The "Good Kind" of Disability. (Apparently I Missed the Memo)

There are moments in life when someone says something so baffling, so cosmically unhinged, that your brain just...blue-screens.

My Deaf friend had one of those moments recently. She apologized to an aquaintance for replying late to a message because ADHD, life, chaos, the usual.

This aquaintance responded:

"Oh I have ADHD too, but the good kind"

The good kind. THE. GOOD. KIND.

Of course she and I laughed and immediately spiraled into sarcasm:

• "I guess we got the bottom of the barrel after the good stuff ran out"
• "We missed that announcement."
• "Oh, that was today?"

But the ableist delusion stuck with me.

The Myth of the "Good Kind"

People love to categorize disabilities like they're picking out scented candles.

There's:

• The quirky kind: "You're so fun and spontaneous!"
• The productive kind: "Your ADHD must make you super creative!"
• The inspirational kind: "Wow, you're so brave for existing in public!"
• The savant kind: "You must be a genius at someting, right?"

People don't want disability. They want aesthetic disability. The kind that looks good in a Netflix series.

What the "Good Kind" Actually Means

Let's translate it from Able-Speak:

• "Your disability doesn't inconvenience me."
• "Your disability entertains me."
• "Your disability fits the stereotype I like."
• "Your disability doesn't require me to change anything."

It's not a compliement. It's a performance review.

The "Special Edition" Myth

People have a habit – more like a hobby really – of assigning me a version of my disabilities that feels good to them.

Not accurate. Not real. Just...convenient.

As a DeafBlind person, I cannot tell you how many times people have decided I must have the "special" kind of disability.

The "interesting" kind. The "inspiring" kind. The kind that makes them feel enlightened for knowing me.

Not because I've ever said anything to suggest that. Not because my life resembles whatever movie they're referencing in their head. But simply because they want my disabilities to be the kind that fits their narrative.

It's the "good kind," apparently.

The kind that doesn't require them to understand anything about accessibility.

The kind that doesn't challenge their assumptions.

The kind that lets them pat themselves on the back for being "open-minded" without doing any actual work.

Spoiler:

My disabilities aren't here to make anyone feel comfortable, inspired, or morally superior. It's just my life – not a genre.

The Harm in the "Good Kind" Narrative

It sounds harmless. It's not.

When people decide which disabilities are "good," they also decide which ones are:

• too messy
• too inconvenient
• too real
• too human

It pressures disabled people to perform the "cute" version of their disability. It erases the hard parts.

It divides us into "acceptable" and "please don't sit next to me on the bus."

It's not kindness. It's categorization.

The Reality

There is no "good kind" of disability.

There are only:

• the kind you live with
• the kind people misunderstand
• the kind people romanticize
• the kind people fear
• the kind people pretend is quirky so they don't have to confront the truth.

Disability is not a personality flavor.

It is not a vibe.

It's not a superpower.

It's not a tragedy.

It's not a punchline.

It's a lived experience – complex, inconsistent, and deeply human.

The Only "Good Kind"

The only "good kind" of disability is the kind people stop trying to categorize.

The kind where we get to exist without being sorted into "inspiring," "quirky," or "tragic."

The kind where we don't have to perform for everyone's comfort.

The kind where we're allowed to be whole people, not tropes.

A Friendly Reality Check

At the end of the day, the whole “good kind of disability” fantasy is just ableism wearing a cheap Halloween costume. People don’t want to confront access, bias, or the fact that disabled people exist outside their Pinterest‑friendly stereotypes — so they invent categories that make them feel better.

It’s not insight.

It’s not empathy.

It’s emotional bubble wrap for nondisabled comfort.

And honestly? I’m exhausted watching people twist themselves into origami swans to avoid admitting they don’t understand disability and don’t want to try. The “good kind” narrative isn’t harmless — it’s a convenient little sorting system that lets people pretend they’re enlightened while doing absolutely nothing.

Here's the Part You Should Actually Pay Attention To

So here’s the deal:

If you’ve ever caught yourself thinking someone has the “good kind” of disability, congratulations you’ve identified a moment where you can do better. Start there.

And if you’re disabled?

Stop auditioning for the role of “palatable disabled person #3.”

Stop shrinking yourself to fit someone else’s comfort.

Stop letting people grade your existence like it’s a Yelp review.

You’re not here to be inspirational décor.

You’re not here to be quirky background flavor.

You’re not here to be the “good kind.”

You’re here.

You’re real.

And that’s enough.