We Don’t Need to Be Inspiring to Deserve to Be Human

A soft, warm-toned photo of a woman seen from the side, sitting outdoors and writing in a notebook with mountains in the background. Over the image is large white text that reads, “We Don’t Need to Be Inspiring to Deserve to Be Human,” with the word “Inspiring” circled and underlined in yellow. At the top is the name “Signable Vi5ion Inc.” and the handle @signablevision. At the bottom left is Leah Riddell’s name, and at the bottom right is the SignAble Vi5ion logo.

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People often tell me I’m “so inspiring.”

They usually mean it kindly. I know that.
But over time, I’ve learned that this word carries a quiet weight, one that doesn’t always feel human.

When someone calls a Deaf person inspiring, what they are often responding to is not who we are, but what we’ve survived. They are reacting to the barriers we’ve had to navigate, the extra labour we’ve had to carry, the systems that weren’t built for us. And instead of questioning those systems, the focus shifts to our ability to endure them.

That’s where something subtle happens.

The story becomes about resilience, not responsibility.

Inspiration can feel good in the moment. It’s warm. It’s emotional. It lets people admire someone without having to change anything. But admiration without action quietly keeps the same barriers in place. It allows workplaces, schools, and organizations to say, “Look how well they’re doing,” instead of asking, “Why did they have to struggle in the first place?”

Humanity doesn’t require heroism.

I don’t want to be seen as exceptional just for showing up, working, parenting, leading, or creating. Those are ordinary human things. When Deaf people, or disabled people, are framed as inspiring for simply living our lives, it sends an unintended message: that our lives are unexpected, that our participation is a bonus, that our presence is remarkable rather than normal.

But we are not here to be admired.
We are here to belong.

Real inclusion doesn’t sound like applause. It sounds like planning. It looks like accessible meetings, sign language built into communication, clear information shared in ways everyone can access. It shows up in policies, budgets, leadership decisions, and everyday practices.

That is what dignity looks like.

At SignAble Vi5ion, we don’t train organizations to feel inspired by Deaf people. We train them to work with us as equals, to build communication systems that don’t require anyone to be brave just to participate.

Because humanity is not something you earn by overcoming barriers.

It is something you deserve by existing.

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