The Silence of Rebellion: Lessons on Living with a Disability
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Like many Americans, I woke up on Election Eve with a knot in my neck. It was nestled on my left side, in the area known as the levator scapulae—the large muscle in the upper back and neck that helps elevate the shoulder blades.
As I sat at the kitchen table, massaging the pain in my neck, my phone buzzed with texts—first from Kamala Harris, then Donald Trump, followed by Sam from Reproductive Freedom for All and Nancy from Building America. I opened the Audacy app to listen to a local sports talk channel, hoping to catch insights about yesterday’s Philadelphia Eagles win. Instead, I was greeted by a political ad criticizing another candidate. I rubbed my neck in frustration. I took a sip of my coffee, glancing at the cardboard flyers scattered across the table—stuffed in our mailbox, screaming for attention but destined to be ignored and tossed in the trash.
Poet Charles Bukowski once wrote, “The whole world is at the throat of the world.” That’s exactly how it feels in America right now. It’s hard to escape the nauseating political fumes choking our purple mountain majesties. Everyone seems to be shouting, saying everything and nothing all at once. Everyone’s right, everyone’s wrong. It’s a chaotic symphony of opinions. And no one is listening.
Regardless of your political allegiance, Democrats grip your right hand while Republicans grasp your left, pulling you into a relentless game of tug-of-war that tightens around your limbs, mind, and soul. You’re left feeling exhausted and confused, an over-stretched knot of fine American anxiety. No wonder your neck hurts.
America is noisy right now. There’s the political noise, the noise of opinions and anger and all-caps tweets. There’s the noise of expectations, the pressure to always be louder, to always be more, to always be something—and it’s exhausting.
For me, and for so many others who live with a disability, the outside world has this uncanny ability to talk over you, or worse, around you. There’s a lot of opinions, a lot of chatter about what you should be doing, how you should be feeling, and how your life “could be better” if you just did things a little differently.
And sometimes, in the middle of all of that noise, the only thing that makes sense is quietude.
You’d think, living in a world that’s so loud, silence would feel like weakness. But it doesn’t. Silence can be a refuge. It’s like stepping into a room where the lights are dim, the air is still, and for once, no one’s demanding anything from you.
When you have a disability, the world doesn’t always offer that quiet space—it’s more like being trapped in a loud labyrinth of assumptions and expectations–with every turn leading to another dead end. And you’re expected to navigate it all, no map, no instructions, and no way out. Every hallway is crowded with voices telling you where you should go, what you should do, how you should be. Often you don’t even get the chance to choose your own way.
But in silence, I can take a step back and breathe. In silence, I can hear my own thoughts without them being drowned out by someone else’s opinion of what I should be. And that’s when clarity arrives.
Staying quiet doesn’t mean I’m giving up or becoming invisible. It’s actually the opposite. It means choosing, in a world that’s constantly telling you to be louder, to be more visible, to simply be–without the need for external validation.
I’ve learned, silence is an act of rebellion.
It’s a way of saying, “I’m here, and I don’t need to shout to prove it.” Like voting. When the world gets too loud– like right now–when it’s impossible to hear your own thoughts above the noise, silence is the space where I get to reclaim myself– roll my shoulders, loosen my neck, and let my voice ring from sea to shining sea.
Be well,
Jay
Are you writer? Are you looking for writing advice or writing tactics that you can help guide you on your writing journey?
One, Line, One Love: Episode 42: A Creative Conversation Between Two Everyday Writers
In this episode of One Line, One Love, Gail and Jay explore the power of the human voice and why blogging is a low-risk way to share your unique story. They discuss how blogging helps writers discover their authentic voice and embrace vulnerability. Gail and Jay also reflect on their own blogging journeys, sharing valuable lessons they’ve learned along the way. Whether you’re an everyday writer currently blogging or someone considering starting, this episode is a must-listen!
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Warm greetings to everyone who found me on the University of Pennsylvania’s Ataxia Clinic’s website! Thanks for stopping by. I have ataxia and though I’m not a doctor, I hope my words comfort, encourage, empower, and serve as good company on your journey.
Jay Armstrong is a speaker and an award-winning author. Despite being diagnosed with a rare neurological disease, that impairs his movement, balance, eyesight, and speech–Jay presses on. The leader of the Philadelphia Ataxia Support Group, he hopes to help you find joy, peace, and meaning in life.
