Disability Justice and Collective Care: A Movement by Us, for Us

Two people spending time in the park together

Introduction: Disability Justice as Collective Liberation

“Disability is not a brave struggle or ‘courage in the face of adversity.’ Disability is an art. It’s an ingenious way to live.” – Neil Marcus

In an ableist world, where systems are designed to marginalize and exclude, disability justice often feels like an ongoing, uphill battle. But as Neil Marcus so brilliantly articulated, living with disability transcends mere survival—it is a testament to ingenuity, artistry, and resilience. Disabled people are not simply adapting to a society that was not built for us; we are transforming it. Every day, we challenge the structures that deny us access, dignity, and care.

In Canada, the U.S., the UK, and beyond, the disability justice movement is not just about fighting for accommodations or rights; it is about creating a new paradigm—one rooted in community, interdependence, and radical love. It’s a movement recognizing that true justice goes beyond individual empowerment; it demands collective liberation. We reject the myth that care is an individual responsibility, reserved only for those deemed “worthy” (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018). Instead, we embrace the radical concept of collective care, recognizing that none of us can thrive alone, and that mutual aid is central to our survival and flourishing (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

This blog post explores disability justice as a community-driven movement that centres on collective care as a powerful form of resistance to ableism. By coming together, disabled individuals build networks of support that challenge societal norms and systems of oppression. As we’ll see, collective care offers not only a path to healing and empowerment but also a blueprint for transformative justice, especially for disabled communities that face compounded marginalization—such as Two Spirit, trans, nonbinary, and queer individuals.

Throughout this post, we will explore four key pillars of this movement: embodiment, inclusive spaces, storytelling, and somatic healing. These elements reflect how disabled communities are reclaiming our bodies, our stories, and our spaces. Together, we’ll delve into how collective care helps us not only survive but also thrive—by us, for us.

Collective Care and the Radical Roots of Disability Justice

At its heart, disability justice is not just about access or accommodations; it is an intersectional framework that recognizes how ableism is inextricably linked with other systems of oppression—colonialism, racism, sexism, transphobia, and homophobia. Rooted in the activism of queer disabled people of colour, including Black and Indigenous activists, disability justice demands not just inclusion within existing structures but a radical transformation of the systems that perpetuate inequality (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

As Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha so powerfully articulates in Care Work: Dreaming Disability Justice, the movement is about collective care—the understanding that we are stronger together, and that care is not a commodity or an individual burden to bear alone, but a shared responsibility (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018). This approach directly counters the capitalist and ableist narrative that equates worth with productivity and self-sufficiency. In the disability justice framework, care is not transactional; it is rooted in solidarity, interdependence, and mutual aid.

For those of us who are disabled, collective care is a lifeline—it means building networks of support where none exist, leaning into the power of community, and recognizing that care work is essential activism. It is an act of resistance to a society that would prefer us to remain isolated, invisible, or struggling to meet impossible standards of independence. In Canada, this spirit of collective care was exemplified during the COVID-19 pandemic, when mutual aid networks emerged across the country, led primarily by disabled and marginalized communities. Disabled people organized to offer groceries, medical supplies, and emotional support to each other in ways that governments and institutions failed to do. These networks served as a powerful reminder that care is central to justice, and it is through community, not institutions, that we will find our strength (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

Mutual aid has long been a form of activism within disability communities—quietly and powerfully disrupting the notion that care must be earned or deserved. It challenges the idea that care only exists within formal structures, and instead, reclaims care as something we give and receive freely, recognizing that all bodies are interdependent. As Piepzna-Samarasinha writes, the revolutionary act of caring for one another becomes a way of surviving in a world designed without us in mind (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

In my work as a psychotherapist and art therapist, I see collective care in action in every session. When we create space for Two Spirit, trans, nonbinary, and queer clients to share their stories of mutual aid, of care within their communities, we are reinforcing the radical act of supporting one another. Therapy, in this context, becomes a form of collective care—a space to acknowledge that healing happens not in isolation but through connection. For my clients who are navigating the intersections of disability and queer identity, collective care is not just a support system; it is a declaration of belonging in a world that often tells them they do not fit.

Care as Resistance in a Canadian Context

In Canada, collective care plays an especially significant role in the fight for disability justice, particularly in Indigenous and racialized communities. The Canadian disability justice movement is informed by the histories of colonialism and systemic racism that have disproportionately impacted Indigenous, Black, and immigrant disabled people. Indigenous disabled activists have long emphasized the importance of care as a form of resistance against colonial structures that sought to erase their communities. For Two Spirit and disabled Indigenous people, collective care is woven into their cultural practices—long before disability justice became a formalized movement. These traditions remind us that caring for one another is both a survival strategy and a form of resistance to colonial erasure.

By rooting our practices in collective care, we are not only rejecting ableism, but also resisting the forces of white supremacy, capitalism, and colonialism that seek to exploit and isolate disabled people. The disability justice movement teaches us that none of us are free until all of us are free, and collective care is how we build that freedom together.

Embodiment and the Power of Inclusive Spaces

Embodiment lies at the heart of disability justice. It’s about more than how we navigate the world physically—it’s about how our bodies are perceived, included, or excluded by the very spaces we occupy. Our lived experience of embodiment is deeply shaped by environments that are either welcoming or rejecting, designed with care or with indifference. As Janice Rieger outlines in Design, Disability, and Embodiment, inaccessible environments perpetuate ableism by creating physical and social barriers that keep disabled bodies out of public life (Rieger, 2019). These barriers aren’t incidental—they reflect societal values that prioritize certain bodies and experiences over others, reinforcing exclusion at every turn.

From a missing ramp to the absence of Braille or ASL interpreters, to spaces that overwhelm with excessive noise or harsh lighting, these environmental failings send a clear message: this world is not built for you. These barriers are not just physical; they affect how disabled people experience themselves and their place in society. For those of us who are disabled, navigating a world that excludes us often leads to a disconnection from our own bodies—a feeling that our bodies are burdensome or “wrong” simply because they don’t conform to the narrow expectations of the built environment (Rieger, 2019).

Inclusive design challenges these assumptions. It is not about adding accessible features as an afterthought—it is about fundamentally rethinking how we create spaces so that all bodies, neurotypes, and senses are considered from the very beginning. As Rieger (2019) notes, this goes beyond the traditional checklists of accessibility, pushing us to ask deeper questions: Who is this space truly for? Whose needs are prioritized, and whose are ignored? How do we design spaces that embrace the full diversity of human experience?

In my work as a psychotherapist, inclusive spaces are essential to fostering healing and embodiment, particularly for trans*, queer, and disabled clients. Many of my clients have been marginalized not only by their disabilities but by their gender identities, sexual orientations, and cultural backgrounds. For them, reclaiming space—both physical and metaphorical—is a crucial part of the therapeutic process. Healing is not just about addressing internal struggles; it’s about finding or creating spaces where they feel safe, seen, and respected.

For some clients, this might mean finding embodiment in spaces that celebrate gender diversity—spaces where they are free to express themselves without fear of judgment or violence. For others, it might involve reclaiming the body in environments that accommodate their sensory needs, allowing them to feel at ease rather than on constant alert. As a disabled therapist, I work to create spaces (both physical and virtual) where clients can feel safe in their bodies—spaces that honour their identities and support their healing.

Transforming Spaces to Transform Lives

But embodiment goes beyond individual experience. When we design inclusive spaces, we are engaging in a form of collective care. We are saying that all bodies, all ways of moving, seeing, and sensing, are valid and important. Inclusive spaces offer a vision of a world where no one is left out, where every person’s right to exist fully and freely is respected.

Inclusive design is, in itself, a form of disability justice. It disrupts ableism by challenging the assumption that only certain bodies and abilities are worth accommodating. It questions the very foundations of how we create public and private spaces. As we work toward a more just world, we must push for environments that do not just “accommodate” disabled people, but centre disabled people in their design. This shift requires listening to disabled voices and understanding that access is about more than legal compliance; it’s about dignity, respect, and belonging.

In Canada, the disability justice movement has made strides in advocating for more inclusive public spaces. From the implementation of the Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act (AODA) to the growing awareness of neurodiversity in school design, these changes reflect a broader recognition that inclusive spaces benefit everyone. However, there is still much work to be done, especially in ensuring that these spaces are informed by the lived experiences of disabled, queer, and racialized communities.

In therapy, I encourage clients to consider how their relationship with physical spaces impacts their sense of self. Are they navigating spaces that empower or oppress them? What changes can they make—either by advocating for themselves or by finding spaces designed with their bodies in mind? These are critical questions in the journey toward embodiment, particularly for those who have been excluded from so many environments due to ableism, transphobia, or other forms of systemic oppression.

Creating Inclusive Spaces for All

At the end of the day, embodiment is not just an individual experience but a collective one. When we create environments that centre disabled people, we are building a world that is more accessible, inclusive, and just for everyone. Inclusive spaces invite all of us to inhabit our bodies fully and without shame, to navigate the world without unnecessary barriers, and to find connection and community. This is the promise of disability justice: a world where we all belong, and where our bodies are seen, valued, and celebrated for exactly who we are.

Radical Visibility: Reclaiming Our Narratives through Storytelling

At the core of the disability justice movement is storytelling—the act of reclaiming our experiences, our identities, and our voices. For too long, narratives about disabled people have been written by those who don’t share our lived experiences, shaped by ableism, pity, and misunderstanding. Storytelling, when done on our own terms, is a radical act of resistance. It’s about shattering stereotypes and creating space for our full humanity. As Alice Wong (2020) notes in Disability Visibility, our stories are not just about survival in a world built to exclude us; they are also about joy, community, and the richness of disabled life. Storytelling becomes a means of connection, a tool for building solidarity, and a way to ensure our experiences are no longer erased or misrepresented (Wong, 2020).

Radical visibility is not just about being seen—it’s about being seen in all of our complexity, our pain, our strength, and our triumphs. It means showing up as our authentic selves and demanding that space be made for our truths. In the face of ableism, where the disabled body is often rendered invisible or deemed “less than,” radical visibility is an act of power. It disrupts the systems that seek to marginalize and silence us, creating room for us to live fully in our bodies and our identities.

In my practice as a psychotherapist and art therapist, I’ve had the honour of working with clients who are navigating their identities as disabled, queer, or trans* individuals. Many of them arrive in therapy with a deep sense of invisibility, having been told by society that their stories aren’t worth sharing, that their experiences are too “different” or “uncomfortable” to be understood. Creating a therapeutic space where their stories are not only heard but celebrated is, in itself, a radical act of visibility. It allows clients to reclaim their narratives in an environment free from judgment, shame, or invalidation.

For these clients, telling their stories—whether through words, art, or embodied expression—is often the first step toward healing. It’s a process of not only being seen but being understood. In a world that so often tells disabled and marginalized people to shrink themselves, to fit into narrow definitions of “normal,” storytelling becomes a way of amplifying their voices. It’s an act of defiance against ableism and transphobia, and a means of connecting with others who may feel just as isolated or unseen.

Radical visibility, in this context, is collective care in action. When we share our stories, we offer others in our community the permission to do the same. We create a ripple effect, where each voice that is heard makes space for more voices to rise. This is particularly powerful for disabled, trans*, and queer people, whose narratives are often at the intersection of multiple systems of oppression. Storytelling allows us to assert our agency, to demand visibility not just as individuals but as a community that is vital, creative, and worthy of being seen.

In my work, I encourage clients to explore various forms of storytelling—from verbal expression to creative mediums like art or writing—as a way to reclaim their sense of self. Whether it’s through sharing stories of mutual aid, advocacy, or daily life, the act of telling one’s story can be deeply empowering. It transforms isolation into connection, fear into courage, and invisibility into visibility. By sharing our stories, we are not just surviving; we are building community, creating change, and paving the way for others to tell their stories too.

Intersections of Disability Justice and Collective Liberation

Disability justice cannot be separated from other social justice movements. It is, by its very nature, an intersectional framework that recognizes how ableism operates alongside other systems of oppression, such as colonialism, racism, sexism, transphobia, and homophobia. As Sixty Years of Visible Protest outlines, disability activism has always been deeply intertwined with movements for racial justice, queer liberation, reproductive rights, and economic justice (Pettinicchio, 2024). These struggles do not exist in silos; they are interconnected battles against systems of power that seek to marginalize and dehumanize vulnerable communities.

In the Canadian context, this intersectionality is particularly significant when examining the experiences of Indigenous disabled activists, including Two Spirit individuals, who have long highlighted the ways that colonialism and ableism are entwined. Colonialism, which sought to erase Indigenous ways of life, imposed Western notions of normalcy, productivity, and worth—concepts that continue to impact Indigenous disabled people today. Two Spirit disabled people face a compounded marginalization, where their identities are not only erased by ableism but also by the legacy of colonial violence (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

Disability justice, then, must be understood as part of a broader fight for collective liberation. This means recognizing that none of us are free until all of us are free. Solidarity across movements is not just a strategic choice—it is a moral imperative. Disability justice requires us to show up in support of movements that fight for racial equality, queer and trans rights, economic justice, and Indigenous sovereignty. We cannot dismantle ableism without also confronting the racism that disproportionately affects Black and Indigenous disabled people, or the transphobia that impacts disabled trans* individuals at higher rates than their cisgender peers.

For example, police violence against disabled people—particularly disabled people of colour—demonstrates the inextricable link between ableism and racism. According to data, disabled individuals are disproportionately targeted by police, and these instances are even more pronounced for racialized disabled people (Pettinicchio, 2024). Fighting against police violence, therefore, is not only a fight for racial justice but a fight for disability justice as well. Similarly, advocating for trans rights is inherently connected to disability justice, as many disabled trans* people face compounded barriers to healthcare, employment, and housing (Piepzna-Samarasinha, 2018).

Collective care within the disability justice movement means showing up for one another in ways that transcend our immediate communities. It’s about recognizing that our fates are tied together, and that we cannot fight for the liberation of disabled people without also fighting for the dismantling of other systems of oppression. Collective care calls on us to not only support one another within disabled communities but to stand in solidarity with those who are fighting for justice in other movements. This is the heart of intersectionality—understanding that oppression is multifaceted, and that our liberation is collective.

In my therapeutic practice, I work with clients who are navigating not just ableism, but the intersections of racism, transphobia, and economic inequality. Many of them come into therapy carrying the weight of multiple oppressions, and the work of healing involves recognizing how these systems are interconnected. By exploring these intersections, we begin to dismantle the internalized oppression that tells them their struggles are individual, rather than systemic. This process is deeply empowering, as it allows clients to see themselves not as isolated in their experiences, but as part of a larger collective struggle for justice.

The disability justice movement, then, is not just about disabled people advocating for their own rights. It is about creating a world where no one is left behind. A world where Black disabled people are not subjected to police violence, where disabled trans people* have access to the healthcare they need, and where Indigenous disabled communities can thrive free from the legacies of colonialism. Solidarity means showing up for these movements, knowing that our liberation is intertwined with theirs.

Somatics and Embodied Healing through Collective Care

Somatic practices—which connect the body and mind—are integral to healing within the disability justice movement. For disabled individuals, particularly those living with chronic pain, mobility challenges, or trauma, somatic practices offer a means to reclaim the body from the dominant narratives that tell us our bodies are “broken” or inadequate. As Don Hanlon Johnson discusses in Diverse Bodies, Diverse Practices, somatic work allows individuals to reconnect with their bodies as sources of knowledge, strength, and resilience, particularly when they have experienced trauma or internalized ableism (Johnson, 2018).

In a world that so often tells disabled people that our bodies are inherently flawed or “less than,” somatics provide a path to liberation by challenging these deeply ingrained messages. Somatic practices remind us that the body is not a site of shame, but a site of power, resistance, and wisdom. This reclamation is particularly critical for disabled individuals whose experiences of disconnection from their bodies may be compounded by societal stigma, medicalization, or histories of trauma.

For those of us who have lived with chronic pain or mobility limitations, somatics invite us to relearn how to inhabit our bodies in ways that feel safe, nurturing, and empowering. Somatic practices like mindfulness, body scanning, movement therapy, and breathwork allow disabled people to develop a deeper relationship with their bodies—one that is rooted not in medical or ableist definitions of “normalcy,” but in our own lived experiences and sensations. This process is not just physical; it is emotional and political. To reclaim the body in an ableist world is a radical act of resistance.

In my therapeutic work with Two Spirit, trans, and queer clients, I have seen firsthand how somatic practices can be deeply transformative. For many of my clients, their relationships with their bodies are complicated by not only ableism but also transphobia and gender dysphoria. Somatic work provides a powerful tool for exploring these intersections and fostering a felt sense of embodiment that honours the fullness of their identities. In a society that often invalidates or pathologizes both disability and gender variance, somatic practices offer a way to reclaim one’s body as a site of authenticity, resistance, and self-acceptance.

Embodiment in this sense is not just about healing the body; it is about honouring the body as a source of knowledge and liberation. Somatic practices help clients listen to their bodies’ cues, reconnect with physical sensations, and develop a more compassionate relationship with themselves. For example, mindfulness can be used to bring attention to areas of tension or discomfort in the body, allowing clients to engage with these sensations with curiosity rather than judgment. Movement therapy might allow clients to express emotions or experiences that are difficult to articulate verbally, particularly for those who have felt silenced or misunderstood due to their disabilities or identities.

These practices also create a pathway to collective care. In a society that values productivity and autonomy over interdependence, somatic work reminds us that care—both for ourselves and for others—requires being present with our bodies, honouring our limitations, and accepting help. Somatics teach us that we do not need to “fix” our bodies to be worthy of care. Instead, we can embrace our bodies as they are, and through this process, create more compassionate, inclusive communities that value interdependence over independence.

In the context of disability justice, somatic practices are a form of collective liberation. When disabled people engage in somatic healing, we are not just healing ourselves—we are challenging the ableist structures that seek to separate us from our bodies. We are saying that our bodies, in all their diversity, are valid and worthy of care. This reclamation of the body is a powerful act of defiance against a society that tells us our worth is tied to our physical abilities.

Somatic practices also offer a powerful form of community care. In group therapy settings or community workshops, somatic techniques can foster a shared sense of embodiment, where individuals come together to experience their bodies in ways that are affirming and supportive. These practices help to dismantle the isolation often felt by disabled people and create spaces where collective care is embodied—where healing happens not just in the individual, but in the collective.

By integrating somatic practices into therapy, particularly for Two Spirit, trans, and queer clients, we are building a path to embodied liberation. This liberation comes not from changing or fixing our bodies but from accepting them as they are—from listening to the wisdom they carry and honouring the experiences they hold. In a world that tells disabled and marginalized people that we need to be “fixed” to be worthy of care, somatics offer us a way to reclaim our bodies on our own terms and create healing spaces that honour the full complexity of our identities.

Conclusion: Building a Future through Collective Care and Liberation

Disability justice is not only a fight for accessibility or inclusion—it is the work of reimagining the world. A world where care is a collective responsibility, where disabled people are not just accommodated but celebrated, and where our bodies, our stories, and our experiences are recognized as essential to the fabric of society. Disability justice calls on us to dream bigger, to reject the ableist systems that devalue us, and to embrace communities rooted in mutual support, interdependence, and radical love.

At the heart of this movement is collective care—the revolutionary act of caring for one another, not because we must, but because it is through care that we create a world where all of us can thrive. By embracing collective care, we reject the harmful narratives of ableism, capitalism, and colonialism that tell us that care is a burden or that only certain bodies are worthy of care. Instead, we say that all bodies are deserving of love, support, and dignity.

As we move forward in this work, let us carry with us the powerful words of Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha (2018): “We are building a future rooted in love and justice, and that future is by us, for us.” This vision of the future is one where disabled people are not only surviving but thriving—where our stories, our bodies, and our collective wisdom shape the world we live in.

Let this be our guide as we continue to fight for justice. Let us hold fast to the knowledge that our liberation is collective, that our fates are intertwined, and that none of us are free until all of us are free. The road to disability justice is long, but it is paved with the power of community, the strength of our stories, and the unwavering belief that a better world is not only possible—it is already being built by us, for us.

Continue the Convo

If the ideas in this blog resonate with you, I warmly invite you to connect with me. Whether you’re a therapist seeking guidance on how to integrate collective care into your practice, or someone navigating the intersections of disability and identity and looking for support, I’m here to help. You may book individual therapy sessions or peer consultations online. Be sure to bookmark this blog for future insights, reflections, and updates.

References

Johnson, D. H. (Ed.). (2018). Diverse bodies, diverse practices: Toward an inclusive somatics. North Atlantic Books.

Pettinicchio, D. (2024). Sixty years of visible protest in the disability struggle for equality, justice and inclusion. Cambridge University Press.

Piepzna-Samarasinha, L. L. (2018). Care work: Dreaming disability justice. Arsenal Pulp Press.

Rieger, J. (2019). Design, disability, and embodiment. Bloomsbury Publishing.

Wong, A. (Ed.). (2020). Disability visibility: First-person stories from the twenty-first century. Vintage.

Disclaimer: This blog offers general educational information and does not constitute professional advice or establish a therapist-client relationship. Please consult a healthcare provider for personalized guidance. Any decisions based on the content are the reader’s responsibility, and Clayre Sessoms Psychotherapy assumes no liability. All case studies are hypothetical with fictional names and do not reflect actual people. We prioritize your privacy and the confidentiality of all of our clients. We are committed to maintaining a safe, supportive space for 2SLGBTQIA+ community care.

Clayre Sessoms is a trans, queer, and neurodivergent Registered Psychotherapist (RP), Certified Sensorimotor Psychotherapist, and Board Certified Art Therapist (ATR-BC), offering online therapy for trans*, nonbinary, queer, and 2SLGBTQIA+ allied adults and teens across Canada. With a deep commitment to trauma-attuned gender-affirming care, Clayre integrates talk therapy, experiential collaboration, and creative expression to support clients to grow, heal, or navigate change. When not working with clients or supervising newly-licensed therapists, Clayre finds solace in nature, where she recharges her creativity and compassion.

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