Overcoming implicit bias requires rewiring the neural pathways in our brains, learning to recognise and challenge our unconscious prejudices By Justli
Last month, as part of the DEI Bookclub discussion about the book ‘Blindspot’, with James Hare, I took the Harvard Implicit Association Test (IAT) on disability bias.
My result?
“You have a slight automatic preference for abled-bodied people over disabled people.”
I’m a disability inclusion consultant. I’m disabled. And still, this test said I was biased against people like me.
At first, I felt a little defensive. Then I paused. Because the truth is, it makes complete sense.
Not because I believe disabled people are less capable, but because I, like everyone else, have been raised in a world that has taught me those messages.
From education to employment, media to medicine—we’re all exposed to stories that associate disability with struggle, burden, limitation, or pity.
We’re rarely taught to expect disabled people in leadership roles. We seldom see accessible spaces as standard, or disability as a form of expertise. And when the dominant narrative frames disability as something to be overcome, avoided, or inspirationalised—it’s no wonder those associations stick.
It seeps in, whether we want it to or not. Whether we’re disabled or not.
That’s precisely what implicit bias is: the automatic associations we’ve absorbed over time, not necessarily the ones we consciously agree with.
So what the IAT revealed wasn’t my values. It revealed my environment.
And it gave me something else: a renewed sense of urgency. Because if even I—someone who lives and breathes this work—have internalised these patterns, what does that say about the systems we’re all navigating?
Disability bias doesn’t only live in people who “don’t get it”
One of the most confronting things about bias is that it can even show up in the people doing the work.
Bias doesn’t wait for permission. It doesn’t skip people with lived experience. It doesn’t bypass the people who consider themselves inclusive.
It lives in:
- The design of online forms assumes everyone can see, hear, or type
- The job descriptions that frame access as a nice-to-have
- The Access and Inclusion role that’s only funded for two days a week
- The committees where disability is left off the agenda
- The uncomfortable pause when someone mentions a disability disclosure in a hiring conversation
- The inaccessible conference room that “was the only one available”
- The comms plan that forgets to include alternative formats until the day before
And it lives in the minor, split-second reactions we often never question.
I don’t see the IAT result as a failing. I see it as a flag. A reminder that I’m operating within systems, and those systems have shaped how I see the world. That awareness isn’t an endpoint. It’s an entry point.
Bias isn’t always loud. Sometimes it whispers.
It whispers:
- “Don’t say disability, it might offend someone.”
- “Let’s just say ‘all abilities,’ it sounds more positive.”
- “We don’t have disabled staff, so we don’t need to worry about that.”
- “It’s not our place to ask.”
- “We can include disability next year.”
These aren’t neutral statements. They’re symptoms of how bias embeds itself into language, policy, and workplace culture.
Bias isn’t always obvious. But its outcomes are.
If we can’t name the issue, we can’t track outcomes. If we avoid the discomfort, we avoid the action. And if we only focus on personal attitudes, we miss the systems that keep exclusion in place.
This isn’t just a mindset shift—it’s a systems issue. One that calls us to move from reflection to redesign.
So, what do we do with this discomfort?
That’s the question I always come back to.
Because awareness alone isn’t enough, acknowledging bias is essential. It has to go somewhere. It has to shape what we do.
This is where systems thinking becomes key. We can’t always control our first thought, but we can redesign our systems so that bias has less room to harm.
We can shift what we measure, how we communicate, how we make decisions, and who we centre.
Here are a few starting points:
- Normalise the word disability. Say it. Use it. Stop replacing it with euphemisms. It’s not a bad word—it’s a necessary one.
- Review policies and communications. Is disability mentioned clearly? Or hidden in vague language?
- Create space for reflection, not perfection. Build teams and cultures where people can acknowledge bias without shame and take action.
- Engage disabled people meaningfully, not just as storytellers but as strategists, designers, facilitators, and leaders.
- Don’t wait to get it perfect. Get it moving.
- Embed accountability, not just awareness. Who’s responsible for keeping this work on the table?
Final thoughts
Taking the IAT didn’t tell me something I didn’t already know. But it was something I needed to stay awake to.
Bias isn’t a personal weakness. It’s patterned learning. And it takes patterned unlearning to shift.
So if your result surprised you, you’re not alone. If it made you uncomfortable? Good. Sit with it. If you haven’t taken the IAT, find it here.
And then ask: what’s one decision, assumption, or habit I could revisit with this in mind?
That’s where change starts. That’s how we interrupt what we’ve inherited.
Need support?
This is precisely the kind of reflection and action I help teams work through.
If your organisation is ready to:
Get clearer about how disability shows up in your work
Sense-check your language and strategy
Move from avoidance to action
Back your inclusion plans with lived experience and practical follow-through
⬇️ Let’s chat.
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