My New Year’s resolutions are often a mix of goals and wishes. Some are concrete steps, actions to be taken so I can make the most of the upcoming year. Some are wishes, trapped in that space between something that can happen and something that might not. A year ago, I wished I would be healthier. The year before that, I wished the same.

Being healthier is always on my New Year’s list, but not in the way you’d expect. Sure, I want to eat better. I want to move and exercise more, lose weight, and feel good about myself. But most of this wish is centred around one thing: the chance to break free from my disabilities.

On paper, my disabilities are listed under the “psychosocial” category: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Non-epileptic Seizure Disorder, Persistent Depressive Disorder, and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. But don’t be fooled by the category that paints these illnesses as merely “it’s all in your head.” The truth is, disorders like these, especially when left untreated, addressed too late, or experienced over prolonged periods, can result in physical symptoms as well. Even deterioration, I would argue.

PTSD, in particular, can result in symptoms that include, but are not limited to, chest pain, high blood pressure, rapid heart rate, persistent headaches, tremors, gastrointestinal issues, chronic pain, and fatigue. Additionally, having PTSD can lead to non-epileptic seizures, caused by a disconnect between the brain and the body’s response to stress. Where epilepsy causes abnormal brain electricity, something like a hardware issue, non-epileptic seizures are more of a software issue. Medical experts do not yet know the exact causes or treatments, and instead, most care comes in the form of managing symptoms and improving quality of life.

When you take a look at me, you wouldn’t know I was disabled. I can hold a job. I am somewhat successful in my endeavours. I can walk. I can see. There are no obvious problems with my body. And yet, the fact that my disabilities are not visible to the untrained eye does not mean they don’t exist.

Perhaps if people knew what to look for, they’d see the constant paleness, as if my blood doesn’t quite circulate enough. The frequent shortness of breath. The light and noise sensitivity. And even, on some unfortunate occasions, the seizures I cannot control, sometimes happening in public.

Stories about disability in the media, especially on monumental occasions like the New Year, often come with inspiring and uplifting messages: “Oh, look at so-and-so. They’re disabled, but they overcame it! How amazing!” And while these deserve their moment in the spotlight, too, it’s still important to remember why they are called disabilities in the first place. They disable. They debilitate. They compromise functioning and quality of life.

Each New Year comes with the expectation of bettering yourself, reflected in those resolutions that never fail to make the list: exercise, lose weight, eat healthy, go outside, spend less time online. But for people with long-term disabilities, such goals ignore the context that these things, while helpful, do not solve the problem in its entirety.

A disabled person can regularly go to the doctor. They can exercise as much as their body allows. They can eat the healthiest food in the world and have the best support system and still lag in ways non-disabled people don’t, unless structural changes happen and society starts to work together as a whole instead of placing the burden solely on afflicted individuals.

After all, humans are meant to live and depend on each other. No man is an island. Community makes or breaks people’s lives, and even societies and nations. And yet, when a disabled person asks for more help or accommodation, they are often labelled as burdens, or the blame is quietly shifted back onto them.

But here’s the thing: a disabled person not being able to thrive in society is a warning sign. A society that does not encourage collective support will eventually fail even its most able-bodied and capable members. Disabled people are the canaries in the coal mine. When we sing, when we make noise, signalling that something is wrong, it is only a matter of time before the system becomes unsustainable and collapses.

I know this not just in theory, but from personal experience.

This year, before I got my current job, I applied to many other opportunities. That alone was already difficult given the economy and job market, but more so because of my limited energy levels due to my disabilities, and the constant worry of whether I could even handle a job with my illnesses.

In one instance, I applied to a marketing company and had a positive experience throughout the hiring process. I passed the interviews, completed the skill and talent tests, and was told I did well, well enough to be among the top applicants. We were already discussing my contract, my starting date, and my salary. The only edge the others had, I was told, was seniority.

Then they asked if there were any medical issues they should know about.

I disclosed that I was disabled, specifically that I had PTSD and Non-epileptic Seizure Disorder, not to ask for special treatment, but so they would know how to respond if an incident occurred. That was when the tone of the conversation shifted abruptly. The general manager began questioning my competence and my ability to do the job, despite having already acknowledged that I was capable and qualified. She asked increasingly inappropriate questions about my family history, my trauma, my ability to manage stress, questions that made it clear she now saw me as a liability.

The head of HR sat silently throughout this. She neither intervened nor defended me. I expected more from her, knowing that HR professionals are supposed to be educated about disability in the workforce.

The interview ended on an uncertain note. The manager said they would review my contract further and email me about my starting date, framing it as several steps taken due to concern for my welfare. I did not hear from them again until more or less a month later. The contract I had already filled out was never mentioned. Instead, I received a brief email saying they were no longer moving forward with my application.

Legally, I know I cannot easily challenge this. They did not explicitly say I was rejected because I was disabled. The inappropriate questions were wrapped in the language of “concern.” And I simply did not have the resources, financially, physically, or emotionally, to fight it. I was too tired. Too disappointed. Too ashamed.

This year, we saw progress in disability representation in cinema through Sigrid Andrea Bernardo’s I’m Perfect. The film’s lead actress, Krystel Go, who has Down syndrome, made history when she won Best Female Actress at the 2025 Metro Manila Film Festival. This success shows that accommodation and representation are possible. And if they are possible in the arts and cinema, then they are possible in other sectors, from employment and healthcare to architecture and government policy.

We have the Magna Carta for Persons with Disabilities, and we have laws amending it. These are significant steps forward. But policies do not create change overnight. Even with them in place, many people still do not understand or treat persons with disabilities fairly, often limiting their compassion to visible disabilities alone. Policies, without solid action on both personal and societal levels, risk becoming little more than symbols of inclusivity.

So when you meet someone who is a person with disability, even if you don’t think they “look” disabled, or if you don’t understand their diagnosis, be kind. Listen with an open mind. Understand that when they express hardship or ask for accommodation, they are not trying to be difficult or bring down the mood. And most of all, don’t compare disabled people to one another. Each person has their own experience, and it matters.

This New Year, I still have the wish of being free from my disabilities on my list. But perhaps, aside from the fancy of one day waking up without my heart trying to escape my chest, my body threatening to give out from under me, or the chronic pain and fatigue that make me cry in bed, wishing I could run and play badminton again and not go absent from the job I love so much, my wish could instead be more about this: being free from the constant feeling of being a burden. Being free from the needless guilt and shame, both from myself and others. And instead running into a New Year with arms that welcome and uplift, where people support each other and understand that it takes a kinder world for all of us to succeed and flourish, abled or not.

References:

Cleveland Clinic, Psychogenic non-epileptic seizure (PNES), 2025.

Guina, Jeffrey, Expert Q&A: Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), 2025.

McFarlane, Alexander, The long-term costs of traumatic stress: intertwined physical and psychological consequences, 2010.

National Council on Disability Affairs, An act amending Republic Act No. 7277, otherwise known as the "Magna Carta for Disabled Persons," and for other purposes, 2006.