The question of whether mental health disorders qualify as disabilities seems to depend on how we frame the concept of disability. There are many ways to approach this, but I want to focus on the academic discourse shaping higher education today.
Within this framework, disability is often seen as a social construct. From this lens, mental illness—or a mental health disorder—isn’t an impairment but rather a divergence or neurodivergence from societal norms.
Academics in disability studies frequently highlight ableism, the belief system that privileges certain bodies and minds, reinforcing power structures that suppress marginalized individuals. Through this perspective, mental illness is redefined as a byproduct of medical narratives, shaped by societal expectations of what constitutes “good” mental health.
This is where I start to wrestle with the dominant academic narrative.
There exists a quiet minority within the university—those of us who are chronically mentally ill. We live with the undeniable weight of symptoms that transcend social theory. Our experiences are not just deviations from the norm; they are profound and often disabling. We know our suffering intimately. Yet, the prevailing academic rhetoric often dismisses this lived reality, leaving us without validation or support.
Disability studies offer empowerment, much like a thin layer of confidence papering over deep self-doubt. I understand the appeal of framing impairment as a social construct. It allows for externalization—shifting blame from the individual to society. This can help alleviate shame, especially in a culture that stigmatizes illness and prizes ability.
For some, this reframing is liberating. But I caution that externalization, while comforting, can sometimes be avoidance disguised as empowerment. There’s also a disconnect between academic theorizing and life outside the university walls.
In the real world, people with physical disabilities confront inaccessible sidewalks, buildings without ramps, and limited adaptive technology. Mental health patients face a fragmented, stigmatized system that reduces them to diagnoses rather than individuals. Outpatient treatment, forced hospitalizations, and discrimination are daily realities.
Yes, social constructs shape these experiences. But social constructivism alone cannot fully account for the complex, multifaceted realities of mental illness. The theories that dominate disability studies often fail to resonate with those of us navigating public health systems, treatment centers, and government benefits.
Consider this: If mental illness is purely a social construct, then why does the Social Security Administration (SSA) classify my mental illness as a legitimate impairment? SSA doesn’t distribute benefits based on abstract social theory. They acknowledge the tangible, disruptive nature of severe mental illness because it exists in the physical world—far removed from journal articles and university lectures.
Without my regular intramuscular (IM) injection, my mental illness would dismantle the life I’ve rebuilt. I wouldn’t need a professor to debate social norms; I’d need immediate clinical intervention. When psychosis, mania, or crippling depression resurfaces, it’s not an academic issue—it’s a medical one. And no amount of theoretical reframing will stop the onset of delusions or hallucinations.
I know this because I’ve lived it.
During a breakdown as a student, no academic theorist could help me. It was the clinicians—those rooted in practical treatment—who kept me afloat. I relied not on social discourse but on therapy, medication, and hospital care.
This isn’t to discount the value of disability studies entirely. It plays a role in revealing societal biases, challenging stigma, and reshaping public policy. But I argue that its perspective is limited, perhaps even dismissive, of those suffering in ways that transcend the neat boundaries of social constructivism.
In Yonkers, New York—where I live—mental illness is not a theoretical construct. It’s as real as the city streets, as palpable as state lines on a map. SSA, psychiatrists, and mental health clinicians recognize this reality because they have to. Our survival depends on the acknowledgement that mental illness, while influenced by society, also exists independently of it.
So, is mental illness a disability?
In academic circles, the answer may be complex, refracted through the lens of cultural theory and social analysis. But for those of us navigating the day-to-day realities of mental health care, the answer is simple. Yes, it is.
And in this case, the practical world—not the academic one—is where the answer matters most.
Author Info:
Max E. Guttman
Max E. Guttman is the owner of Mindful Living LCSW, PLLC, a private mental health practice in Yonkers, New York.
