What they don't tell you...

They will tell you that you are disabled. It will feel weird, like a perfectly comfortable broken in shoe that you never broke in yourself. It fits perfectly, but surely it shouldn't because you've been not disabled this whole time and able to mostly get along.

They will tell you that you need accommodations. They'll even write you helpful notes about it. Medical notes from medical professionals about the things you need to no longer raw-dog reality to the point of agony.

What they won't tell you is that now you are expected to become a public advocate for yourself and your disability. Do you find speaking difficult? Too bad, speak up. Speak up even when people accuse you of faking it. Speak up in confrontation. Speak up to authority figures, to family, to strangers on the street demanding you perform disability to their satisfaction like a circus animal.

What they won't tell you is that now you have to become a disability lawyer, knowledgeable in all of the pertinent laws, statues and acts that apply to you, and your needs, in your country, your state or province, your workplace. The court you argue in is the court of public opinion, where people stand secure in their knowledge from shit they learned from television, some TikTok they saw, or maybe just vibes.

They will tell you what you need to help yourself, but they won't ever tell you that trying to get those things, and keep them, may feel like removing the skin from your body with a rusty potato peeler.

They won't tell you the cost. Be it physical, emotional or financial.

(Screaming into the void, here, while I struggle in dealing with people around my service-dog-in-training in ways I never anticipated.)