Just before I started reading I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself by Adelle Purdham, I finished Bad Artist: Creating in a Productivity-Obsessed World, an anthology in which Purdham has a piece — a shorter version containing much of the themes she expands on in I Don’t Do Disability. This turned out to be an unplanned and ultimately very useful reading order. I was already introduced to Purdham’s reflections on being a writer, a mother, and having a child with Down’s Syndrome.
This memoir walks a very fine line, one Purdham acknowledges, as well as stands firm on: this is her memoir as a writer and mother, and her experiences mothering through a pandemic, mothering three young girls, and yes, mothering a daughter with Down’s Syndrome. But this is not a memoir in which Purdham tells her daughter’s story. It’s a story about her own life, and her daughter is a part of it. It’s a small but very important distinction: Purdham is not telling her daughter’s story, or trying to stand in as someone who could. She is telling her story as a mother and writer, and someone who has been profoundly changed by disability in her life, and how she has had to repeatedly challenge her ableism.
I admire Purdham’s willingness to give voice to the ugly thoughts a lot of us have had about disability or other perceived differences — because we do have them. As a disabled woman myself, who is definitely still on a journey to unpack my internalized ableism, reading Purdham’s memoir was helpful in poking at the parts of myself that I know still carry harmful and hurtful thought patterns. Purdham does not shy away from showing how she has had to learn and grow. And if that makes us think poorly of her — well, too bad.
The excavation of her past and her failures, as well as her high points, do an incredible job of creating a compelling and fascinating memoir.
Purdham experiments with different styles of narration throughout the book, shifting from the lyrical and meta to more traditional storytelling, and fact-sharing. While I think the true power in this memoir comes from the emotion and the journey that Purdham shares as a mother and often well-intentioned advocate — but one who is conscious of how she’s evolved over time — the writing in this is very smooth and beautiful. The excavation of her past and her failures, as well as her high points, do an incredible job of creating a compelling and fascinating memoir.
As Purdham notes in I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself, being able-bodied is a temporary state. We don’t know how or when we may become disabled, or what form our disability will take. Learning to see the world through a more compassionate and accessibility-focused lens is something we should do earlier, and this is a vulnerable story of caregiving, advocacy, and disability, at a level that we may be uncomfortable recognizing in ourselves, but one that is needed to be heard.
Read an excerpt of I Don’t Do Disability And Other Lies I’ve Told Myself here.
Adelle Purdham is a writer, educator, and parent disability advocate. She holds an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from the University of King’s College and teaches creative writing at Trent University. Adelle lives with her family in her hometown of Nogojiwanong (Peterborough), Ontario.
Publisher: Dundurn Press (November 5, 2024)
Paperback 8″ x 6″ | 240 pages
ISBN: 9781459754539
Alison Manley has ricocheted between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia for most of her life. Now in Halifax, Nova Scotia, she is the Cataloguing and Metadata Librarian at Saint Mary's University. Her past life includes a long stint as a hospital librarian on the banks of the mighty Miramichi River. She has an honours BA in political science and English from St. Francis Xavier University, and a Master of Library and Information Studies from Dalhousie University. While she's adamant that her love of reading has nothing to do with her work, her ability to consume large amounts of information very quickly sure is helpful. She is often identified by her very red lipstick, and lives with her partner Brett and cat, Toasted Marshmallow.
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
- Alison Manleyhttps://miramichireader.ca/author/alison-manley/
