UNLEARNING ABLEISM

UNLEARNING ABLEISM
'Redefining Disability & Rewriting Belonging'
Exclusive Interview with Chartres-Aris and Jamie Shields
Featured in 'Innerviews'
Hosted by Allié McGuire

​When we talk about equality, we often forget one of its biggest missing pieces: disability. For many, ableism is a word they’ve never heard, yet it shapes how millions of people live, work, and are treated every single day. Today, I’m sitting down with Celia Chartres-Aris and Jamie Shields, two unapologetic truth-tellers who are breaking the silence and giving us the language—and the courage—to finally unlearn ableism.

ALLIÉ: For those who don’t yet have the pleasure of knowing you, please introduce yourselves in your own words.

CELIA: Hi, I’m Celia Chartres-Aris, pronouns she/her. I wear many hats, but one of the biggest is as one half of Disabled By Society with Jamie. We’re a 100% disabled-owned and disabled-led organisation working around the world to dismantle ableism across governments, private companies, and the charity sector. We do this through training, auditing, consultancy, and research. We also host the award-winning podcast Unlearning Ableism and lead projects focused on embedding inclusion in policy and culture.

Right now, we’re here because of our upcoming book, Unlearning Ableism, a collaboration of our work and the voices of 37 disabled people from across the globe who share how we can begin to truly unlearn ableism.

​JAMIE: I’m Jamie Shields, pronouns he/him, the other half of Disabled By Society. I’m registered blind, autistic, and ADHD, and I’ve spent my life disabled by society. I struggled for years to find employment, then somehow ended up in recruitment—hiring others when I’d always been the one turned away.

I went from headhunting to leading a global disability and accessibility network. That shift happened through lived experience—realising I wasn’t alone. I’m also a content creator, which is how Celia and I met through the first UK LinkedIn Creator Programme.

It wasn’t love at first sight—it was bestie at first sight. She was the yin to my yang, the person I could say the unsayable to. Together we wrote Unlearning Ableism: The Ultimate No-Nonsense Guide to Understanding Disability. Two and a half years later, our baby is almost here.

​ALLIÉ: We grow up hearing words like racism and sexism, but ableism still stops people mid-sentence. If someone hears that word for the first time, how would you describe what ableism feels like—not as a definition, but as a lived experience?

JAMIE: It’s alienating, frustrating, and disappointing. When we talk about isms, we understand what racism and sexism mean because we’ve been taught about them. But no one teaches us about ableism, even though disability is the one group anyone can join at any time.

We’re all one accident or diagnosis away, yet society ignores it. Ableism isn’t one incident—it’s a constant thread. It’s the barriers, the backhanded compliments, the “you’re amazing for doing that” comments. It’s the missing ingredient in every inclusion conversation.

CELIA: I echo that. I’d also say it’s upsetting. When I share that I have a terminal illness and I’m in multiple-organ failure, people instantly give me pity—and in the same breath, they’ll say something deeply offensive without realising it. It’s that clash: sympathy on one side, prejudice on the other. Together, those two things other you completely. You stop being seen as human.

What’s most painful is that I expect it now—and I’m surprised when it doesn’t happen. That’s how far we have to go.
When people say “reasonable adjustments,” I ask, “What’s unreasonable?” We thank people for giving us our rights when we shouldn’t have to.

If you’re unsure what ableism looks like, try this: replace the word disability with race or gender in whatever you’re about to say. Would you still say it? If not, that’s ableism.

ALLIÉ: You’ve both talked about the silence that allows ableism to keep spinning. What was the moment that turned quiet frustration into action—the moment you said, enough?

CELIA: Mine came when I switched careers. I trained in law and had a job offer rescinded after disclosing my chronic health condition. It was a human-rights law firm, which made it worse. They told me I “wouldn’t be a good fit” now that they knew about my personal challenges.

I’d been bedridden for nearly two years and it had taken everything to apply. That call broke me—but it also lit something. My friends said, “Use that anger.” And I did. If that hadn’t happened, I’d still be in law. It was my “enough” moment—the one that changed everything.

JAMIE: For me, I hit rock bottom. I bounced from job to job, labelled needy or dramatic when I asked for support. On paper, it looked like I didn’t care about my career, but the truth was I just wanted to be accepted. I sank into depression, internalised ableism, and shame. When I lost the job I’d held the longest, I felt worthless. My partner told me, “It’s not you—it’s them.” That sentence saved me.
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Eventually, I found an employer who said, “What can we do to support you?” instead of “You don’t fit.” That moment changed everything. It reminded me that anger can fuel change.

ALLIÉ: Your book, Unlearning Ableism, invites people to shake things up, but that can make others uncomfortable. When someone says, “I didn’t mean it that way,” how do we move conversations from defensiveness to discovery?

JAMIE: That’s where unlearning starts. We’re not teaching people to be anti-ableist overnight—we’re helping them see that their “good intentions” can still cause harm.

We’ve all learned certain ways to speak about disability from society. Unlearning means accepting that we’ll get it wrong sometimes and being willing to do better.

It’s not about blame—it’s about awareness. In the book, we share humour and honesty because this isn’t about shame; it’s about shifting perspective. When you start to see disability as part of the human experience—not an exception—you begin to unlearn ableism.

CELIA: Exactly. We chose the word unlearning because this isn’t about acquiring new information—it’s about letting go of old conditioning. Since ancient times, societies have seen disabled people as weak or lesser. That’s why we think the way we do.

It’s not your fault, but it is your responsibility to unlearn it. Our book takes readers on that journey—understanding where these ideas came from, what they mean, and how to replace them with empathy and intention.

We also knew our own voices weren’t enough. Jamie and I are both white and live in a country with healthcare access many don’t have. So we invited 37 contributors from around the world to ensure real intersectionality.

No two disabled people are the same. Inclusion isn’t a five-step checklist; it’s individual and human.

ALLIÉ: You both talk about giving people permission—to get it wrong, to learn, to feel.

JAMIE: We’re human. We learn through mistakes. Even as disabled people, we don’t get a handbook. We only recognise ableism after we’ve lived it long enough to feel the toll it takes.

Unlearning Ableism helps people see that internalised ableism can be trauma. It’s the voice that says, “I’m not enough.” The book walks readers through awareness, action, and change—chapter by chapter. You can pick it up anywhere and walk away more confident than you were before.

We’re not here to name and shame; we’re here to celebrate growth and progress, one choice at a time.

CELIA: And it’s also a book for disabled people themselves—to feel seen and supported. Having Jamie in my life changed mine. I was advising prime ministers on inclusion while mentally tearing myself apart at home. He helped me unlearn that self-punishment.

We wrote this book so disabled readers could hear our friendship in its pages—a safe space where you’re allowed to cry, to get angry, to stop pretending it’s easy. It’s not about loving every part of disability—it’s about finding pride in identity, even when it’s hard. If I could wave a wand and cure my illness tomorrow, I would. But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of who I am.

ALLIÉ: Before the book is out, there are people listening who want to be allies but don’t know where to begin. What’s one small act anyone can do today to start unlearning ableism?

​CELIA: Listen to disabled people. That’s the first step. Whether online, in your organisation, or through books—hear our voices before you speak for us. There’s a fine line between allyship and taking up space. Be an ally, but when it’s time to pass the mic, let go of it.

During the London 2012 Paralympics, the marketing campaign called athletes “superhuman.” Many thought it was empowering, but it wasn’t—it othered us again. Nothing about us without us. So start with listening.

JAMIE: I love a quote Celia always says: “Start by doing what’s necessary, then do what’s possible, and suddenly you’re doing the impossible.” Start by learning. Connect with disabled creators. Read. Reflect. When we include disabled people, we build a better world for everyone. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman. (You can’t be a fireman when you’re blind—thanks, Fireman Sam!) I never imagined I’d co-found a company or write a book. But here we are, proving that what once seemed impossible is not.

ALLIÉ: You’ve said, “Disabled people are not unicorns who appear during a full moon.” When you imagine a world where ableism has been unlearned, what does that look like?

JAMIE: It’s a world without barriers. A world where my nephew, who shares my condition, can apply for jobs or navigate websites without obstacles. It’s a world where we can share our experiences without fear or shame—a world of freedom and expression. Our job is to make ourselves redundant—to make this work unnecessary because accessibility has become instinctive. That’s the dream.

CELIA: For me, it’s a world where you don’t wake up wishing you could peel yourself out of your body and live as someone else. It’s where disability is no longer seen as tragedy or heroism, but simply humanity. Where we stop saying “differently abled” and start saying “disabled” without shame. Accessibility isn’t a privilege; it’s a human right. I want a world where we don’t have to fight to stand on the same pitch, where inclusion is the baseline, not the battle.

JAMIE: A world where we don’t have to be thankful for meeting the bare minimum. Where getting an accommodation at work isn’t something we feel grateful for—it’s just normal. ∎

Learn more about Ceila & Jamie’s work online:
www.disabledbysociety.com
Want the book? Of course you do… Get it here:
https://awarenow.us/book/unlearning-ableism