Whenever I see people insist that a disabled person just needs to be “cured,” I feel a pang of frustration. It happened again recently on social media when someone commented on a mother’s Instagram post that independence “begins with getting him cured.” Amanda Griffith‑Atkins responded with a question: “And how does one cure a genetic condition?” That exchange stuck with me because it felt so familiar.
I have cerebral palsy, which is a lifelong disability. There’s no cure, no miracle therapy, and no breakthrough that will reverse the brain damage I was born with. I will always need some level of care and support. I’ve understood this since I was a child, long before I could properly explain it.
As I grew up, I quickly realized what people meant when they talked about “fixing” me. Sometimes it was said kindly, with a hopeful look. Other times, it came out as frustration – a belief that if I just tried harder, pushed myself more, or wanted it badly enough, I could somehow become someone else.
But I also understood something else: this obsession with a “cure” isn’t really about me. It’s about other people’s discomfort with disability. It’s about their fear of dependence, their focus on productivity, and the idea that your worth is determined by how well you fit into the non-disabled world.
That mindset isn’t just personal, it’s cultural and economic. On the original post, in the comments, someone said the quiet part out loud: “IN THIS ECONOMY, BEING UNABLE TO CARE FOR YOURSELF IS A BIG NO‑NO.” That sentence reveals a reason for the mindset behind cure culture.
Many people seem to feel like curing someone’s disability not necessarily about healing, it’s about productivity. Capitalism turns independence into a moral requirement, and needing help becomes a sign of weakness. In a world where survival is associated with productivity, disability gets framed as something to “fix” so the person can make themselves useful. But disability isn’t the problem. The problem is a world that refuses to see interdependence as a normal part of being human.
If people can’t work, they are often looked down on. Too often, people think that if you receive benefits, you must be scamming the system. If you tried harder you could work.
It was this mindset that was a factor in my development of depression by the time I was 20. I’ve often felt like a burden on everyone and everything around me because of this mindset as well.
Unintentionally, during my school years, adults contributed to this as well. They would often push me to make friends. They usually assumed that anyone I interacted with was my friend.
It took a really long time for me to become comfortable with my cerebral palsy. As a child, I wanted to fit in and longed to be “normal.” Somehow I thought that the only way I’d fit in was if I didn’t have cerebral palsy. Once I was in high school, it became even more difficult, and I started to become more introverted.
“The cure mindset” has always been defined by this belief that disability can be remedied. Life isn’t worth living if you are disabled.I’ve lived my whole life navigating a world that wasn’t designed for disabled people.
I’ve learned that being disabled requires patience and ingenuity. It’s never easy, but I try my best. So when someone insists that the solution is to “cure” me, I want to ask: what exactly do you want to cure? My disability, or your discomfort with it? The fact that I need help with daily tasks or your belief that needing help is shameful?
I do wish things were easier for disabled people, but for many of us, our disabilities are lifelong. That’s just reality. Cures probably aren’t realistic, but societal barriers like inaccessibility and ableism can be addressed.