When students and I talk about why disabled people may or may not choose to undergo formal evaluative testing, we often focus on financial access. But as I process my practically free ADHD assessment I'm most distraught by the linguistic violence in these deficit-based reports.
I expected joy--or at least validation--when I received my long-suspected diagnosis. But this process was dehumanizing, exhausting, and entirely rooted in narratives of normalcy. I shouldn't be surprised by this. The medical model is nothing new. And yet the report shook me.
I am trying to imagine what it would be like to receive this report at 18 or 22 or at any point before I found my disabled community. Today, I was able to call @JillianWeise to witness as I processed this medical narrative. Before, this would feel incredibly isolating.
I don't think I regret taking this step, but it does make me reconsider the ways I talk about diagnosis. And it furthers my commitment to including ample stories about neurodiversity into Disability Studies curriculum.
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My institution is moving to #onlinecourses. In preparation, my students had the following suggestions. Not every strategy is going to work for every class, but here goes. 100 percent of credit goes to my Disability Memoir students (for context, we're a 15 person class):
Zoom is amazing for synchronous engagement. There's a whiteboard function and a share screen for PPTs. This service is great for 1:1 and group meetings as well. (IMO, moving forward any institution using Zoom should prioritize training).
For asynchronous teaching, instructors can create videos and send them to students. When I've taught online for another institution, I've made 5-8 minute mini videos focusing on key concepts and themes. I've shared them via Carmen, which I find to be a fairly intuitive platform.