I wasn’t supposed to make it.
At least, that’s what the world seemed to be whispering — sometimes shouting — through the cracks of its systems, the speed of its timelines, and the silence that greets those of us who move differently. It’s hard to thrive in a society that confuses value with productivity and worth with perfection. And when you’re neurodivergent, living with a learning disability, complex PTSD, anxiety, and depression, the messages can be deafening.
But here I am.
Still standing. Still creating. Still living — and maybe more importantly, still healing.
This week is National AccessAbility Week in Canada (May 25–31), and this year’s theme, “Celebrating Inclusion and Breaking Barriers,” hits close to home. Because my entire life has been about doing just that — often with no manual, no map, and no mainstream support.
I used to think I had to “fix” myself to be accepted. To fit the mold. To prove I was worth being heard, hired, invited, or loved. But radical acceptance taught me something different: that I’m not broken — I’m breaking barriers.
There’s a lot of talk in the world about inclusion, but little room is made when you’re not palatable, when your journey doesn’t come wrapped in tidy boxes or fit neatly into 30-second sound bites. The truth is, we live in a cancel culture that doesn’t always have grace for those still figuring it out. A culture that moves so fast it leaves behind people like me — who sometimes need time to feel, to re-center, to regroup. People who take the stairs when others are on escalators. People who, like me, carry invisible battles that show up in memory lapses, panic attacks, or the exhaustion of masking just to survive the day.
I’ve lost opportunities. I’ve been misunderstood. I’ve been laughed at, doubted, discarded — not because I lacked talent or vision, but because I couldn’t always function on someone else’s clock. Because I cried when I should have smiled. Or paused when I should’ve pushed through.
And still — I’ve built. I’ve written award-winning books, directed short films, facilitated spaces of healing, and spoken truth into rooms that didn’t know what to do with a voice like mine. I’ve shown up messy and magnificent, unsure and unstoppable. And I’ve learned that success isn’t about the many — it’s about the few who see you, really see you, and stay anyway.
It’s with this heart, this history, and this hard-won healing that I’m honored to host the official launch of the National Black Disability Coalition on May 27th from 5 PM to 7 PM. It’s a hybrid event — accessible in-person and online — focused on community, connection, and collaboration. There will be food, real talk, and a space where you don’t have to perform to belong.
🖤 Register here to join us: https://lu.ma/asecommunity
This event is not just about showing up — it’s about being seen. And I want every person who’s ever been told they’re too much or not enough to know: You are welcome here. You are necessary. You are not alone.
As we mark National AccessAbility Week, let’s not just “celebrate inclusion” — let’s live it. Let’s slow down enough to notice each other. Let’s build a world that doesn’t just make room for difference but centers it. Because the truth is, the world doesn’t change when we hide our struggles. It changes when we own them — and invite others to do the same.
I’ll be there on May 27th — not as a polished product, but as a living, breathing testimony to what’s possible when you stop trying to be what they expect, and start being exactly who you are.
That’s how we break barriers.
That’s how we heal.
Love and Light,
L.A. Wade
Let your Living be your Healing
