The Overlooked Within the Overlooked: Why Native American Heritage Month Must Include Indigenous Disability Awareness

I was nine when I was diagnosed. I didn’t really understand what Lupus was. What I do remember is watching Night of the Lepus too many times and convincing myself I had some mutant rabbit disease. I spent years waiting for bunny parts to start growing. I laugh about it now, but that fear stayed with me.

Lupus is notoriously unpredictable. You can take your meds, eat right, and rest, but you’re still at the mercy of your own immune system. It flares without warning, sometimes mimicking other illnesses or bringing new problems that send you back to square one. You learn to take each day as it comes and do your best with whatever your body allows you to do.

That’s why I speak up for Lupus awareness in Native communities. Native people are three to six times more likely to be diagnosed with Lupus and often at younger ages. It tends to be more severe for us, and our mortality rates are higher because we don’t always have access to specialized care. Many tribal and rural communities lack the specialists or the necessary resources to manage a condition as complex as Lupus and other autoimmune disorders.

Lupus is often misunderstood and misdiagnosed because it imitates other illnesses. There’s no cure, and it changes without warning. One day you’re fine. The next, you’re fighting for your life. It’s crucial for us to be educated, to recognize the symptoms, and to know how to advocate for ourselves and each other. Awareness saves lives.

Indigenous people already live within systems that weren’t built for us. When disability or chronic illness is added to that, the challenges multiply. One in three Native adults lives with a disability, but that reality is barely recognized. In mainstream disability spaces, Indigenous voices are missing or dismissed. In Indigenous spaces, disabled voices are missing and dismissed; the lack of accessibility only compounds the erasure.

That’s a painful truth to sit with. I’ve attended community events where accessibility for disabled relatives was nonexistent. There were no ramps or space for those using mobility devices. I’ve seen invited speakers being unable to take the stage because there were no ramps for them to access the stage, elders unable to attend events due to the difficult terrain, and no shade available. These might seem like small things, but they add up. They send a message about who is welcome and who isn’t.

Accessibility is a reflection of care. It’s about community, kinship, and inclusion. When we make our gatherings more accessible, we create space for all our relatives to participate, to belong, and feel valued.

Before colonialism, many of our Nations didn’t separate disability from identity. Disabled relatives were often recognized, not for what they couldn’t do, but for what they could and the unique gifts they had to offer. They had roles, responsibilities, and respect within the community, just like any other community member, but those teachings were stripped away by systems that labeled differences as deficiencies.

Reclaiming those teachings means remembering that every person brings value, no matter how they move, think, or communicate. Groups like the Native American Disability Law Center, the Indigenous Persons with Disabilities Global Network, Sins Invalid, and Indigenous Access Canada are helping us return to that understanding by advocating for the voices of Disabled Indigenous people and accessibility across all spaces.

Native American Heritage Month is a time to honor our stories, our art, and our endurance. National Indigenous Disability Awareness Month challenges us to take that step further, to look around and ensure everyone is part of that story.

For me, these months remind us that community means all of us. Every body. Every mind. Every way of being.

When we include our Disabled relatives, we strengthen our Nations. Visibility is ceremony. Inclusion is love. And love is what keeps us here, alive, and still creating the worlds and futures that our ancestors prayed for and dreamed of for us.