I started using an access statement in 2020 when I found I suddenly had a bit of extra time to reflect. A unique and unusual situation for a cultural worker that year, I know.
But that's the middle of the story. My english teachers were always really into in media res, and I’ve never quite shifted that. It comes from a certain mental rigidity that’s common in autistic folks. But I’m getting distracted. (That’ll be the ADHD)
Before that:
I speak to artists every week who are legally disabled but would never use the term because they’ve had to cope and mask their disabilities to get by, and feel like they don't deserve support when they know people with more tangible support needs. And I recognise that, because I was in that space for years.
I knew I was disabled when I was 21. I read the equalities act and recognised that my mental health issues and neurodivergence lined up. I was disabled.
It took until I was 24 to tick ‘disabled’ on equal opportunities forms. I was scared it would somehow work against me.
It took me until the age of 27 to fully take 'I meet the legal definition of disability’ and recognise that meant 'I am disabled and society creates extra barriers for me'.
If you’re unfamiliar with the social model of disability, it can be summarised as ‘disability is the result of society creating barriers for those with different needs’. The first barrier for a lot of people is that society tells you that you aren’t disabled.
You don’t look disabled, so you can’t be.
You’re not ‘severely’ disabled, so you don’t count (let’s not use severity ratings on this stuff, folks).
You can’t be disabled because you’ve coped this long without adjustments.
You can’t be disabled because, at the end of the day, society thinks disabled people are a problem.
Even if you get through those barriers and allow yourself to be disabled, how do you ask for help? If you’ve spent a lifetime squeezing your disabled self into an ableist hole in society, how could you even begin to know what help to ask for? Surely if you’ve made it this far on your own, you shouldn’t take support away from those whose need appears greater?
If I’m honest, I don’t have a good answer for any of those questions. I wrote my access statement because someone advising me on my Arts Council England Emergency Response Fund application suggested it might help the narrative.
When I created my statement I basically set out a bunch of rules of engagement. None of them cost money, barely any of them required additional time investment. I’d had years of chats with cultural workers, sifting through their lives to find adjustments that might help, but I’d never done it for myself. I’d spent so long not taking up space that I didn’t know what taking up space would even look like. I ended up with a messy incomplete list that was incredibly basic in what it was asking.
It was terrifying.
Fast forward 2 years to ‘now’.
Since publishing my statement online and including it in my email signature, people have said a lot of nice things. It’s clear, it’s simple, it’s beautiful.
I’ve done an updated version as a video since originally creating it, but I’ve also not updated the original illustrations to include the new adjustments because I’ve been, frankly, unspeakably busy.
I’ve had industry people I’ve never met before tell me they’ve seen my access statement because it was sent to them. Strangers on social media have told me they’re grateful for putting my needs out there into the world. Members of the public who I have emailed for work have told me it had encouraged them to create their own statement and be more open about their needs, or that they would work with their disabled children on creating one.
People like my access statement. Do you know why?
It makes them feel ok about not following it.
I’m lucky. With few support needs and a lifetime of masking, I’m good enough at working without adjustments that if people don’t follow through on things, the worst case scenario is probably a panic attack and some recovery time, or being wiped out when I get home, or misunderstandings which create stress and tension, or dozens of other ways of saying ‘something will happen and I will be overwhelmed and exhausted’.
This gives me the luxury that I can make my access statement friendly and approachable. I can include a section that says ‘if you don’t make these adjustments the work will still get done’. My needs are simple enough that they can be summarised in short sentences and made clear with nice illustrations.
People like my access statement because I don’t ask too much, and they don’t need to feel guilty when they still don’t follow it.
I’m generalising for effect of course - I’m writing this to have an impact, so I’m skimming over the people who find it validating to see someone unapologetically stating their needs. And of course, nobody has said any of this to me, in words at least. Most wouldn’t even be aware that they think it.
The second version of my access statement features an addition where I discuss compromise. I point out that compromise with a disabled person looks different because they’ve already put so much work into just being in the conversation. This is a direct response to when I asked someone to be mindful of ambiguity in task giving, what with my tendency towards literal meanings. The solution that was reached was that rather than tasks being delegated clearly, responsibility would sit with me to check understanding of any and all tasks received.
Believe it or not, ‘the disabled person still does all the work’ isn’t a very good compromise, although it’s definitely a common one.
I make no pretence that I would be unable to work without my access statement. Yes, it makes my life a lot better when people engage with it, but it gets most use as a tool for making people engage with the idea of individual adjustments in the first place - baby steps in the right direction.
I just hope people are learning the right lesson.
I hope that when they work with someone whose access statement is the difference between working and not working, that they have learned ‘yes, this is vital’, not ‘ah, neat, I can ignore this’.
Show me that you can take this stuff seriously. Show me that you don’t need an access statement to be pretty and friendly and self effacing for you to read it. Show me that you’ll make an effort.
Because you’re not just showing me, you’re showing everyone.