Tag Archives: anger

Is This OK With You?

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

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You’re in a party of six who walks in to a restaurant.
Everyone else is directly addressed,
But when it’s time to place your order, your companion is asked what you would like.
Is this OK with you?

You go to a big sporting or concert event;
There are only a handful of seats available to you, even if the rest of the venue has plenty of tickets for sale.
If you’re really unlucky, the only seats you can get are ones where you can’t see clearly or hear well.
You’re told that these are the only seats specially designed for people like you.
Is this OK with you?

You sign up for a course in an activity you enjoy,
And you are told it’s just “too hard” or “too complicated” to accommodate your participation.
But no one asked what, if any, accommodations are necessary.
Is this OK with you?

You apply for a job with a perfect resume, and get called for an interview.
Your qualifications, skills, and education are briefly discussed, and the rest of the interview feels like you’re having to defend yourself.
You have done nothing wrong, but you walk out the door feeling like you’ve been judged and found guilty.
You get a rejection email or phone call, if you’re lucky; you hear nothing if you’re not.
And sometimes, you’re told it’s because you’re just too much of a hassle.
They don’t put it that way, but that’s what the silences say between their words.
Is this OK with you?

You’re told that you’re not working/able to work because you’re just not trying hard enough.
You don’t have the heart to reply that you’ve had three interviews this month that went badly.
Or that you “wasted your time” by taking care of yourself and your family, volunteering in your community, attending school…
But you should just “keep on trucking” and “keep your chin up,” because that perfect job will come along.
And if it doesn’t, it must be something you’re doing, and you’re “a drain on the system.”
Is this OK with you?

You’re told that your symptoms are all in your head,
That you should just think positively, or do more yoga, or eat better,
And then you’ll be ALL right.
Is this OK with you?

You walk in to a grocery store to buy a quart of milk,
And are loudly demanded to show your ID, leave your medical equipment outside, or get out of the store.
You’re the only person being singled out like this.
Is this OK with you?

Someone stops you on the street and asks if they can pray for you.
They don’t ask what you need or want prayer for; they just pray for the most immediately obvious things.
Then they go on their merry way, asking you to be blessed, and you go your way and feel empty inside.
Is this OK with you?

You’re on your way to run an errand and are stopped by a stranger.
You’re told how inspirational you are for getting out of bed in the morning,
That they would kill themselves if they lived your life.
Is this OK with you?

You’re told that you can do anything you set your mind to.
Except this, and that, and that other thing.
Those would be too hard for you.
No one asked what you thought.
Is this OK with you?

At family gatherings, you’re told that it’s a good thing you are single.
If you have a child, it might “turn out like you.”
If you don’t want children, it’s “completely understandable.”
But when are your siblings/cousins marrying and having babies?
Is this OK with you?

You’re told to accept any attention you get,
Even if it’s negative, detrimental, or not desired.

Even if it’s against all social propriety, against your own wishes… people just “want to help” and you need to suck it up and let them feel good about themselves.
You should be grateful people want to connect with you at all.
Is this OK with you?

You’re told not to let the “little things” get to you,
To give people the benefit of the doubt because they just don’t know how to talk to you.
Is this OK with you?

I – and people I know and love – have lived all of these scenarios and more.
Some of us call ourselves “disabled people.”
Others prefer to be called “people with disabilities.”
even in this small way, we are frequently told how we should refer to ourselves.
And – in all these ways big and small – it’s not OK with us.
It’s not OK with me.

Living in the Middle of the Road

18 Saturday Nov 2017

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It’s funny, the patterns you see, when looking back. Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote a blog post about how not everything is a fight. Even though they were absolutely right on this count, the person who inspired that post had their own agenda, their own reasons to grind me down. In response to their comments – some that were accurate and some that were cruel – I tried to buckle down, to keep quiet, to not speak out about anything; in effect, I tried to become a quiet little mouse who never uttered a word as it came to perceptions of my blindness. I lost part of myself in the process. I believed most of what this person said – much of it to my detriment – and it took me years to realize that they could be right about one thing and yet still be very very wrong about everything else.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve met some amazing people who’ve helped me become a strong and forceful disabilities advocate. They are compelling and fearless and take no prisoners. I owe a great deal to them, for their willingness to stand up for people with a wide variety of disabilities – not just the unique challenges and triumphs their own disability(ies) present. They’ve made me feel welcome, and since then have encouraged me to share my perspective and kindly corrected me when I made mistakes that hurt them.
And yet, in between those two extremes, is the middle of the road. In many ways, I’ve found myself swerving from one extreme to the other, using bravado and force to overcompensate for the pain of passivity, of having my face shoved into the shoulder of the road.
Recently – and it’s not the first time – a loved one told me that I shouldn’t be upset when someone is surprised that I hold the job I do, and chooses to express this shock with sickly-sweet tones that one usually only hears directed at very young children. This was on top of a bunch of other little things that made the whole day just go sideways, even if nothing itself was earth-shakingly bad. To be honest, I’m still reeling from the comment itself, and the later understanding that I’ve been overloading a loved one with too-frequent complaints about how people respond to my blindness. They have the luxury to decide whether or not to hear about it; but it is such an integral and frequent part of my day that I don’t think twice about sharing it. In the moment of impact, it just didn’t feel fair.

But is it really unfair when I am expecting them to help carry my own burden for me when they’re not willing or able to do so on a regular basis? If I expect understanding from others, should I not offer it in return?

I chose to take that hurtful comment and seek out some self-reflection with the help of trusted friends. As of right now, however, I have no easy answers.
Have I been angry?

Yes.

Have I had cause to be angry?

Yes.

Do I expect others to be angry on my behalf?

If I’m honest, yes. Because I highly doubt they’d put up and shut up about being denied opportunities, infantilized, bodily manipulated, and underestimated on a very frequent basis.

Is that reasonable?

I don’t know.

Is it reasonable for friends and family to not want to hear about it all anymore?

I don’t know. I can’t choose to ignore it all, but I can choose when and with whom I open up these dialogues. It is my responsibility to be considerate and not over-burden loved ones with my own emotional baggage, no matter how reasonable and justified the baggage is. But it is also theirs to remember that no one likes their bruised feelings and interpretation of events dismissed out of hand, especially when they’re releasing some pent-up tension, as we all do.

Is it understandable for frustrations to boil over into a lack of empathy, cruelty and harsh words?

Yes, on both sides of the issue.

So what does this mean for me?

I don’t know.

 

My blog May look different in the coming weeks or months. Maybe I will take a break. Maybe I’ll do something radical and remove myself from disability spaces. Maybe I’ll do none of these things. Maybe I’ll do all of them.

I doubt I will ever be content sitting on the sidelines long-term, because allowing others to speak for me will limit my own opportunities, and those for the people who come behind me. But I can’t keep swerving between hostile aggression and docile compliance, because neither accomplishes anything. And I can’t keep coasting through, keeping my head down, allowing my presence alone to be an example, because where I am and what I do are only part of my story.

So I’m going back to the proverbial “driver’s manual”, to figure out the best advocacy “vehicle” for myself and my loved ones. Maybe I change what I say and how I say it. Maybe I choose my battles more carefully. Maybe I emotionally check in with my friends and family to see if they’re in a space to carry a particular burden with me. Maybe I take some time out to just exist, particularly on days where everything just goes sideways and I wouldn’t respond objectively anyway. Maybe I have all the tools I need, but I need to teach myself how best to use them. I’m not doing anything drastic, nor will I suddenly become a door mat.

But I am so very tired, on all fronts.

And maybe for now – on this leg of my journey – it’s time for someone else to take the wheel for me.

“But… You Don’t Look Blind”

15 Friday Apr 2016

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“You don’t look blind.”

Every blind person I know has heard this comment – or wishes they had – at one point or another. Since it’s a common comment with wide-ranging social implications and viewpoints by the recipient, a blog challenge went out to several friends on Facebook. Once this post is published, I will link to the others’ posts at the bottom of this one. I’ve never done a “blog challenge” before, so here’s my first!

 

Who Gets this Comment?

Almost every blind person I know has received it at one point or another, especially those whose blindness is caused by genetic vision loss rather than the result of surgery, illness, or trauma. Even if the blindness is visibly obvious, if a blind person does something or expresses an opinion that involves a degree of “advanced competence” or normality, it isn’t unusual for those words to follow. It is often given by strangers when we’re out doing ordinary things like shopping or crossing streets or applying for jobs…

Is it a Compliment?

these words are meant by many as compliments, similar to “I forget you’re blind!” But denying the reality of someone’s blindness, or acknowledging that they would be treated differently because of it, is rather insulting, no? And just because you fear living your life with blindness (it’s a well-documented fear) doesn’t mean that those of us who live with blindness or visual impairment – cannot be happy, competent, “normal” people. So whether we look blind or not… what difference does that make to you? You don’t look ignorant…

Broader Implications

Many friends with vision impairment that’s not visibly obvious have been told that they don’t require accommodations due to the fact that they aren’t “disabled enough”, get questioned when they enter public buildings with service dogs, and basically have to prove that they require the supports they need. For someone such as myself, no one questions the fact that I can’t see, but expresses shock at my hobbies, job history, or desire to live a “normal life” (the nerve of me!). So blind people get the short end of the stick on so many levels: we’re either visibly blind and are objects to be pitied or belittled or scorned or asked endlessly what happened to our eyes, or we don’t “look” blind and don’t deserve the accommodations to live our lives as productive consumers, employees, or citizens. Sometimes I wish I could hear “You don’t look blind”, but then I realize that it really isn’t a compliment… having to prove a negative – that I can’t see. And if you expect someone to identify themselves as blind by anything more than a cane or guide dog to travel safely… I seem to recall a system of forced self-disclosure about seventy years ago in Germany…

Why can’t I just Take it as Intended?

Part of communicating, and doing so effectively, is that the giver and receiver of communication both process it as intended. It isn’t easy to be public property, and everyone seems to have an opinion on what I look like, what activities I can enjoy, and if I can travel safely by myself) just because I am blind, and I look like it. I don’t have the time and mental energy to get angry at everyone who tells me how great it is that I have the teeny tiny bit of vision that I do (as though my life is more valuable than someone with none), who asks what happened to my eyes, who thinks there’s no way I can be competent and happy. Not everything is worth nitpicking over, because not everything is a fight. And yet… I am angry over something that’s supposed to be complimentary. Maybe it’s a bit of jealousy that my blindness is never ever questioned. Maybe it’s frustration over the fact that I am blind and travel with a guide dog (and before that with a cane) that makes me highly visible. Maybe it’s the fact that because I look blind I get treated like a child, and if I didn’t I would have to actually convince someone that I am blind because I am independent, competent, and can think and act for myself. So, yes, I am angry… Wouldn’t you be?

 

Other Perspectives

Thanks to those who’ve taken up this challenge as well. It’s not my challenge, but am glad for the alternate points of view. It makes for a nuanced discussion on this topic.

Charlie lives in the land of the visually impaired, too “blind” to be considered sighted and too “sighted” to be blind.”

Lauren describes conversations she has frequently and discusses the importance of not judging a book by its cover… or, in this case, a disability status based on outward appearance.

Ashley isn’t  offended by the comment itself, but the accusations of fakery followed by outright disrespect and discrimination that follow.

If at all possible, Buddy is more polite and more assertive than just about anyone on this topic.

Meagan asks an important question: What, exactly, does “blind” look like? And if you can’t answer that question reasonably…?