Why I’m actively choosing joy to reject ableist views on being short-statured

A few weeks ago I was sitting at Christchurch Airport with my feet propped up on my suitcase as a footstool. While waiting for an update on my flight back home – which had already been delayed twice – my Instagram scrolling came to a sudden halt.

It was a link to a scientific article shared by a short-statured friend from the US. Frustrated by how people with dwarfism are often described in negative, medicalised terms, my friend’s caption read: ‘For all the conversations about improving lives, informed consent and outcomes, this has always been the end goal. Eradication.’ ‘What a powerful word’, I thought to myself, ‘surely this article can’t be referring to my dwarfism?’. But it was.

If we look up eradication in the dictionary we can see the noun means: ‘the process of getting rid of something completely or of destroying something bad.’ You might talk about eradicating weeds from your beautiful garden, or a charity whose goal is to eradicate poverty. You don’t talk about wanting to eradicate an entire community. After reading the offensive article, I felt angry and upset. I just wanted to go home.

As disabled people, we’re used to non-disabled people being obsessed with finding a ‘cure’ or seeing us as burdens to society. These were the same people who authored this article. The scientist wanting to ‘eradicate’ my people clearly hadn’t consulted with the short-statured community. People from outside our communities often struggle to imagine how we could be happy and actually like being disabled. Reading an article that was so personal and unexpected really threw me.

When I was younger, I always wondered what my life would be like if I didn’t have Achondroplasia (my type of dwarfism and the most common). Would I have more people having crushes on me like they did on my average height friends? Would I be able to walk through a shopping mall without stares or people pointing at me? As I grew older, I slowly stopped wondering and started accepting that my difference was cool and enabled me some great opportunities. But don’t worry, I won’t get too mushy, I know it’s not all roses.

After reading the article at the airport, my options were to:

A) re-share this horrid article and let all my followers – disabled and non-disabled – know my (completely valid) anger

B) cry at the airport and let this silly scientist ruin my day

C) choose to take note of the article and then put it aside, reminding myself of all the lovely people in my life and the positive connections I have coming up that challenge the idea of my dwarfism being a burden.

The option I took was C, even though I know any of these options would be okay. I already cry at least three times a week, so option B of crying at the airport was a close second. Option A was tempting, but I thought of the other friends I have with dwarfism that might read it. The world is going through some terribly tough times at the moment and I pictured a younger version of myself – that may have had a rubbish day – reading it. I would hate to spread that negativity around. Sometimes, what you don’t know can’t harm you.

Now, back to the airport. While reading the article, my phone was pinging with messages from my good friend (also short-statured) asking me for advice on organising the New Zealand team for the 2027 World Dwarf Games. I’ve attended the last few games and have made such amazing memories with new friends from all around the world. Next year the games will be held in Australia so we are hoping to send a big team of short-statured athletes from Aotearoa to make more memories and win more medals!

Then the next weekend, I attended Illuminate Market. The event, run by Recreate, showcases organisations and disability-led businesses. The event was a celebration of disability communities and it was great seeing some new and familiar faces.

That same weekend I also attended a Karanga Maha wānanga through CCS. This particular wānanga was for tangata whaikaha and their whānau to learn from Turi Māori. I brought our 9-year-old along and we had a lot of fun together learning New Zealand Sign Language for some of my favourite waiata.

I also made an effort to spend quality time with the kids and my partner, and I caught up with my sister to walk our dogs. My sister (who is also short-statured) and I spoke about how often non-disabled people have the audacity to act as saviours – like this scientist – as we walked our cheeky dogs. How ironic and what a relief that I had all this comfort and disabled pride during this time. It made me realise how fortunate I was.

Reading that article felt hurtful. But after my busy and fulfilling weekend, it didn’t take up any more space in my brain. Am I still sad thinking about the words used in that article? Yes. Am I feeling happy that I exist in lots of spaces which are disability-led and joyful? Also yes. I can feel both these things and exist in worlds that are both ableist towards people with dwarfism and worlds that find comfort in being different and finding your community. Disabled spaces that reject ableist views of disability are so vital in our society. In a world that constantly assumes things about us, speaks on behalf of us or completely ignores us, it is so important to have events, organisations and leaders that celebrate our disabled identity.

I know another article will pop up like this at some point. I know a viral podcast will mention similar topics one day. And I’ll see another offensive TikTok discussing people like me. All I can do at that moment is focus my energy on what really matters: my community and the joy I have in my life.

It’s valid to feel sad, mad and confused when you encounter ableism. I feel these a lot as there are some horrid people and outdated, harmful views out there. But I refuse to let things like that get in my way of choosing to be happy and choosing to embrace opportunities that come my way because of my dwarfism.