Activism As Therapy

Disclaimer/Clarification: The title of this essay is admittedly hyperbolic; I am in no way suggesting that political activism alone can replace the work of a qualified therapist. What’s more, I am not a clinician, and everything stated herein should be taken as entirely anecdotal but hopefully thought-provoking and relatable nonetheless.

Also, before proceeding further, I have not been able to record a voice narration of this essay because I have not yet had the opportunity to set up an internet connection at my new residence. Thus, I have been writing these posts from a public library or cafe, where recording a voiceover would be extremely impractical. However, I should be setting up a home internet connection soon and will thus be able to resume adding voiceovers to my posts, as before.

In my last essay, Playing Lawyer, I shared a raw, unfiltered personal anecdote about the very type of institutional violence too many disabled people endure. These arbitrary and capricious acts of institutional violence are inflicted with particular harshness under late-stage capitalism, even by institutions like the American Social Security Administration (SSA), ostensibly established to support us. As an update, I just successfully appealed the suspension of my Social Security benefits, and my payments have been reinstated. I’m now in the process of getting back on my feet mentally and emotionally, and getting on with my life. However, the incident left me reflecting on why I do what I do as a neurodivergent author and activist, and what keeps me going. In this essay, I share those reflections.

My most recent disaster with SSA wasn’t the first time I’ve been dealt such an unjust and devastating blow from the agency. Though these moments temporarily leave me feeling shattered, hopeless, and demoralized to the point of paralysis, in the long run, they fuel my determination to continue my work as an author and activist. In fact, my writing and involvement in local grassroots progressive activism have played a crucial role in helping me recover from the kinds of insults and indignities that many disabled people face too often.

The Initial Spark:

“The victim who is able to articulate the situation of the victim has ceased to be a victim: he or she has become a threat.” –James Baldwin

I was first inspired to devote my life to activism decades ago, when it became clear that my disabilities preclude my gainful employment in the neoliberal era I live in. Simply put, regardless of the economic sector, my incurably slower working speed puts me at odds with the ever-accelerating work intensification that defines the neoliberal workplace. Capitalist production, which relies entirely on tangible quantitative growth, could never have use for slow-paced, intellectually stimulating occupations that enrich and enlighten society, thereby contributing to a nation’s qualitative growth.

This realization, while alleviating the toxic guilt, shame, and internalized feelings of worthlessness that sadly plague many disabled people, also evoked the bitterest betrayal I had ever known.

After years of working my ass off to earn my college degrees with high marks, I was left with no recourse but to fight SSA for five long years, all while being gaslit and psychologically tortured by the agency, before finally being approved for federal disability benefits. Moreover, this institutional violence was inflicted on me right after being subjected to horrific collective narcissistic psychological abuse in grad school. Grad school for me was the final “cherry on top” of a big “shit sundae” of systemic betrayal, represented by the many years I spent trying to rehabilitate myself into society.

Ultimately, uncovering the ableism underpinning both my marginalizing grad school experience and my dealings with SSA led me to critically examine how ableism manifests in the broader society I inhabit and how it has always impacted me.

While my disability case was pending, and when I wasn’t grappling with SSA’s copious administrative burdens, procuring documents and filing paperwork to support my disability claim, I was diving into academic disability studies literature, as well as reading Marx, Trotsky, Lenin, and other socialist thinkers, both historical and modern. It was almost a process of re-education or conscientization (Freire, 1970) to counter the dominant cultural narratives I long operated under. My readings and conversations with other socialists helped me better understand the economic and political underpinnings of my disablement and, hence, my marginalization as a neurodivergent person. Yet at a deep emotional level, the sense of systemic betrayal persisted.

Particularly painful was realizing that it had taken me so long to fully recognize my status and identity as a disabled individual as a basis for radicalization. It was somewhat akin to recovering from years spent in a toxic, abusive, gaslighting relationship. I blamed myself for not “seeing it sooner.”

Thus, the combination of the anger I felt over such a profound systemic betrayal, the pain of not radicalizing sooner, the realization that I will likely never work in the conventional sense, and the ongoing institutional and systemic violence I regularly endure as a disabled person galvanized me to devote the rest of my life full-time to activism.

With so much time to myself and seemingly little else to lose, I felt it was my only recourse to keep bitterness and resentment from completely eating away at my soul. What better way to deal with this pain than to transform it into purpose, hopefully contributing to the development of a world in which future generations of neurodivergent people will have better life prospects than I have had?

Finding One’s Jam As An Activist:

This in itself could be the topic of many writings. As a disabled activist, so much of getting involved and staying engaged entails finding activities that align with your capacity and risk tolerance. For me, as a healthy dyspraxic person with a slower operational pace who can’t readily engage in large-group interactions and can’t drive a car, I have several criteria for how I engage in activism. In the realm of grassroots community-based activism, these will include:

• Accessibility by walking, cycling, or public transit.

• Can be done alone and largely at my own pace. This is why I often prefer signature collecting and tabling over attending chair and committee meetings. I especially like tabling because it enables one-on-one dialogue and outreach to others by discussing issues in depth.

• Low levels of overstimulating noise and movement. This is why I prefer quiet vigils to loud, raucous demonstrations, where I might become confused, overstimulated, and overwhelmed.

Aside from the grassroots campaigning I do, I also consider my writing a form of activism, something I continually work on to expand its reach. In fact, it’s now the bulk of the activism work that I do, and I can see myself doing it for the rest of my life. Before long, I would like to add public speaking to my activism battery, too.

I also simply try to educate others on dyspraxia and neurodiversity as I move through life. This is why I am so open about talking about my neurodivergence. It is not just a personal medical issue; there are many broader societal dimensions to the neurodivergent experience.

A growing number of psychologists even recognize the therapeutic value of activism and try to integrate support for their clients’ activism into the therapeutic relationship. Liberation psychology has been particularly influential in this regard. This approach might be especially applicable when dealing with clients whose suffering can be attributed to the marginalizing effects of broader systemic inequities within society. Thus, I can see how this approach might be especially relevant when working with neurodivergent clients.

Therapists often help clients to identify causes they care about and find safe, effective ways to engage. Helping these clients to avoid or minimize burnout is also a major part of this process. In fact, therapists or activists with mental health backgrounds may even support community building among activist spaces to strengthen not just the mental health of individuals involved, but also the collective mission as a whole. Helping to minimize burnout is particularly important when working with neurodivergent clients, who may be more susceptible to it.

These are some of the noted research findings on the beneficial effects of activism on mental health and well-being:

• Increased feelings of life satisfaction, experiencing personal growth, and having a healthier social well-being than those who don’t participate in activism. (Tipsword, Rosa-Davila, 2021)

• A sense of accomplishment after witnessing positive changes they are advocating for, or movement towards those changes (www.psygentra.com).

• Enhanced sense of agency from taking action and regaining a sense of control over one’s own life. This can be instrumental in counteracting feelings of helplessness that contribute to poor mental health outcomes among those experiencing systemic oppression and marginalization. (decolonisedminds.ie)

• Addressing structural causes: Therapy that incorporates activism shifts the focus from individual adaptation alone to the broader systems that contribute to distress (decolonisedminds.ie).

• Building Resilience: Collective action provides emotional validation, mutual support, and a sense of hope that can help protect against future stressors (Tipsword Rosa-Davila 2021).

From my own experience, I can say that being involved in political activism has helped me recognize the epistemic injustice embedded in dominant social narratives, grounded in an ethos of “personal responsibility,” which often places an unrealistic and scientifically untenable onus on disabled people to “rise above” adversity and “overcome” their disability. It has also improved my ability to communicate about social and political issues as an activist. This has also translated into an improved ability to navigate disability systems. Also, finding camaraderie with fellow leftists and progressives, many of whom are also disabled in some way, has helped me feel less alienated and alone.

How I Avoid Burnout As A Neurodivergent Activist:

“The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life.” – Rabindranath Tagore

I think the key ways to avoid burnout include adjusting expectations, finding hope even in seemingly small strides toward social progress, and sheer belief in your cause. As a progressive, I strongly believe that my actions will put me on the right side of history. Rosa Luxemburg once wrote in Junius Pamphlet, “Friedrich Engels once said: Bourgeois society stands at the crossroads, either transition to socialism or regression into barbarism.” This is where I believe humanity is now. The capitalist paradigm of unfettered growth, exploitation, and extraction not only excludes and leaves many behind but has also proven unsustainable environmentally, socially, and economically. Thus, at the risk of sounding conceited, I see myself as part of a larger movement to lead humanity toward its own preservation, given the present state of affairs. So perhaps, in some way, given my socialist perspective, which views humanity more historically, this is what solidifies my strong commitment to activism.

I am also fully aware that within my lifetime, I may not see much progress toward the sustainable, neuroinclusive society I advocate for. But it’s not just about me. It’s about future generations, too.

Elite interests may ultimately win out, and humanity may destroy itself as a result. But at least in that scenario, I know I will go to my grave knowing I have lived on the right side of history. This understanding, along with practical tactics for choosing how to engage in activism in ways that honor my capacities and abilities, has helped me keep going for so long and continues to motivate me to stay engaged.

Works Cited/Future Reading:

AlAli,Talha (2024). The Role of Activism in Mental Health and Personal

Empowerment. decolonisedminds.ie/the-role-of-activism-in-mental-health-

and-personal-empowerment Accessed: 6/23/2026

Tipsword, R, BSW, Rosa-Davila, PhD (2021). Activism and Mental Health: A Social

Work Perspective. TWU. Orion Levy Woolf Division of Social Work. twu-

ir.org Accessed: 6/23/2026

Tosh, J., CPsychol, AFBPsS, FHEA RCC (2024). How Activism Can Be Therapeutic

And Therapy Can Be A Kind Of Activism.

psygentra.com/post/how-activism-can-be-therapeutic-and-therapy-can-be-a-

kind-of-activism

Accessed: 6/23/2026