Breaking the Stigma: Invisible Disabilities and the Need for Compassion

As a 100% disabled veteran, I’ve faced my share of challenges—some visible, most not. Recently, I’ve been using a temporary disabled parking pass because of a torn Achilles tendon, which has made walking, especially on ice, a risky endeavor. For those who know me, my military-related disabilities aren’t a secret, but they’re also not obvious to the casual observer.

The other day, I parked in a disabled spot for safety reasons, given the icy conditions. As I stepped out, a woman, likely in her 30s or 40s, decided it was her duty to “call me out.” She attempted to shame me for parking there, insisting I wasn’t “really” disabled and was taking the space from someone who needed it more.

In that moment, I had a choice. I could have responded, unleashed my frustration, or educated her about invisible disabilities and my circumstances. Those who know me understand that I’m quick with words and not afraid to use them. But instead of engaging, I chose to walk away.

Still, her words lingered.

This experience isn’t just about me. It’s about the millions of people living with invisible disabilities—conditions that don’t announce themselves with visible aids like wheelchairs or crutches but are just as real and debilitating. From chronic pain and PTSD to neurological conditions and beyond, these challenges often go unnoticed, leading to misunderstandings and, unfortunately, judgment.

What’s troubling is that our society seems to have reached a point where some feel entitled to police others’ lives without knowing the full story. This behavior doesn’t just harm individuals; it perpetuates a culture of distrust and exclusion for those whose disabilities aren’t immediately apparent.

So, let me say this: Disabled parking spaces exist for a reason, and so do the passes that grant access to them. They are for anyone who qualifies, whether their disability is obvious or not. Instead of jumping to conclusions, we must lead with empathy. A kind word or even silence can make all the difference to someone who’s already navigating a tough road.

To my fellow invisible warriors—veterans, civilians, and everyone in between—I see you. Your struggles are valid, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation for taking care of yourself.

Let’s work toward a world where compassion replaces judgment, where assumptions give way to understanding, and where everyone—visible or not—feels seen and supported.