Hi, I’m Lily. I’m 19 and just starting to figure out what adulthood looks like for me. Finishing high school a year ago felt like a milestone, but stepping into “womanhood” has been a mixed bag. I had this vision: by now, I’d have my own place, a dream job in the business world, and great relationships. Reality’s been a bit different. I haven’t yet found work, and wheelchair-accessible housing comes with a price tag I can’t begin to afford. I’ve made progress, though—navigating housing applications and getting on waitlists. But do you know what the wait is for an accessible apartment in this city? At least five years.
I did think about trying to go on ODSP (which stands for Ontario Disability Support Program) so that I could move out of my parents’ place sooner, but I don’t really want to because I can work. I was born with CP—sorry, cerebral palsy. Sometimes my movement is slow and shaky, and my body doesn’t end up quite where I imagined it. So my writing is messy, my right side isn’t quite as strong as my left, and I get tired quickly—which is why I use a wheelchair. But all of my teachers would tell you that I’m a fantastic writer with great communication skills. I also have a wicked ability to make connections with people. I know how it feels not to have your needs met, and this makes it easy for me to relate to people and know how to help them. This ability to relate makes me good at volunteering with a literacy group at the recreation complex, but unfortunately has not been sufficient to get me a full-time job. I’ve had no trouble getting interviews, but I feel like the hiring managers can’t look past my wheelchair.
I wish people understood that having a job isn’t just about earning money—it is about having a stable life with a stable job that allows me to take care of my own well-being. I also hear conflicting opinions from society: some people think I am lazy and should “work harder,” and others assume I get all sorts of advantages because of my disability. Sometimes I want to ask the people who are judging: “Would you rather I focus on what I can’t do or what I can do?”
Which is actually why I am here at the corner, waiting for the bus. I’ve started going to a new office administration skills program at the employment centre, which teaches me employable skills and helps me look for jobs. I am really hoping they can help me find something paid…if I get there on time—thanks, transit. It’s hard enough navigating all of the bus schedules across town, now they have to be late on top of everything else? It would be so much easier if I could work at the manufacturing plant down the street—I’d be awesome in admin once I get the training they offer at the employment centre! Maybe once I can get experience in the workforce, I’ll come across as more desirable to employers.
After graduating, I submitted resume after resume, and they always said “no” or “we’ll call you back later”—and then they didn’t call. I finally decided that if I wasn’t having any luck with employment offers or second rounds of interviews, my time would be better spent building my experience—paid or not. That’s why I’ve been volunteering with the literacy group. A lot of people my age drag their heels when it comes to volunteering, but for me, it’s more than just something to pass the time or put on a resume. It’s been a path to discovering what I’m passionate about and what I’m good at. I mean, hey, I’ve learned that I play a killer game of wheelchair basketball and am great with people. I just need to figure out how to turn those things into, you know, paid permanent employment. I’ve volunteered at various activities with the literacy group, including Family Literacy Night, which was a fantastic experience. I tell people, “It’s volunteering experience, which looks good on the resume.” It’s amazing how excited I get when people ask me about these roles—I get almost giddy telling everyone all the things I’ve learned while volunteering.
Enthusiasm and passion carry you only so far, though. Despite my effectiveness and dedication, I’ve noticed a troubling trend: myself and other volunteers with disabilities are not offered as many paid positions or opportunities to advance as those without disabilities are. It is like we are being cast as “problem workers” or people that need “special treatment.” It’s really disheartening to see others succeeding in the world, because it reinforces that the world wasn’t built for you. When I’m searching for a job, on top of feeling dejected and undervalued, it’s physically tiring to navigate. Every day I use several mobility and learning aids to remove barriers for me. My wheelchair is like an extension of myself—it’s essential for getting around, especially since my coordination and balance can be unpredictable. I also use adaptive devices like specially designed utensils and writing tools to help with tasks that require fine motor skills. These tools are invaluable, but they also make me stand out, and not always in a good way.
The Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act, better known as the AODA, should be my not-so-secret weapon. It entitles me to a bunch of reasonable accommodations like frequent rest periods, adaptive devices, and flexible scheduling. But even though it’s the law, some employers treat these accommodations as an inconvenience—like they’re optional. I choose to believe that it’s because they’re afraid. Afraid of hiring someone who’s different. Afraid of doing the paperwork for accommodations. Afraid of innovation and a little bit of change. If anyone gets to be afraid, it should be me. Their fear creates another challenge for me in finding a job—their fear makes me afraid for my future. I shouldn’t have to fight this hard when the supports I need are simple and are the same types of flexible policies and supports that many non-disabled workers ask for. How is my flexible scheduling any different from a condensed work week?
So, despite my communication skills, interviews are a constant source of stress—I know I should have the experience to perform well in an interview and present my best self, but certain questions can throw me off. Days before the interview happens, thoughts run through my head: “Will the employer ask me about my physical restrictions or my mental health restrictions? Will that mean they’ll give me fewer hours? Or will it mean they won’t give me a job at all?” Having a disability brings its own concerns entering a job contract, but my gender and age make it more complicated. It’s hard to get out of bed some days when, on top of my physical challenges, I’m constantly having to justify my disability accommodations to people. The uncertainty is the worst of all—I’m never sure if employers are going to be accepting, or if they’re going to say, “we can’t accommodate you.” Not “we’re not willing,” not “we don’t know how,” simply “we can’t.”
In all honesty, I’m finding it hard to stay positive; I can’t deny that my journey with cerebral palsy and the relentless pursuit of employment has taken a toll on my mental health. And I try to be excited when an interview rolls around—I really do—but it’s inevitably accompanied by stress that makes it difficult to focus on anything else. My parents and friends are supportive in all the right ways, but they will never truly understand what it’s like to live a day in my shoes. The stigma I know I’ll face in that interview room is the worst part of it all. Despite how charming I may appear to everyone on the outside, I’m a ball of anxiety and depression on the inside. It’s been a hard pill to swallow, but I realized I needed to acknowledge my mental health struggles and reach out for support. It was also important to me that I wasn’t just getting generic support for my anxiety and depression, but was connecting with a professional who specializes in disability rights. It has made all the difference in the world.
The employment centre understands deeply that a lot of people facing unemployment also struggle with disability and with mental health issues. On my visits there, I have participated in workshops on mental health and explored resources available in the community. When they recognize someone who might need more personalized support, they offer 1-on-1 counselling. During my first visit with the employment counsellor, she told me, “We do connect our clients with mental health supports and we can support you by subsidizing maybe a couple of counselling sessions. Five or six counselling sessions? So you can work through how you’re feeling in the present.” This means that when I’m struggling with my anxiety and depression, I don’t have to go on yet another wild goose chase to find support—instead I can speak to a counsellor right there.
At the centre, I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging, like people aren’t looking at my wheelchair or aides as a detriment. The staff understand the specific struggles faced by women like me and provide tailored support to overcome them. The other day, one of the counsellors said to me, “I can tell you’re struggling with lack of confidence and are not sure how to speak positively about your skills. Lots of other clients here also need coaching on these same things…especially if they haven’t had work experience in the past.” I felt so seen when she said this because, even though all my teachers gushed about my strong language and thinking skills in my report cards, articulating my abilities in a way that can impress potential employers has never been my strong suit. Her coaching has helped me become more confident in talking about what I can do, as opposed to what I can’t do. We also do plenty of mock interview exercises to help me practice presenting myself in the best light possible. There’s also an option which I’ve been thinking about taking advantage of where they have a staff member attend the interview with the client for support. It might be helpful to have someone else there if I’m thrown a curveball question about my disability status and accommodations.
The centre has also helped me with concrete details that I hadn’t paid much attention to, such as a strong resume and cover letter. I’d always thought of the interview as the be-all and end-all, but it’s really the documents you submit in the first place that catch the employer’s eye and get you to the interview.
I explained to my mentor at the centre that I’d been late to a couple of interviews because of the unreliable public transit system. Then, something revolutionary happened: she told me they could offer practical assistance in the form of transportation, ensuring I could get to and from interviews without the added stress. Booyah! No more unaccommodating, unreliable bus trips killing my interview spirit!
My volunteering and the employment centre both inspire me to keep going with my applications and countless interviews. I won’t lose hope. I might not always have all the right qualifications, but now I’m confident that I can talk about the skills that I do have and the accommodations I need. I am further ahead because I know the steps to move forward—now I just need to take those steps.
The bus is finally here. I’ve done this plenty of times before—the driver presses a button that lowers a ramp from the bus door to the sidewalk. I roll onto the bus and navigate to the priority seating section where the driver collapses the seats to make room for my chair. As the bus moves forward, I hold onto my dream of working toward financial independence. I know I’m not the only one who needs strength and perseverance to overcome the barriers faced by individuals with disabilities in the workforce. It will take time, but one day, I will achieve my goal and live the independent life I’ve always dreamed of.
