By Claire Hogan.
Play the audio file read by Claire Hogan or read the full transcript below.
Full transcript.
I am a middle-aged disabled woman, and to be completely honest, it’s not something I am altogether proud of. Not because I hate me or other people with disabilities, I hate the way society views and discriminates against people like me, just because we are different.
I am Claire and I was born with Achondroplasia, a condition that occurs in one in every 25,000 births. It’s a word that haunted me my whole childhood. I never wanted to hear it, it was not who I was – I was not different!
My parents and siblings are not little people and in fact, 80% of little people are born to average height parents. In some ways, the best thing my family did was to not treat me differently to anybody else when I was growing up. I was given the same opportunities as my siblings and faced the same challenges. But at the same time, not treating me differently was also probably the worst thing they could have done. Because I was different.
Growing up I had a love/hate relationship with Christmas – not because I hated Christmas, but because I hated the time when, after dinner on Christmas Day we would all gather around the one TV and ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ would come on. It sounds so trivial, but I would try my best to avoid it at all costs because ‘Oompa Lumpa’ was a name that I was called at school. Back then it seemed to be about the only representation on TV of people with Achondroplasia, and it was derogatory and humorous. It was either that or the Disney version of Snow White, where the dwarves live in a cave…I mean, really?
When I look back on some of the memories of my school days, especially secondary school, I still feel sad. I can vividly recall being bullied, abused, and called a ‘Midget,’ every day.
Adolescent me thought about it a lot. I started to notice how I was perceived and realise how cruel the world was going to be. When I look back on some of the memories of my school days, especially secondary school, I still feel sad. I can vividly recall being bullied, abused, and called a ‘Midget,’ every day. I would avoid walking by large groups of kids so as not give them any opportunity to call me names or pull their arms into their sleeves to mimic my short arms. They say your school days are the best days of your life, but not for me. I absolutely hated school. Things were very different back then.
It was never for the want of trying. God, I tried so hard just to be included, just for my teacher to pick me, and call my name to be ‘Class Captain’ or ‘Year Head’. Instead, I was always shoved to the front of school assemblies – excluded from my peers because I was the shortest. I remember the school held auditions for ‘Oliver’ and me and all my friends were going to audition. It still feels like it was only yesterday. I can recall the butterflies in my stomach – was I going to mix my words up, or sing out of tune? No. No, because like a slap in the face, before I even opened my mouth, the teacher told me to sit back down and declared in front of the whole class that ‘there was no place for people like me in this play’.
Back then, you just did as you were told, no questions asked. I tried so hard to hold back the tears. I remember asking if I could be dismissed to use the bathroom, and as I turned to go, I could just hear the faint whispers of my peers echoing across the classroom. I guess they were all talking about what had just happened, but nobody ever spoke to me about it. Not even my friends.
I did get a role in the play in the end. I was behind the stage, opening and closing the curtains for each scene and at the end I was allowed to take my bow with the others and wave to my parents in the crowd. But it was countless experiences like this that led to my decision never to have children of my own. How could I when the world as I knew it could be so cruel?
I realized very quickly that I could not talk to my parents about what went on outside of our home. They did not want to hear about the name-calling or bullying. Perhaps looking back, they didn’t want to accept what was going on because it hurt them. Instead, they would send me right back out into the firing line to ‘toughen up’. The funny thing is, it really did make me tough and to this day I am a firm believer of ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’.
On the outside I may be different, but I have the same thoughts, feelings and desires as anybody else. The world just treats me as if there’s something wrong with me. It took me a long time not to trust the world’s opinion.
It wasn’t all bad, I had a great group of friends both at school and at home. It was my circle. They treated me like everyone else and to them, I was just one of the gang. But I can recall the teenage magazine ‘Sugar’ – everyone had it. It came out once a month and everyone in the gang would talk about it. We would all be swapping stories about what we’d read, who was wearing what, in awe of all the makeup and fashion trends. But what always stood out was that there was never anybody like me, not just in the magazine but anywhere. And it wasn’t just people with Achondroplasia, it was people with disabilities in general. They were always excluded.
I never talked to anyone about it. I can remember it upsetting me so much and being so determined to one day change the world that I would sit for hours on end writing scripts for Emmerdale Farm. I was going to be one of the Dingles’ long-lost relatives from Ireland. I loved Emmerdale, and (guilty pleasure), I still do! On the outside I may be different, but I have the same thoughts, feelings and desires as anybody else. The world just treats me as if there’s something wrong with me. It took me a long time not to trust the world’s opinion.
I was also 13 years old when I made the decision to go through with a series of surgeries known as extended limb lengthening. I was the first in Ireland to undergo the procedure and it was a shot in the dark. I ended up in hospital for 18 months in total but after several agonizing surgeries, I found myself standing 6.5 inches taller (and yes, the half is important!) Would I recommend the surgeries to other people in my position? Yes 100%. I grew in both inches and independence.
For me, these operations were the difference between living an independent life and one where the world needed to adjust to fit me. I made the difficult decision because, I didn’t think that was ever going to happen and even now, 30 years later, unfortunately not much has changed. Yes, a lot has been done but there is an awful lot more to do. Because sadly, from my experience of living with dwarfism – the challenges, the discrimination, the taunts, the picture-taking, the sexual innuendo on a daily basis – it’s bloody hard.
I can honestly say there have been days in my life when I have questioned my existence, because to others I am a person who deserves ridicule. I have to interact with people who think my very existence on this planet is a joke. Living as a little person is like being the main attraction of the circus every day. And ‘GREAT’ opportunities for people like me do not come along very often. When you work hard you get results, isn’t that what they teach you growing up? But it’s hard to see the point when it seems like the world has already decided your fate.
Living as a little person is like being the main attraction of the circus every day.
After graduating from college, I spent an entire year sending out resumes to jobs I knew I was qualified to do. I went on so many interviews I lost count. Six months later l finally landed a temporary position in the financial services sector, which eventually led to a permanent job. But you know what? I face the same discrimination in the workforce today as I did in the classroom, despite all the talk about Diversity & Inclusion.
On paper I am everything, yet I am judged every single day of my life just because I am outside of the so-called ‘norm’. But someone please tell me, what is ‘normal’ and who defined it? Because I want to have words with them.
I am a great believer in storytelling. I think the more stories told, the more the world can learn. But I also think, why should I have to be an advocate for people with disabilities? Why do I have to be categorized and held out to be different?
Brands, companies, and the media ALL need to make their businesses more inclusive of people with disabilities. We deserve to be SEEN and HEARD. People with disabilities, just like any other group, need to see themselves represented in the media and in advertising. Because if you do not see yourself, you feel invisible.
Someone please tell me, what is ‘normal’ and who defined it? Because I want to have words with them.
I drive a top-of-the-range car, I use all the latest make-up brands and I shop like anybody else, spending thousands of euros each year buying clothing and makeup, TV satellite subscriptions, newspapers, magazines and much more from businesses and brands who fail to evenly represent and include people with disabilities. And I am just one of one billion people with disabilities in the world. Together, we have a combined spending power of $1.7 trillion per annum. Bring in our family and friends and its almost $8 trillion.
So, with that said, I dare you, if you are reading this as a CEO of a company, or if you have the power to make change happen in some way, contact me!
Because it’s time to make sure that people with disabilities don’t have to grow up feeling inferior, invisible and invalid. We have ideas that need to be heard, bodies that need to be seen and money waiting to be spent. The coffee is on me, but the challenge is on you. Let’s make change happen!
More about Claire Hogan.
I’m Claire Hogan and I’m a native of Dublin, Ireland. My preferred pronouns are she/her and I identify as someone with a physical disability – dwarfism. People with disabilities are innovative and constantly adapting to a world that wasn’t quite made for us. Through storytelling and perseverance, my experience allows me to bring a new perspective and some critical thinking skills to any business/media organization.
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