Thoughts from Madeleine
Stories and plain-language guides about speaking up, knowing your rights, and dealing with the systems that are meant to support you.
I used to think policy was the boring part of this work. The paperwork you do after the real advocacy happens. I was wrong. Policy is where advocacy either sticks or disappears. You can have the best conversation of your life with someone about their rights, and if the system underneath them doesn’t change, you’re
I notice who’s in the room. Every time. Who’s leading the meeting, who’s on the board, who got asked and who didn’t. It’s not paranoia. It’s pattern recognition after years of watching decisions get made about people who were never invited to help make them. Representation in leadership isn’t a nice to have. When the
Nobody wants to talk about the money part of disability and advocacy. It feels impolite somehow, like you’re supposed to be grateful for support and not also want a proper income. I don’t buy that. Economic participation, having fair access to work, training, and the chance to build something of your own, isn’t separate from
I’ve been in rooms where I was technically there and completely invisible. Nobody was rude to me. Nobody said anything wrong. I just wasn’t really seen. That’s the difference between being present and being included, and it took me a long time to find the words for it. Social inclusion isn’t about ticking a box
People sometimes talk to me like I came up with these ideas myself. I didn’t. Everything I do sits on top of decades of work by disability rights movements around the world, Social Role Valorisation, the UN guidelines, researchers and advocates who fought for language and frameworks long before I showed up. I’m not the
Someone told me once that treating everyone exactly the same was the fairest way to run things. I remember staring at them, trying to work out how to explain what was wrong with that in one sentence. Here’s my attempt now. Equality hands everyone the same ladder. Equity asks how tall the wall is in
Someone once offered me a support plan that was clearly built for someone completely different from me. Same forms, same checklist, same assumptions. It didn’t fit, and nobody seemed to notice it didn’t fit. That’s what happens when services get built for an average person who doesn’t actually exist. Cultural dignity means recognising that people
Somewhere along the way, inclusion started getting treated like a kindness. Something generous an organisation does if it has the budget and the time. That framing makes my blood boil, honestly. Inclusion isn’t a favour. It’s a right. Being seen, heard, and respected shouldn’t depend on whether it’s convenient for someone else’s calendar this quarter.
The leaders who actually changed things for me weren’t the ones with the most polished plans. They were the ones who asked what I needed before deciding what I needed. That’s the whole difference, honestly. Inclusive leadership isn’t a style you adopt for a meeting and drop afterwards. It’s whether the people affected by a
I used to roll my eyes a bit at the word “framework.” It sounded like something you’d find in a binder nobody opens twice. I don’t feel that way anymore. A framework is just a promise written down so it can’t quietly disappear when things get busy or uncomfortable. Without one, good intentions tend to
I get frustrated when people talk about disability rights like they’re a local issue. Something one country figured out and another hasn’t gotten around to yet. Rights aren’t a postcode thing. When I look at where the strongest thinking on inclusion is coming from, it’s rarely just one place. Standards get built by people comparing
There was a period of my life where I’d rehearse a sentence in my head for days and never actually say it out loud. I knew what I wanted to ask for. I just couldn’t make myself do it. Self-advocacy isn’t really about being loud or confrontational. It’s about taking control of your own life