I live with disabilities. Among them, my bipolar II disorder stands out as the most challenging, often exacerbating my other conditions. These disabilities are largely invisible, and while I rely on a variety of medications to help manage them, their effectiveness has its limits. Anxiety frequently overwhelms me, and even simple daily tasks can feel insurmountable. Working a standard eight-hour day outside my home isn’t an option for me. In today’s late-stage capitalist society, if you can’t manage a full workday, you risk being seen as valueless, merely a burden.
Our culture emphasizes the need to contribute economically. A recent NBC poll revealed that 84% of Americans believe unemployment is shameful. Although I maintain a full-time writing career, the fact that I work from home and often at unconventional hours (sometimes as late as 2 a.m.) leads others to view my work as just a pastime rather than a legitimate profession.
The Pain of Feeling Valueless
Living with a disability is challenging enough. Many of us with mental health issues have learned to accept our limitations, but that acceptance can be painful. I recognize that there are things I will never be able to do, which can be disheartening. High-pressure situations and traditional work environments overwhelm me, as I grapple with the fear of not meeting expectations—both my own and those imposed by society.
Fortunately, writing allows me to work from home on my own schedule. I am dedicated to my role as a parent, homeschooling my children. Yet, this work is often dismissed as insignificant. A recent article in The Times highlighted the undervaluation of writers, which resonates deeply with my experience. When I interact with other parents, they often treat my writing as a cute hobby. Even my former professors, who once envisioned me achieving greatness, perceive me as a brilliant yet misguided individual, echoing the sentiment that my mental health struggles have derailed my potential.
But I refuse to see myself as a failure. My life holds meaning and value, and while I may have had to adjust my aspirations, that doesn’t equate to a complete loss of purpose.
The Burden of Societal Expectations
In a world that equates worth with productivity, those of us unable to work full-time are often labeled as weak. This perception affects how we are treated, including the benefits we receive. For instance, I may receive significantly less social security than someone who has worked a conventional job for decades. Some argue this is fair because they’ve “worked harder,” implying that my contributions are lesser.
Yes, I am compensated for my writing, but I also devote countless hours to homeschooling and managing our household—work that goes unpaid and is often overlooked. Just because I can’t engage in traditional employment doesn’t mean I lack responsibilities. I might not fit the mold of a corporate employee, but I successfully teach my children, maintain our home, and volunteer.
Society often suggests that I’m merely a stay-at-home mom or that I “only” write. When you don’t conform to the norm of earning a paycheck, you’re deemed worthless. Even fellow mothers who understand my disabilities sometimes judge me. They know there have been times when my husband had to step in to care for our kids, and this leads to perceptions of me as lazy or inadequate.
Claiming My Intrinsic Worth
When society insists you don’t matter, it’s all too easy to internalize that message. It’s easy to think my family would be better off without me. In a world that values productivity, I often feel pressured to justify my existence as a disabled person, trying to prove that I still contribute meaningfully, even if it’s not in a conventional way.
Here’s the truth: I don’t need to prove my value through productivity. My worth is inherent, simply because I exist. I deserve respect, dignity, and care, regardless of my ability to meet societal standards. Should we really measure a person’s value solely based on income, placing billionaires at the top of the hierarchy?
If we accept that value is defined by productivity, then we must also accept that the elderly and infants—who cannot work—hold no worth. Should we not care for them? Clearly not. We must acknowledge that all lives have meaning, regardless of their ability to contribute financially. Despite my bipolar disorder preventing me from traditional work, my life is rich with significance. I deserve love, respect, and a fulfilling life.
While it’s challenging to hold onto this belief when the world around me screams otherwise, I remind myself that my need to rest or take a break doesn’t diminish my worth. I may struggle, but my existence matters. The contributions I make to my family and community have value, regardless of how society categorizes them.