For psychotherapist, painter, feminist, filmmaker, writer, and disability activist Harilyn Rousso, hearing well-intentioned people tell her, "You're so inspirational!" is patronizing, not complimentary.
In her empowering and at times confrontational memoir, Don't Call Me Inspirational, Rousso, who has cerebral palsy, describes overcoming the prejudice against disability--not overcoming disability. She addresses the often absurd and ignorant attitudes of strangers, friends, and family.
Rousso also examines her own prejudice toward her disabled body, and portrays the healing effects of intimacy and creativity, as well as her involvement with the disability rights community. She intimately reveals herself with honesty and humor and measures her personal growth as she goes from "passing" to embracing and claiming her disability as a source of pride, positive identity, and rebellion.
A collage of images about her life, rather than a formal portrait, Don't Call Me Inspirational celebrates Rousso's wise, witty, productive, outrageous life, disability and all.
I just met Harilyn herself last night and I loved her stories about her life. I'm disabled like Harilyn and part of the Disability Studies program at UW. I love prose poetry and feminist intersection. Harilyn will make you both laugh and cry about learning to accept her disability. The chapter on her cat is hilarious and I love the story about learning to walk in front of a mirror to please her mom and how she reflects years later. She is a brilliant, funny, artistic person and go see her read her book if you have a chance. I loved her book so much I read it in my bathtub and told both my professor and Harilyn that and Harilyn was thrilled. Great book!
Don't Call Me Inspirational: A Disabled Feminist Talks Back Don't Call Me Inspirational: A Disabled Feminist Talks Back (Paperback) by Harilyn Rousso
After reading this book, I have been unstuck. I will not approach my own life in the same way. Like Harilyn Rousso, I was born with cerebral palsy. But I am talking more generally than just a person having a disability. Through Rousso’s keen artist eyes, articulate words, and divine wit, I conclude there is the possibility of a “second act,” or even a fifth.
Taught by an expert hopscotch player, I see clearly that you don’t have to perceive yourself as stagnate, but that you have a wide spectrum of possibilities. What I really got through this remarkable book is that a person (and not necessarily a person with a disability) can play hopscotch, going as Rousso does from “being in the closet” (denying disability) to becoming a disability advocate, to judging other's disabilities in questionable terms, and being frightened of what you will see in your own mirror – to giving hell to the steering committee of a women's conscious-raising conference that is inaccessible to women who use wheelchairs, and then back again, fearing what your mirror glass will show. Why did I think I had to stay with one image, and that I was being a “fraud” if my view changed in different contexts? This very readable book is in short segments. In the preface Ms. Rousso writes: “As a visual artist I think about a book as a collage or a series of images about my life rather than a formal portrait.” Thank you, Harilyn Rousso, for an excellent read on disability and so much more. This book should be prerequisite for anyone wanting to enter a helping profession, but also for all needing to see possibilities in their own lives.
I'm glad this book is out there. I appreciated Rousso's rather unflinching self-exploration--she does not shy away from the fact that she still struggles with self-loathing, even after decades in the disability rights and feminist movements. There were parts of this I could really relate to, particularly her attempts at assimilation, enforced by her family, as a child. I enjoyed the format--the book is broken up into small readable vignettes. Parts of her story did not resonate with me; she had an unfortunate habit of playing oppression Olympics in a people of color vs. people with disabilities way at times, and she came across at certain points as self-absorbed in a way that made me have a hard time relating to her experiences on a personal level. I do think it's an important contribution to disability studies and social justice literature.
The title of this book was a very attractive one; a sentiment I strongly share. The author is a writer, psychotherapist, artist, disability activist, and oh, yes, has severe cerebral palsy. The book is a series of writings expressing her own thoughts and feelings on disability in general, and on her own. Her story is a study on how one can accomplish much in spite of obstacles, even ones that are set up by oneself!
Really interesting and enlightening but just not written in a style that enjoyed. I'm glad I read it because it was eye opening but I wouldn't rush to read anything else by her.
Frankly, I skimmed some of this book, so I could finish it before it was due back at the library. Parts of it really spoke to me while other parts had me considering not finishing it. I appreciated the discussion of how important mentors are for young disabled girls and what it means to identify as disabled. The title chapter is excellent.
More of an autobiography than a work of theory, but still pretty interesting. I found some of the emphasis on the so-called "importance" of more traditional markers of independence for WWDs (such as learning to drive) sort of questionable, however. As a feminist with mild CP, I could relate to much of what Russo says about people's reactions to neurological disability--but her second wave feminist stance, less so. This is a worthy read if you are interested in personal narratives of women with disabilities.
Good if you're new to the concept of ableism. Rousso is obviously of a different era of disability activism, but that makes her narrative relevant to earlier models of understanding and addressing disability oppression.
She covers and capture so much. It deeply resonated with me at a community level and a personal level. Possibly one of my all time favorite books. Thank you for writing, Harilyn.