We Belonged at the Table the Entire Time

I recently spoke at a virtual conference about AAC for caregivers and professionals, but aimed to AAC users themselves and honestly, I understood the assignment.

They said I understood the assignment too.

But when I looked at the feedback, it reflected something I see often. There were more professionals and caregivers in the room than AAC users themselves. And to me, that says a lot about the medical model. It reminded me that some people are still missing the point.

Because I was not there to make AAC sound neat, clinical, or textbook-perfect. I was speaking from lived experience. I was talking like one AAC user talking to other AAC users, like peers, like friends, like people who understand without needing the whole backstory first.

And honestly, this is not the first time I have noticed this. At almost every conference I speak at, I can expect at least one lower rating from someone who missed the assignment, lost the assignment, or maybe never understood the assignment to begin with.

Usually, it is not because I failed to communicate. It is because some professionals are still listening through a medical-model lens. They expect disability to be explained in a way that centers them, teaches them, or makes them feel like the expert in the room.

But sometimes the truth sounds different when it comes from the person who actually lives it.

AAC is not just about a device. It is not just about typing words, pressing buttons, or using technology to communicate. AAC is about timing, patience, access, dignity, and being heard in a world that often moves too fast.

There are some things AAC users understand without needing a long explanation.

We know what it feels like to have the perfect response in our heads while the conversation keeps moving without us. We know what it feels like when someone says, “Take your time,” and then interrupts three seconds later. We know the frustration of finally finishing a sentence only to realize everyone has moved on to something completely different.

Alt text: A person gestures with their hands during a meeting at a table with a laptop, notebook, and phone, while another person sits blurred in the background.

And honestly, if AAC users got awards for politely smiling through awkward communication moments, some of us would need a whole trophy room.

People outside the AAC community do not always realize how much work communication can take. Most people wake up and communicate without thinking about it. They ask questions, tell stories, complain about traffic, jump into conversations, and share opinions without having to plan every step.

For many AAC users, communication requires planning, patience, timing, problem-solving, and grace. Sometimes your brain already knows exactly what you want to say, but your hands, your device, or the pace of the conversation cannot keep up.

Sometimes it feels like your brain is driving a race car while your device is stuck in school-zone traffic.

That does not mean we do not have thoughts. It does not mean we are incapable. It means we are constantly adapting to a world that rarely slows down for us naturally.

People see the device. They hear the synthesized voice. They notice the screen. But they do not always see the invisible work behind the scenes. They do not see us listening, processing, navigating technology, organizing thoughts, managing timing, and trying to jump into conversations without being talked over.

They do not see how often silence is mistaken for having nothing to say.

They do not see how often delayed communication is mistaken for lack of understanding.

And those are not the same thing.

One of the hardest parts about being an AAC user is walking into rooms already carrying assumptions we did not create. Sometimes people assume someone else speaks for us. Sometimes they assume someone else makes our decisions. Sometimes they talk to the person next to us instead of talking directly to us.

Most AAC users can feel those moments almost immediately. You know when someone sees you as a person, and you know when they see you as a project.

That gets exhausting.

Alt text: A young girl using a wheelchair looks at a tablet in a classroom while other children work at a table in the background.

I think many AAC users spend years feeling like we have to prove things that should never have required proof in the first place. We prove that we understand. We prove that we belong. We prove that we can contribute. We prove that we can lead. We prove that we can make decisions.

But respect should not require a performance.

Dignity should not require a performance.

Humanity should not require a performance.

Communication is not a race. Fast does not automatically mean smarter. Loud does not automatically mean more capable. Quick responses do not automatically mean deeper thoughts.

Some of the most thoughtful people I know are AAC users because we understand the value of words. Communication has never been something we could take for granted.

That is also why representation matters so much.

Growing up, I did not see many adult women using AAC. Not in real life. Not online. Not in media. Not at conferences. I saw very limited examples, and most disability representation felt either overly inspirational or deeply sad. There was not much room for disabled people to simply exist as layered human beings.

But we are layered.

We can be successful and tired. Confident and awkward. Funny and frustrated. Faith-rooted and outspoken. Stylish and exhausted. Independent and still supported.

None of those things cancel each other out.

Younger AAC users deserve to see more than one version of adulthood. They deserve to see AAC users living full, complicated, joyful, messy, meaningful lives.

A woman in a gray blazer sits at an outdoor balcony table with a tablet, coffee cup, and potted plants, looking off to the side with city buildings in the background.

I also believe Supported Decision-Making matters deeply for AAC users. Supported Decision-Making is about disabled people keeping authority over our own lives while still receiving support when we need it.

And honestly, everybody uses support. People ask family for advice. They lean on friends. They talk to mentors, pastors, therapists, coworkers, spouses, and partners. Nobody assumes they are incapable because they asked for help.

But disabled people are often held to a different standard.

Support and control are not the same thing. Support and authority are not the same thing. Support and independence are not opposites.

Sometimes people do not lack intelligence. They lack access.

Sometimes what people need is not someone to make decisions for them. Sometimes they need information presented clearly. Sometimes they need extra time. Sometimes they need communication access. Sometimes they need people willing to slow down and listen.

Patience creates dignity.

AAC users deserve the same dignity of taking risks as everyone else. We deserve the chance to make choices, learn, grow, succeed, mess up, try again, and direct our own lives.

Because dignity is not just about protection.

Dignity is also about freedom.

I also want AAC users to remember that leadership does not only look one way. Leadership is not always standing on a stage with a microphone. Leadership is not always holding a title or being the loudest person in the room.

Sometimes leadership looks like advocating for accommodations. Sometimes it looks like teaching someone how to be a better communication partner. Sometimes it looks like mentoring another disabled person. Sometimes it looks like showing up and refusing to disappear.

Every time AAC users advocate, educate, participate, create, speak, type, or show up, we are changing expectations.

So if you are an AAC user reading this, please do not shrink yourself to make other people comfortable.

Do not make yourself smaller because someone else is impatient.

Do not make yourself quieter because someone else does not understand.

Do not make yourself invisible because someone underestimated you.

Alt text: A man wearing orange headphones speaks into a microphone while recording audio or a podcast at a computer.

Keep showing up. Keep communicating; however, communication works best for you. Apply for the opportunity. Join the advocacy group. Start the blog. Post the video. Submit the application. Run for the position. Share your ideas.

Your voice deserves space exactly as it is.

It matters when it is spoken. It matters when it is typed. It matters when it comes through a device. It matters when it takes extra time. It matters when the world is patient enough to listen.

And it matters because you matter.

Accessibility is not asking for too much. Your humanity is not an inconvenience.

The world changes when AAC users stop waiting for permission to belong and start recognizing that we belonged at the table the entire time.