Disgust
Disgust is the emotion quietly weaponised against mothers—especially disabled mothers—who advocate too clearly, too often, or without the expected softness. It is the recoil beneath the smile, the clipped tone in the meeting, the refusal to respond to emails written in full sentences and moral clarity. In schools, disgust often replaces dialogue when a woman refuses to perform helplessness. When she insists that her child’s disability will not vanish. When she says, again and again, that temporary success is not recovery, and that support must be sustained. This tag gathers writing on the institutional and gendered politics of disgust—how it is aimed at those who speak too fluently, grieve too visibly, or arrive already knowing.
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How we change culture: From ashtrays to accountability in BC schools
Once, we smoked in office buildings. Not just on breaks or in private spaces—at desks, in meeting rooms, on airplanes. The haze of other people’s choices was something you had no right to escape. That was just how things were. Until it wasn’t. Now, the idea of someone lighting a cigarette during a staff meeting…
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Drawn and quartered: Sibling trauma, institutional containment, and the erasure of care for families with multiples
When you are the parent of twins—especially autistic/ADHD twins—you learn very quickly that the education system can’t hold both of them at once. Support is rationed. Attention is rationed. Empathy is rationed. The school system does not say this aloud, of course. It claims to treat every child as an individual. But as soon as…
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Maybe tomorrow: reflections on goal post shifting and the economics of access
There were accommodations on paper and endless lip-service meetings. But none of it happened in the classroom. And every time we did what was asked—another intake, another form, another plan—the goalpost moved again. We weren’t asking for miracles. We were asking to be seen as disabled. And instead, we were told to be more positive,…
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I brought my lunches in yoghurt containers
I brought my lunches in yoghurt containers—garlicky stir-fries, bright with tamari and heat—and sat beside children with white bread and bologna, quietly learning that normalcy was measured in silence, sameness, and smelllessness. I wasn’t bullied. I was strange. And strangeness, in childhood, is its own kind of exile.
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The catalytic bandwidth tax of school harm and high-conflict relationships
I remember sitting in the meeting and glancing around at the expressions; the school staff carried a blend of boredom, disgust, and shallow benevolence, and my ex looked vaguely amused, as though watching the machinery of institutional gaslighting turn against the advocate mother offered him a quiet pleasure. A mother raising a neurodivergent child in…
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Disgusted by my advocacy
I have become hyper-attuned to the particular curl of a staff member’s lip, the slight recoil in their chair, the clenched tone when I insist—again—that my child deserves continued support. These micro-expressions, often passed off as stress or surprise or bureaucratic irritation, are not neutral. They are expressions of disgust. And for families like mine,…
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When school discipline undermines trust at home
There’s a problem in our schools. You’ll see it on a child’s face when they come home. You’ll hear it in the way they describe something that left them feeling humiliated, angry, or confused—and often, all three at once. It happens when school staff use discipline strategies that completely contradict the values a student has…
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He doesn’t go from zero to sixty
“He’s not a car,” I said, exasperated, after someone described Robin as going from zero to sixty. The withering look I received in return was pure disgust—as though I had interrupted a sacred adult ritual, as though I may as well have had a huge boil in the middle of my forehead, oozing pus. But…