Cultural Competency and Disability: It’s Respect in Action

As I’ve been thinking about what I want to write this week, one truth keeps hitting me: people usually mean well. They really do. But meaning well isn’t the same as getting it right. And in the world of disability, that gap between intention and understanding? That’s exactly where cultural competency lives-or doesn’t.

So, let’s talk about it,

Cultural competency isn’t a buzzword or a one-day training module. At its core, it’s the ability to understand, respect, and interact effectively with people whose lives look nothing like your own. Applied to disability, it means seeing us as whole humans with our own cultures, identities, languages, communities, and histories, not just medical conditions to manage or “inspirational” stories to consume.

Disability isn’t one monolith. A blind person experiences the world differently from a Deaf person, someone living with a mobility impairment, or a person with a cognitive disability. And even that doesn’t go far enough, because within each of those groups, no two people experience the world the same way. Not all blind people navigate or perceive their environment alike. Not all Deaf people communicate or identify in the same ways. Not all people with mobility or cognitive disabilities share the same needs, preferences, or perspectives. Cultural competency demands that we respect not just differences between disabilities, but individuality within them.

It starts with listening-really listening-to how we name ourselves, what we need, and how we want to move through the world. No savior complex required.

Awareness is easy. Competency is work.

A lot of people stop at awareness. They memorize a few “dos and don’ts,” sit through a webinar, pat themselves on the back, and call it progress. But real cultural competency digs deeper.

It’s not just knowing not to grab my cane or my arm, or knowing to speak directly to me and not the person accompanying me, it’s understanding why my independence isn’t egotiable. It’s my dignity on the line. It’s not offering unsolicited help, it’s asking first, then gracefully accepting “no” without making it awkward or taking it personally.

And it’s not slapping on person-first language because someone told you to. Language does matter, it carries power and shapes how society sees (or dismisses) us. But there isn’t a one-size-fits-all rule. Some people prefer person-first language. Others prefer identity-first language. The respectful thing isn’t to assume-it’s to ask the individual what they prefer and follow their lead.

This isn’t passive knowledge. It’s active, messy, and ongoing. It requires humility, a willingness to mess up, and the courage to course-correct without defensiveness.

What happens when it’s missing?

The cost isn’t theoretical-it shows up in our daily lives in ways that quietly erode quality of life. It looks like constant miscommunication that drains your energy: being talked over in conversations, having your expertise dismissed, or watching someone assume they know your needs better than you do. That low-level friction, day after day, wears people down.

It appears as the slow erosion of autonomy. When others make decisions for us instead of with us-whether in healthcare appointments, education planning, or even casual social get-togethers-our sense of control slips away. Unwanted “help” that was meant to be kind ends up stripping away our independence.

It results in worse outcomes in real systems: poorer healthcare, fewer job opportunities, and unnecessary barriers in education. Not because of our disabilities themselves, but because the systems weren’t designed with cultural competency in mind.

It leads to social isolation that starts to feel deeply personal. When people don’t know how to interact without defaulting to pity, awkwardness, or avoidance, they pull back. Those invisible walls only reinforce the loneliness many people with disabilities are already working hard to overcome.

And it keeps harmful stereotypes alive: the pitying gaze, “inspiration porn,” fear, or the tired trope that we’re either tragic figures or miraculously brave. None of it captures the ordinary, complex, capable lives we actually live.

This is a practice, not a checkbox.

You don’t graduate from cultural competency. You practice it every day.

You learn.

You stumble.

You listen harder.

You adjust.

You stay open.

For those of us in the disability community, this isn’t academic. It’s whether

we’re truly seen, heard, and respected-or quietly sidelined in conversations,

spaces, and decisions that affect our lives.

If you’re wondering what to do next, keep it simple and intentional:

• Ask before assuming.

• Listen more than you speak.

• Respect boundaries and autonomy—even when it’s inconvenient.

• Take correction as a gift, not an attack.

• And when it comes to language, don’t default-ask the person.

• Seek out disabled voices consistently, not just when it’s trendy or convenient.

  
  

Cultural competency isn’t about being perfect. It’s about a desire to learn, and

human enough to grow.

When we close even a small part of that gap between meaning well and

understanding well, we don’t just make the world more physically accessible.

We make it socially livable. And that’s where real inclusion begins-not as a slogan, but as everyday respect in action.

If you’re ready to go a step further, make your learning intentional-not occasional:

• Read books, essays, and articles by disabled authors. Not just once, not just during awareness months-make it part of your regular reading. Let disabled people tell their own stories in their own words.

• Listen to podcasts hosted by people with lived experience. Pay attention to the nuance, the humor, the frustration, the everyday realities that don’t make it into headlines or trainings.

• Follow disabled creators, advocates, and professionals on social media-and actually engage with what they’re saying.

• Support disabled-led organizations and businesses. Where you spend your money and attention matters.

• Audit your spaces-workplaces, classrooms, social circles. Who’s missing? Who isn’t being

heard? Inclusion isn’t abstract; it shows up in who’s at the table and who isn’t.

• Challenge your own discomfort. If something feels unfamiliar or awkward, that’s not a signal to retreat-it’s an invitation to learn.

And maybe most importantly: don’t wait for a disabled person to enter your life to start caring about this. Cultural competency isn’t reactive. It’s something you build before it’s “personally relevant.”

Because respect shouldn’t depend on proximity. It should be the baseline.

Written By Michelle Friedman

Michelle Friedman is the board chair of Keshet in Chicago, a member of Disability Lead and has been a disability advocate for 40 years. She has written two children’s books and is a frequent speaker for elementary and high school-age students. #AllInForAllAbilities