Category Archives: blindness

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice? Not on MY Life!

13 Saturday May 2017

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About three months ago, I started a brand new job. I love my job, the people I work with, the location… all of it. Working in a big building downtown wasn’t something I ever thought I’d do again, but I’m thrilled to be where I am. Jenny and I have been welcomed with open arms by colleagues, managers, building regulars, fellow transit passengers… just about everyone.

But working in a big crowded building also brings to the forefront something every disabled person has dealt with at one time or another: the grabbers. Sure, I’ve dealt with them before in other jobs or other places, but working in a very large building open to the public 5 days a week puts me in touch with many amazing people… and many grabbers.

And you know what?

I’m done being nice to grabbers.

Over the span of the past month, I’ve had numerous encounters with someone (several someones) who thinks that grabbing my body to direct me is acceptable. My shoulders have been turned to direct me, someone steered me by the waist, my hands and arms have been grabbed so frequently (and at one point so hard) that I swear I can still feel marks on my body from the other person’s fingers. Depending on the situation, the closeness of quarters, and the willingness of the other party to observe both visual and verbal queues, my reaction is situationally specific, made in a split second, when I’m not stunned motionless and speechless by someone’s lack of personal boundaries.

But why should I have to think about it? Why should I need to make judgment calls on an appropriate reaction on a frequent basis simply because I have a disability and people get weirded out about it? Why should I have to be nice because someone “meant well”? Meaning well means asking first. Meaning well means listening to my response. Meaning well means not doing something that would reasonably get one punched, kicked, screamed at or sprayed in the face if the action was directed at anyone without a disability.

And think I’m exaggerating?

A blind friend on a facebook discussion on this very topic “only gets rudely grabbed twice a week or so.”

Only?

ONLY?

There is no ONLY!

This behavior is unacceptable. We can all agree that able-bodied people aren’t frequently grabbed, manhandled, pushed, prodded, or otherwise bodily manipulated. We can all agree that such behavior is wrong. So why does disability make it right? The fact that it happens so frequently to people with visible physical disabilities that we think it “only” happens twice a week or so should appall you. The only time to grab someone is if they are actually falling and you need to catch them, or you need to pull them back from real danger (like an oncoming bus a split second away). That does not happen twice a week or so.

My tongue bleeds sometimes from my biting all of this back, from keeping quiet, from being nice. If I had fingernails, the palm of my right hand would have half-moon shaped scars from clenching my fist in my pocket. But I’m done bleeding and scarring because of my own desire to blend in, to simply go about my day. Grabbers, you are the problem, and I’m done taking out my frustration on myself. I’m done being nice because being nice has gotten me – and society – nowhere. So your intentions don’t matter; keep your hands to yourself. I’m taking my equality into my own hands. A woman without a disability can fend off an attack? Your firm grip on my hand, wrist, arm, shoulder, hips, waist, or mobility aid without my knowledge or consent is an attack, and I will respond accordingly. If grabbing me is your way to ensure my safety, I plan on learning and training and finding out how I can keep myself safe… from you. You don’t ask me if I want your help; you think you can and should decide for me. That decision is not yours to make.

The Good Old Hockey Game

23 Sunday Apr 2017

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Ahhhh, hockey, how I love thee.

Ahhhh, playoff hockey… how much MORE I love thee.

Edmonton has been gripped by hockey fever since the Edmonton Oilers made the playoffs for the first time in eleven years. Back then, I had lived in Edmonton for 18 months, had left my first job, was starting to seriously consider Bible school, and was way too broke to be attending any games.

Now, I’ve started a new job, been married for nine years, and am still too broke to attend a live playoff game…

But I could go to Rogers Place – the new hockey arena – and join what felt like the rest of the city in watching the away-game on the big screen.

 

First Period: Preparation

Our friends invited us to the Watch party at Rogers place. You get in for $5 and can watch the game on the big screen. If the Oilers had been playing at home, by all accounts we’d be spending hundreds of dollars on nosebleed tickets. But for this away-game we could soak in the atmosphere and watch the game for the cost of a pricy coffee.

Let’s go Oilers!

We all had our jerseys on – me, Ben, even Jenny! Jenn sported her running harness both for asthetic (Oilers colours!) and practical (comfortable) reasons, her Newtrix, and her MuttMuffs – we knew it would be loud!

We met our friends (who had our tickets) at Ford Hall, where the party was already started. The music was booming, and the Montreal-New York game was playing on the screen. We located our seats and asked if they had anything announcing the play-by-play of the game, and Guest Services provided us with an FM transmitter that would’ve relayed some information from the home-game announcers to a user’s headset, but not the exact play-by-play. I figured I could use my phone to stream the play-by-play, but the delay was so far back that I would miss the atmosphere and the action itself. Thankfully, as the game was streamed from a TV into the arena, I could hear more of what went on than I would’ve if it had been a home game.

We got to our seats, posed for pictures, and even got photo bombed by the cousin of a friend of Ben’s. The national anthems were sung – the whole house singing Oh Canada, remaining on their feet and singing The Star Spangled Banner.

Then… puck drop!

 

Second Period: Shots on Goal

The Oilers scored two fairly quick goals in the beginning of the second period. I felt bad that I had sent Ben to the concession for a drink for me, but he came back with food just as the second goal was scored and the crowd was screaming. As the game progressed, we started to believe that we COULD win this game – and this series – and move on to the next one. We cheered for our goals, for blocked shots, for penalty kills, for close calls. We cheered for each other, for our players, for our town.

 

Third Period: Gettin’ ‘er done, Bringing it Home

The Sharks scored a goal in the third period, and the tension ramped up. Nails were bitten, particularly when Edmonton got a penalty for too many men on the ice. The last five minutes, I couldn’t hear any of the play-by-play, so I screamed at Ben to tell me when something was going on. The cheers grew even louder, our eyes grew wide with incredulity as an Edmonton player went to shoot into an empty Sharks net and broke his stick. The last minute of the game, all you could hear was the shouting and cheering and screaming of thousands of Edmonton Oilers fans, on their feet, wanting to be heard all the way in San Jose. Edmonton’s team captain sealed the deal, and with an even louder roar, Edmonton Oilers fans raised the roof on Rogers Place.

 

I’ve been to hockey games before, particularly a memorable one in New York City, but nothing compares to this. As we left Rogers Place, buzzing with the thrill of the game, thousands of people flooded the hallways. Chants of “Let’s go Oilers!” and “We want the Cup!”, honking horns, and jubillant celebration could be heard at the arena, on the train, and on the road on the drive home.

I’ll never forget this game, and I can’t wait to see what round two will bring!

LET’S GO OILERS!!!

Happy birthday, Jenny! If I Could… I’d Give you Cake

04 Saturday Mar 2017

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Dear Jenny,

 

I wake up this morning, like any other, and realize that nothing has changed. You wake up with a stretch and a yawn and a dozen enthusiastic tail wags and a scratch and a vocal cue that it is really time to go outside now… and nothing has changed for you, either.

But Jenny, my wonderful, enthusiastic, sassy, intelligent, impulsive, quirky guide dog… You’re FIVE YEARS OLD today! You may not know the significance of this day, beyond the fact that today you get to go for a long run in the dog park (weather permitting), get to spend some time hanging out with some of your favourite people, and enjoy a brand new beef bone and a brand new squeaker ball… but even the idea of this day leaves me breathless.

It started about a month ago on the bus. I get asked regularly about you, Jenny… about what breed you are and how long we’ve been a team and how old you are. The first time I uttered the phrase “She’ll be five in…” I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth.

Five years old!

But it’s more than this.

About the time I started realizing that your FIFTH birthday was coming up the very same week I started a shiny new job, I looked back at our journeys and how truly, truly interconnected they really are, and always have been.

Let’s remember, shall we?

Jenny at 7 weeks old

Jenny at 7 weeks old

When you were born, on March 4, 2012, I was working in an office at a job I loved fiercely. What I didn’t yet know was how much my job would change over the next couple of weeks. I still loved my job, my coworkers, and some of the new changes… but I wasn’t doing the job I was originally hired to do. These changes opened up doorways to my future, just as you would in the years to come; they also gave birth to the advocate in me, something I would need when fighting for access rights, employment, and personal autonomy.

Jenny at 6 months old.

When you were six months old – getting bigger, learning new things, eating pages out of library books – I knew my time at that job would soon come to an end. Growing is painful, and necessary. Change is painful and necessary. But As I was struggling and wriggling out of the safe cocoon of that long-time job, you were getting bigger and changing and taking steps forward and backward and forward again. By the time you turned ten months old, I had turned my face to the wind and waited to embrace new employment opportunities.

Jenny at 10 months old

You grew bigger and stronger, still curious about life. You lost interest in library books and gained interest in training. You made mistakes but were given the opportunity for another chance to make things right. I’ve since learned how very very important this is to you.

jenny-in-chinatown-in-front-of-post-with-asian-writing

You started advanced training in May 2013. At this time, after months of searching, I started work at a call center for a pizza restaurant. I enjoyed the work and the flexibility it offered (enough flexibility to enable us to train together and still keep my job). I know you enjoyed time with your boarder and her dog and time spent with your brother and the other dogs in the training van – everyone told me so.

I got the call that you and I were a match just two days before my birthday. I couldn’t think of a better present. That summer was a challenge for our little family, but we were all excited about welcoming you to it.

I remember our first walk – just after our first meeting – like it was yesterday. You went FAST! This little spitfire of a black lab was going to give me a run for my money. All I remember thinking was… why is this dog swerving? When I learned that you were avoiding all of those poles along the sidewalk that my cane hit on a regular basis, just because that’s what you were trained to do. Our speed, your precise movements… I knew you were the best dog for me. We started training the day before you turned 18 months old.

 

From that point on, we’ve been a team. Sometimes we’ve been so in tune with each other that I can’t believe we’ve only known each other for 3.5 years – think running along the paths of our neighborhood, our trip to New York City, or going through a sudden job loss and more job interviews than I can count. Sometimes our communication clearly sucks – one of us clearly doesn’t want to listen (and usually it’s me). You communicate so effectively that I swear you could learn English if you wanted to – from telling me a best friend is at the door, to signalling your painful allergy symptoms, to groaning your boredom during long meetings… no one needs a Jenny dictionary. You’ve made dozens of friends – both human and dog – and won them all over with your charming personality, your big brown eyes, and open heart. You may never understand what you’ve brought to me. Even this past week in navigating a new office, you’ve impressed me with your willingness to just go with your gut and see if we’re going the right way – and by the end of the week, we’re not lost in a maze of hallways and cubicles anymore.

 

Jenny, my girl… I want to be just like you when I grow up. I want to love my routine but be ok with sudden changes. I want to make snap decisions, right or wrong, and follow the path I take – because my gut (and yours) is usually right. I want to love openly and completely, with no reservations, qualifications, or expectations beyond time, presence, and returned affection. I want to be so joyous that the world will know that it’s a beautiful place… and I want my joy to be so evident that a rare grumpy day will be just as obvious.

 

I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without you. As much as guide dog training taught us to work together, you taught me even more about life. You’ve taught me to let go of my rigid expectations, to go with the flow. You’ve shown me that you can make mistakes – even big ones – and learn from them if you don’t give up. You’ve shown me that it’s OK to be scared but to face your fears anyway. Over the years, we’ve faced some scary situations – from cars pulling out in front of us, to a fight breaking out around us, to the sudden sound of automatic hand dryers. We’ve been through them together. You’ve literally saved my life more than once – from speeding buses or creepy people who want to pick me up at bus stops. You’ve left such a mark on my life and my heart that just last week I got a tattoo of your pawprint with your name inside it. It’s a visible reminder of all the things you’ve given to me so selflessly. I can’t wait to see what the next five years of our journey will bring!

 

Since I can’t give you cake, a ball and a wrestle and a snuggle will have to do. But it doesn’t seem nearly enough.

 

Happy birthday, Jenny Pen. Here’s to many more.

With all my love.

 

P.s. HUGE thanks to BC and Alberta Guide Dogs, Jenny’s puppy raisers, boarders, trainers, my husband, friends, and family, and all of those who’ve loved her along our journey.

P.p.s. Pictures courtesy of BC and Alberta Guide Dogs.

Removing the Bubble Wrap: Freedom to Fail

20 Friday Jan 2017

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When you think of disability, what do you think of? Do you think of struggle, tragedy, inspiration? Do you think of incompetence or hope? Do you feel the overwhelming need to protect people with disabilities from all harm?
None of these – tragedy, protection, inspiration, incompetence – are what disability is about. It’s the only condition that transcends ethnicity, nationality, race, religion, gender, age, sexual orientation or economic status.
Disability IS humanity.
So why do we in the disability community – whether we’re disabled ourselves or are a loved one, teacher, spouse, or caregiver of someone who is – swing to the extremes of over-achievement and low expectations?

Those who know me well (OK, and if I’m honest, even those who don’t) learn pretty quickly that I’m a perfectionist. I like to do things well because I hate backtracking and doing my work over again. I’d like to think I’m more tolerant of the true limitations, weaknesses and eccentricities of those around me than I am of my own, but the jury’s still out on that. This isn’t to say I agree with lazy or apathetic attitudes (I don’t), but I realize we’re not all blessed with the same personality traits, gifts, skills and talents.
But why do we raise or lower the bar only because of disability? How can parents sometimes deliberately make their blind child stand out by not teaching them how to perform basic living tasks? And what makes us, as disabled people, feel the need to do absolutely everything perfectly by ourselves just because it can be done? Why do we believe the lie that we cannot fail at anything? Ever?
I’m currently working in a field that does not come naturally for me. It’s uncomfortable. It’s discouraging sometimes (okay, a lot of times). But in an odd, uncomfortable way, it’s also been the most empowering experience of my life. If one day it reaches the point where it’s not working out, I can honestly say that I threw my whole weight behind it… and I didn’t give up. I’ve been publicly compared to Rocky Balboa, and I wear that badge proudly, with the metaphorical black eye, split lip, and everything.
Why do I do this?
Because far too frequently, I’m not given the chance to succeed or fail on my own merits. I’m either not given an opportunity at all because of the preconceptions of my blindness, or I’m told that any effort I give is good enough. Both are wrong. Often times, people with disabilities are robbed of a crucial part of a growing process because these opportunities are denied us by those who “mean well.” We’re not wrapped in cotton, we’re not precious little beings who need to be patted on the head for every little thing we do that our non-disabled classmates, coworkers, or friends do just because its expected. We’re not achieving something simply because we do it “in spite of” or “because of” our disabilities. We are people, period, and we should be able to embrace our talents, be encouraged to make an effort to expand our horizons, and be met with the inevitable challenge of falling flat on our face sometimes.
So throw away the bubble wrap. We’re going to get hurt sometimes. But look back on your life. Tell me, what are the times you grew the most? Was it the time when things came easy to you? Or the times you looked yourself in the face (metaphorical black eye and split lip and all), squared your shoulders, and told yourself that you’d give it one more try?
Disabled people may need help with some things, with some tasks, with some alternatives. Or we may not. But what we need, more than anything, is the opportunity, on an equal and level playing field, to succeed or fail on our own merits, based on our own personalities, skills, talents and effort. No one should deny anyone else those growing pains and glimmers of hope, and disability doesn’t change that.

2016: The Year of the Marathon

01 Sunday Jan 2017

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Ah, 2016.

I am SO glad to see the back of you. It’s been a hard year for many, from a surprise American election result to many celebrity deaths to the personal struggles that many (myself included) are facing.

While 2015 was the year a bunch of bad stuff happened, 2016 was the year of holding on, pushing through, and hoping for better things to come. I’ve affectionately dubbed this year “the year of the marathon” – a very very hard marathon.

While you are reading this, I am likely snug under piles of blankets after an evening of celebrating with close friends. This may or may not have included beverages, food, games, laughter, and a fire burning some horrible symbols of this year. But 2016 is now over, and 2017 is beginning.

Fire!

 

This blog has been a repository for some important thought processes. It’s enabled me to get out some frustrations, to let others know they are not alone, to speak some hard truths into the air. I’ve written more about my personal experiences, and I thank you for joining me on this wild ride of a blogging journey. No year on this blog would be complete without looking back on what’s happened before, so here’s a snapshot of what this year has brought:

 

Top 5 Posts

 

Most popular book review: Not if I see you First

Most popular in the “Empowered” series: Elegant Insights

 

Blogging Makes me Stronger… especially with posts like These

 

Part of the joy of being a blogger is the ability to look back over the course of your writing and see how you’ve grown. Many bloggers love it when their posts gain acceptance and popularity, but I find myself challenged by the posts that were hardest to write, or those that were not accepted as widely for a wide variety of reasons. So here are a few posts that have made me grow and have truly changed my perspective on writing or life this year.

  • The post with the content I still fully support, but the title that makes me cringe.
  • I was corrected kindly on my use of language on a popular post from last year.
  • Writing this made me cry… and now that I’m re-reading it… is someone cutting onions in here?
  • Sometimes… it’s all about perspective.
  • is it wrong to have a favorite blog post?

Bring on 2017!

 

I’m so proud of how I have come out stronger in 2016. A part of me wishes it didn’t have to come from necessity, but I’ve learned a lot about writing, myself, and life. Whether it’s running with Jenny in preparation for a 10K, creating pretty beaded things with my hands, career struggles, falling and getting back up again… I’m so ready for 2017 and what it has in store. Who’s with me?

The Easy Life

09 Friday Dec 2016

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One thing I’ve noticed over the years, particularly as it comes to interpersonal dynamics, is the idea that my life with a disability is so hard. I frequently encounter perceptions of strangers that I am unable to cook a meal, hold down a job, or raise a family, all because of my disability. Then there’s the confusion about what disability I actually DO live with every day. I, a blind woman, am perpetually told that I MUST need the elevator, rather than the flight of stairs to which I was asking directions. My friends who are deaf or hard of hearing have frequently told me of their experience of being spoken to in very. slow. and. measured. words – complete with sweeping arm and hand gestures – or having written conversations in what amounts to broken English because of the perception that they do not understand complete sentences. I’ve witnessed a friend in a wheelchair being spoken to like a small child, rather than the competent adult she is, simply because she is seated and therefore shorter than most adults.
Do you know what all this has in common? It’s someone else’s discomfort around disability… and not the challenge of disability itself. Most of us with disabilities have reached a place where the tools of disability are second-nature to us – how to navigate the world, prepare food for ourselves, take care of our bodies. We realize that many people haven’t gone through Disability 101 (a seemingly mandatory course in the school of Disability Acceptance that sometimes takes months, sometimes years to master), and we’re generally understanding of mistakes along the way. What doesn’t seem to make sense to us is the idea that a non-disabled person’s job is to make our life “easier” or “better.” Not only that, but the perception is that it’s up to the non-disabled person to decide what we require – a seat on the bus, a spot closer to the front of the lineup, an elevator instead of stairs – frequently putting us in situations where we have to firmly make our needs known because we were never asked in the first place. This then causes the “well-meaning” non-disabled person to call us ungrateful, rude, abrupt, or pushy for simply asserting our autonomy… because, after all, they “meant well.” We often are forced to have nerves of steel, to bottle up feelings of frustration and anger, not because our disability is so hard, but because it’s so exhausting being used as a “teachable moment“, or having to assert our desires and rights to work and play and access the same facilities that are so often taken for granted.

But you know what/ I’ve discovered? I can have nerves of steel, I can advocate perfectly for myself, I can say all the right things with a perfect tone… and I STILL am misunderstood. I hate that I have to write this, because admitting it means I need something from you. It actually IS your job to help make my life easier, and that of other disabled people in your sphere of influence. But you don’t get to pick and choose what would make our lives easier. In a beautifully eloquent post, my new friend Chris so eloquently wrote about the things that are easy – opening doors, giving us your place in line, offering your seat on the bus. In reference to the big things, the important things, the things that include us in society (work, education, opportunity) “… you’d gladly give me a seat on the bus, but how would you feel giving me a seat on the Board?”

What we want from you takes work on your part… and yet, it, too, is easy. It’s letting go of your perceptions and allowing us to be human beings, with the same hopes and dreams and desires and weaknesses that you have. Would you like to be the only person sitting in the living room during Christmas dinner preparations, twiddling your thumbs, offering to help and being told no, just sit there and look pretty? It happens to disabled family members all the time, and when we attempt to insert ourselves, it becomes an argument that ultimately makes everyone lose. Would you like to be told that you can’t get married to the love of your life? It happens to disabled couples all the time – either due to meddling family members or frustrating bureaucracy. Would you like to be told that your work experience is perfect but then get told that the company hired someone else, but that you’re so “inspirational” for showing up? I have lived this and witnessed this unprofessional attitude over and over again. How about stating a preference for certain activities and being told that it’s “so stereotypical” or too outlandish… for YOU, not for anyone else. Yep… lived that, too.

This is the big stuff, the stuff that makes life textured and complex. It’s frustrating that my own autonomy is so dependent on a non-disabled public listening and learning and letting go of their preconceptions. It’s frustrating that being treated with dignity and autonomy and respect, being provided with helpful information the first time we ask, being listened to when we politely self-advocate is the very rare exception to the rule. I’ve been offered more bus seats than I believe I’ve been thoughtfully considered for jobs for which I am qualified. I’ve been grabbed to direct me more often than I’ve been told that my husband and I are a cute couple just because we love each other, even as the ring on my finger is immediately obvious. I’ve been offered assistance and guidance for which I am extremely grateful, but I’ve also had it foisted on me. The little things do make our lives easier, and they do matter, and they matter a lot. But the big things – employment, education, love, autonomy, respect, consent – matter more, and those things truly do make our lives easier.

You’d gladly give me a seat on the bus, but how would you feel giving me a spot in your kitchen, an important position in your office, an evening babysitting your children, an opportunity where my skills and experience can stand on their own, a day at the altar… or a seat on the board?

So… very… Tired…

23 Wednesday Nov 2016

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My wonderful readers, you have been so patient with me. The past month and a half has been exhausting, exhillerating, frustrating, encouraging, and probably the most conflicted six weeks of my life. You have, without knowing it, given me the space I needed in order to get back in the saddle again… so here I am. I thank you in advance for your continued patience, because I am just… so… tired.

I’m tired of having to convince the general public that I deserve bodily autonomy.

I’m tired of having to convince potential employers that workplace accommodations are in my hands, they have to do NOTHING but respect me and train me the way they would a sighted employee.

I’m tired of being talked down to like I’m a child.

I’m tired of seeing organizations (albeit well-meaning ones) publish books about “how to talk” to me.

I’m tired of feeling like I am fighting all the time, but I feel like NOT fighting is giving up on myself.

And, most of all…

I am tired of blaming myself for being human, for being imperfect, for being angry and frustrated and exhausted.

I am just… so… very… tired.

Women On The Move: BlindBeader

01 Tuesday Nov 2016

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A few months ago I profiled Steph, owner/operator/inspiration of Abigail Style. She asked me to contribute a post on her blog, so here it is! Thanks, Steph, for the opportunity to share a day in the life with you… thankfully, it was a good one!

Unknown's avatarBold Blind Beauty

Perfection Doesn’t Make a Day Perfect

Intro: It’s been a while since I’ve posted a Women on the Move article and it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to a fabulous young woman, who among other things is a wife, animal lover, athlete, bookworm, jewelry designer, musician, and writer. Today, BlindBeader—as she likes to be called—gives us a glimpse into ‘a day in the life’ of one blind woman. Enjoy!

Blind Beader and her guide dog, Jenny at a pier in New York BlindBeader and Jenny in New York City

I’m curled up under blankets, snuggling with my guide dog and one of my cats. The two of them are besties, but it is uncommon for them to simply rest in shared space, so I’m thoroughly enjoying the moment.

It’s been a long day, but a good one, and I’m just resting in the knowledge that Perfect days do exist. It’s not that my day went without a hitch – in fact…

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An Open Letter to Potential Employers: I have a Disability, and I Expect YOUR Professionalism

21 Friday Oct 2016

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It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We’re in a unique situation where we can both benefit each other. You are offering something I need – a job that will, hopefully enable me to serve your company/school/agency well while financially providing for myself and my family – and I have the qualifications that you are seeking. I also happen to be disabled (or have a disability, depending on my choice in language).

Why am I writing to you today?

Last week I discovered an anonymous rant from one of your contemporaries, bemoaning the lack of quality applicants to a job posting. Resumes that had been slapped together, unprofessional interview attire, or (my personal favourite) an applicant’s Mommy walking into the interview with them would leave anyone frustrated and lamenting the quality of prospective employees. Support was fast and furious from other frustrated people – those looking for work in an overcrowded job market, and those charged with making hiring decisions. I understand that you want qualified, professional, competent people working for your company/school/nonprofit, and you receive dozens – if not hundreds – of resumes. But I have one question before I continue: will you read this letter all the way to the end, or will you dismiss me (as many employers have before you and will again) because I don’t fit the perception of your dream candidate?

October is national Disability Employment Awareness Month. Did you know that almost 90% of people on the autism spectrum are unemployed? How about more than 60% of those who are blind or visually impaired? Those are simply two groups of people with disabilities, and there are many more (even those who would never disclose them to you). It’s not because we’re not able or willing to work… it’s because perception (not disability itself) stands in our way.

Did you know that people with disabilities have markedly higher job retention rates, better attendance, and stronger safety practices than their non-disabled coworkers? Did you know that workplace accommodations are generally affordable (if not at minimal cost), and state and provincial governments may cover the costs of those that are more costly? Large corporations (Apple, Tim Hortons) have already started to include people with disabilities as part of their hiring process, both because we are qualified applicants and because we represent the communities in which they do business.

Back to the professionalism bit. I send in my nicely written and formatted resume with the education and/or work experience and/or skills that you are looking for. I pass the phone/email screening stage and get invited for an interview. I’m dressed up neatly and professionally, arrive on time, shake your hand firmly, answer all of your questions. Maybe I walk in with a cane, or roll in using a wheelchair. Maybe a service dog sits by my side, maybe I hear best with a hearing aid. Perhaps I stim, or struggle with multiple sensory input. Maybe none of these things mark me as being disabled. But that’s all you notice and fixate on. It’s like my resume – with all of that education or experience – doesn’t exist. All you can see is the eyes or legs or ears or brain that don’t work “normally.” Little matter that my resume includes years of relevant qualifications, I get asked how (if I’m lucky) or am told I can’t (if I’m not) use a computer, serve customers, carry things, sort items, dial a telephone, navigate the workplace independently. Someone I know even had a prospective employer ask her how she got dressed for the interview.

And you have a professionalism problem?

But it’s never too late to implement changes to hiring practices, to change the conversation regarding disability in the workplace. We can all benefit each other – you get a qualified employee who represents the community you serve, I have the opportunity to use my education and/or professional skills to economically benefit both your company and myself. You deserve the best, the most qualified applicants. Sometimes, that person is me. You want a professional job applicant? I’m right here! Maybe with a wheelchair, cane, or service dog, maybe without. I’d like to meet a professional interviewer and employer, who will see my documented skills and my hard-won experience for the positive traits that they are. Such employers are out there; you can be one of them. Some disabilities are obvious, others are hidden, but we all want the same things: professionalism, respect, and a fair shot. Are you up to that challenge?

 

Respectfully,

Disabled Job Applicants Everywhere

The Empowered Series: BlindAlive

15 Saturday Oct 2016

Posted by in blindness

≈ 2 Comments

It’s no secret that health and fitness are important to me (in case you don’t know, I present my history of playing goalball and running). One of the challenges of working out and being visually impaired is that it’s often a challenge to find someone to effectively describe techniques so that exercises can be performed safely. I’ve been fortunate in many ways, but not everyone receives helpful instruction in posture or physical education, and many blind people aren’t given the tools to exercise effectively and safely.

Enter Mel Scott of BlindAlive!

 

About Mel

Mel, 50-something, lives in Pennsylvania. She spent 30 years as a massage therapist and believes in the importance of fitness. She was diagnosed as a child with Retinitis Pigmentosa, and currently still has some vision (though she prefers to navigate the world with Jingles, her guide dog). Using that vision to read or watch videos, however, is no longer an option. Mel grew increasingly frustrated by many workout videos that show exercises but don’t describe them, leaving her to guess at her form. One day, while riding her exercise bike, she just thought “Stop whining and create it yourself!”

 

About BlindAlive

BlindAlive is “proud to have created a user-friendly, completely accessible solution to exercise and fitness” that can be done in the home. All of their exercise products have been tested by blind and low vision individuals to ensure that they are completely accessible.

Currently, there are twelve workouts available in audio (no video required!) in a variety of formats. Yoga, Pilates, bootcamp and other workouts can be digitally downloaded or shipped via CD, thumb drive or SD card.

But it’s more than just workouts. BlindAlive also boasts a blog, podcast and strong social media presence. Mel describes it as creating “more choices for more people.”

 

What’s next?

Mel hopes to continue to build on her basic workout library, to increase the intensity alongside the fitness of those who take advantage of the basic workouts. Her “basic” workouts can be made more challenging by increasing weights or intensity, so there’s plenty to keep the body challenged. In the immediate future, another yoga workout is in the works, and a whole-body stretch and a balance workout are coming soon. Mel says there are other surprises, but shhhhhh, she can’t tell!

 

Conclusion

We all have excuses for not working out. It’s too early, too cold, we’re too busy… but “because I’m blind” should not be one of them. Mel and her BlindAlive team have created a library of descriptive workouts that can be enjoyed by those with or without sight. So no more excuses! Hit the gym!