021, white Americans are approximately 11 times wealthier than African-Americans, and hold 65% of the wealth in the US; African-Americans only hold 5% of the country’s wealth, despite making up 14% of the population (US Census Bureau). In 2018, however, my mother purchased her first home and became part of the 42% of Black people who are homeowners (in contrast, 72% of white people are homeowners). Wanting to build the generational wealth she did not have growing up, my mother purchased condos for me and my youngest brother in 2022, which “would have been unheard of in my childhood.” Today, she is on the Board of Directors of her local homeowners’ association, and she is both the only member of color and the only member under 55.
Life Lessons
Americans tend to have a bootstraps mentality, but my mother's story delineates how many barriers to success faced by African-Americans and low-income people are structural flaws rather than individual ones. Many able-bodied people believe that disability status is binary, and if they were not born disabled, they will never be disabled. My mom's story reminds readers that anyone can become disabled at any time, which is a testament to the importance of disability advocacy and creating equitable healthcare in the United States.
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About the Author
A native of Virginia, Jordan received her Bachelor's degree in American Culture Studies from Washington University and will be pursuing Masters in Social Work from the University of Michigan in the fall of 2024. She currently serves at-risk youth as a Crisis Specialist in Washington, DC. Jordan enjoys the arts and is passionate about advocating for social justice and animal welfare.
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