When to Advocate, When to Let It Go, and Why Your Problem-Solving Is Your Superpower

I don’t think people realise how often someone with a disability ends up repeating the same explanations. Not just once in a while. Constantly. New people, new places, new situations, same questions. Sometimes it’s curiosity, sometimes it’s awkwardness, sometimes it’s people trying to be polite. Either way, you’re the one doing the work.

The tiring part isn’t always the explaining itself. It’s the decision you have to make in the moment. Do I mention it? Do I advocate for what I need? Do I push it? Or do I just let it go because it’s not worth turning this interaction into a full conversation about my body?

That judgement call is the real mental load.

Social situations are where it hits first. Especially when you walk into a room where you only know one person. You’re trying to relax, be present, enjoy yourself, but you already know you might end up doing the same introduction loop five times. Same small talk. Same subtle moment where your disability either comes up, or doesn’t, or sits in the background like a thing nobody knows how to handle.

If your disability is obvious, it can actually make some parts easier. People can see something is different, so they expect it. It becomes part of the room. Sometimes it even becomes a straightforward entry point into conversation, because nobody is surprised by it.

But if it’s not obvious, or only slightly visible, it can be worse. People don’t expect anything. They fill in the gaps with assumptions. And then when something small happens, like you move differently or do something in a different way, it creates that tiny social glitch where everyone is trying not to make it weird, which somehow makes it weirder.

For me, the classic example is the handshake while holding a drink.

It sounds small, but it’s one of those moments that can turn instantly awkward. You’re holding a glass in your right hand. You can’t casually swap it. You can’t place it in the other hand. The other person reaches out, you want to be smooth, they want to be polite, and suddenly you’re both stuck in this split second of uncertainty.

Nobody wants to draw attention to it. But you also don’t want to spill a drink everywhere, or force a strange half handshake, or have it become the main event of the conversation.

What I’ve learned is that the best way to reduce awkwardness is to plan before it happens. Not in a dramatic way. Just in a practical, lived experience way.

When I walk into a room now, I assess it. I’m looking for one thing: surfaces. Tables. Ledges. Anything within arm’s reach where I can put a drink down for a second.

If there’s a table nearby, the solution is simple. Put the drink down. Shake the hand. Pick the drink back up. Continue the conversation like nothing happened. Smooth. Normal. Nobody has to overthink it.

The problem is when there’s nothing in the middle of the room and everyone is hovering with drinks and canapés. Then it becomes a choice. Do I stay near the edges so I can keep a drink near a surface? Or do I skip the drink and just socialise? And if food is being passed around mid conversation, it becomes another layer of difficulty because now the room is designed around two hands, and you’re improvising in real time.

It often feels like two steps forward and one step back. You can make it work, but it takes thought.

One of the easiest fixes, when it’s possible, is going with someone you trust. A friend who knows how you move and what you need without it becoming a big deal. Then everything becomes effortless. Hand them the drink for a second, shake the hand, get the drink back. Done. And then you can choose whether you want to explain anything or just get on with the actual conversation you came there to have.

That leads into the bigger question behind all of this. When do you actually advocate?

Advocacy isn’t just about big moments. It’s also about tiny practical moments where the world expects you to operate in one standard way and you need to do it differently.

Employment is a good example. Here in the UK, job applications often include that disability box. Do you have a disability?

I’m a big believer in ticking it. Not because I want special treatment. Not because I want sympathy. But because I don’t want to hide anything.

Do I know for sure whether ticking that box affects opportunities? No. It shouldn’t, but we all know bias exists. And I know plenty of people who never tick it because they don’t want the risk. I get it.

For me, the reason I still tick it comes down to something I don’t think gets talked about enough. Disability forces problem solving.

If you’ve lived with it for a long time, especially from birth, you’ve had to adapt to things other people never even notice. Everyday tasks. Social situations. Travel. Work. You’re constantly solving problems in the background. You learn to see situations differently because you have to. You learn to find workarounds because you don’t have the option of pretending the barrier isn’t there.

That creates a mindset that is genuinely valuable in work.

The world runs on problems and solutions. If you can find solutions that other people haven’t considered, you bring value. Not theoretical value. Actual value.

The issue is that people often only see the downsides of disability. They focus on what you can’t do, what might be harder, what adjustments might be needed. They don’t automatically see the upside. They don’t always understand that a different lived experience can create a different way of thinking.

I’m not saying we should pretend the downsides don’t exist. The downsides are real. Everyone knows that. But there’s a point where the upside can outweigh the downside in the right role, with the right strengths, in the right environment. And when you find that area, you can shine.

I’ve had to learn this in my own thinking too. I sometimes used to jump from A to C. I’d feel like I had the answer, but really I only had part of it. One way I’ve tried to fix that is by imagining a problem like a globe. Most people look at the problem from one angle. Disability often forces you to look from multiple angles. So now I try to deliberately shift perspective. Approach it from one angle, then another, then another. If different angles produce different ideas, combine the best parts and cut the fluff. That hybrid solution mindset is something I think a lot of people with disabilities develop naturally.

So what’s the solution to the constant explaining? Honestly, I don’t think there’s one perfect answer. And I’m fine saying that. Not having a tidy solution doesn’t mean the conversation isn’t useful.

The closest thing I have to a rule is this.

If telling people about your disability makes your life easier, tell them. If it doesn’t make your life easier, especially in the long run, you don’t need to go deep into it.

You don’t owe everyone the full story. You don’t need to turn every moment into a lesson. Sometimes it’s enough to simply exist, do what you need to do, and move on.

But when it matters, when it helps, when it removes barriers, when it saves you effort later, it’s worth saying it clearly. And if you can also communicate the strengths that come with how you think and how you solve problems, that’s where confidence builds.

Because once you can name your strengths, you can apply them everywhere. Work. Sports. Social life. Joining clubs. Trying new things. Building opportunities. Confidence comes from knowing what you bring to the table, not just what you find difficult.

There will always be barriers. That’s the reality. But you shouldn’t let them define your limits. You only live once, and you deserve a life that feels open, not constantly reduced to explanations.

 

Christian
Co-Founder, lunor.life