Tag Archives: communication

Accepting a Compliment: Backhanded Remarks, Proposing Alternatives, and Coming to Terms with Myself

21 Saturday Jul 2018

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Not long ago, I received a compliment. It wasn’t aimed at me directly, but I was being introduced to someone, and the person making the introduction was offering me praise right after providing my name. I stood there, shaking hands, feeling embarrassed and proud in equal measure. Who doesn’t like to receive compliments? And many people are embarrassed to be praised so publicly. But the embarrassment and awkwardness seemed to overtake the pride I felt, and it took some soul-searching and question-asking to figure out why.

What made this experience different? And why am I writing about it?

As a person with an obvious physical disability, I often receive comments that are meant to be complimentary, but make me feel edgy. Often times, my disability is brought up in conversation at moments I find awkward, inappropriate, or downright demeaning. So when I receive an honest heartfelt compliment, or praise for a job well done, I almost always hear “for a blind/disabled/defective person” behind it, even when that sentiment is not there. This is why backhanded compliments are so damaging. If you encounter me – or other visibly disabled people in public – you might be tempted to say some of these things. Can I propose some alternatives? Because I think I understand what you mean… but what comes out is probably not what’s intended.

 

“You do so Well at X… I’d never know that you’re… Challenged.”

 

I’ve received variations on this comment in personal and professional settings. I’ll use jewelry creation as an example, since it’s a hobby and business that regularly surprises people. Comments such as “She’s blind, and she makes beautiful jewelry!” put my disability at the forefront, rather than the art form I’ve spent years exploring, researching, creating, and selling. No one would say “She’s tall and makes beautiful jewelry,” or “He’s shy and makes beautiful jewelry.” And yet I hear this all the time!

If you see me at a craft show, take a minute to watch me work – it’s one of the reasons I bring my kit to such events. Comments like “This is beautiful!” or “I like the colours!” are always appropriate and appreciated compliments; you’d say them to any artist. If you are curious how I organize my kit, or pick colours, I am open to questions (but please keep in mind that I can only speak for myself; other people with disabilities may not be comfortable with these questions). If you compliment my work, I’ll likely open up more about my creative process, because you respect my work on its merits.

If it’s important to you to engage in discussions about disability, please use the word “disability” (words such as “challenged,” “Special needs,” and “differently abled” are generally not favored by the disability community.)

I hope to see more conversations like this in the future:

“That’s a gorgeous bracelet! I like the colours!”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve noticed you working on something the past few minutes. You look really focused. Can I ask a couple questions about your creative process?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have a design in mind before you create? Do you ask a lot of questions before putting things together? I love how organized your kit is!”

This conversation puts the work or accomplishment front and center, values the time of the artist (in my case), and still leaves room for the reality of disability to be acknowledged respectfully.

 

“I Can’t XYZ… and I can…”

 

Comments like “I can’t do that, and I can see/hear/walk” perpetuate the harmful idea that disability alone makes tasks challenging or impossible. While this is sometimes true, these comments – that are intended to raise people up – again place disability at the forefront and devalue the task or work or craft on its own merit. Is it OK to say “I can’t run a marathon, and I’m 22.” Yes and no. While both statements might be true today, what else contributes to that reality? Do you prefer to binge-watch Netflix to hitting the gym? Do you hate running? Do family or school responsibilities take up your time?

Let’s take another example: cooking. I’ve written before about cooking as a blind person. I’m pretty no-muss-no-fuss, but I can make my way around a kitchen.

“I can’t cook, and I can see.”

Do you look at everything when cooking? Probably not. Do you use your other senses? Most chefs do. Are you often tired after a long day at work or with the kids and prefer to order in? Did you once love cooking but hit a rut and just don’t feel like it anymore? Did you ever learn the fundamentals of measuraing and cooking?

See? It’s not as simple as X + all 5 senses = capability.

A “compliment” in this vain can respectfully be handled this way:

“You’re training for a marathon! That’s great! I need to kick my Netflix addiction before I could even think about doing that. Tell me more about your training!”

And if you want to make this comment about cooking, raising kids, going to school – everyday things that many people do without getting commented on – try something like this:

“Oh, you’re making lasagna tonight. I’m tired just thinking about cooking. Do you have any secrets to get into the kitchen?”

 

“It’s SO Great You Work Here!”

 

This is a complicated and messy topic. It’s clear that people with disabilities are an untapped resource in the work force. Many people with disabilities are ready, willing, and able to work, and still face discrimination and misunderstanding about their capabilities and access needs, and are frequently turned down for jobs. So, yes, seeing people with disabilities in the boardroom, on a job site, or behind a counter doesn’t fit what is a generally accepted narrative, and it often takes people by surprise.

But when I hear how great my employer is for hiring me, it doesn’t make me feel great; it makes me feel like my employer has done me a favour, and I just don’t belong. I busted my butt for years to gain the hard and soft skills to land where I am, and my performance speaks for itself.

But I think I understand the intent, and I hope conversations about disability and employment can go something like this.

“Thanks for that excellent and thorough information! Can I talk to your manager and commend you for your excellent service?”

OR

“I realize I don’t see many people with disabilities in the work force, and that isn’t right. I’m really glad to see your employer hires inclusively. This is a change I hope my workplace can make. Do you personally know of any resources that can help make this happen?”

 

Conclusion

 

I’ve written before that “Part of communicating, and doing so effectively, is that the giver and receiver of communication both process it as intended.” The words of praise that inspired this post caused me to dig deep and realize how backhanded compliments like the ones above have hampered my ability to accept honest positive feedback for what it is. Hopefully, with this realization, I can start to move forward with grace and optimism. And I hope that these damaging comments and proposed alternatives have provided some food for thought, so that you can compliment a disabled person respectfully and effectively, even if you don’t quite no what to say.

When Life just Doesn’t Seem Fair

09 Friday Sep 2016

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Sometimes, life just doesn’t seem equitable, reasonable, or – dare I say it? – fair. Think of discrimination, ableism, injustice for starters. For the most part, it seems clear that in those instances there is a right and a wrong, a hero and a villain. But what if – as in much of life – there is no hero or villain? What if life seems to go swimmingly for someone you know and love, someone you wish the best for… someone who gets the one thing you’ve fought for, prayed for, dreamed of for so long? And what if you are that friend, relative or loved one, who knows someone who has struggled so much with something that seems to have come to you so easily?
I’ve been there. I’ve been on both ends of this theoretical table, and I can’t say I have any easy answers. A year ago I got myself a shiny new job, with all of the hope that entails, and I felt intensely guilty about having success after a sudden layoff, while many others – with and without disabilities, with a wide variety of skills – were struggling just to get interviews. Now that I’ve been back on the employment journey for several months, I’ve seen many others find the success I’ve previously enjoyed, even while I am struggling and pushing against discrimination disguised as compliments on how inspirational I am. It is their time to shine – it truly is – but while I wish them nothing but happiness, their success makes me both thrilled and miserable simultaneously.

But it’s not only about employment. What about being the “token single” in a huge group full of couples? Or the only (involuntarily) childless couple in your church congregation? Attending or planning a wedding after a messy breakup or the death of a partner is both joyous and heartbreaking…

And those who are rejoicing are often struggling to reconcile their obvious (and reasonable) joy with the thought they can’t laugh as loudly or smile as broadly because they know and love someone who feels like that laughter and those smiles are shots to the heart.

So what do we do? We can’t walk around dressed in metaphorical black all the time – life is full of joy and sorrow, and we can’t deny the existance of either. We all love, hurt, succeed and fail – and those who truly care about us understand that our tears of joy at their celebration mingle with those of frustration or (occasionally) despair that we’re still hoping or fighting or praying for that same thing for ourselves. No true friend or loved one wants to take away the joy and success of another. And when we have that success, we feel guilty in a way – that we can’t sprinkle magic dust on those we love and grant them in equal portion the joy we’ve found through love, birth, employment, celebration.

But, please, I beg you, wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, don’t deny your joy, your pain, your frustration, your love. Those who are struggling, wish all the success and happiness in the world to those of whom you are envious; if they’ve done nothing hurtful or illegal or unethical, they deserve that happiness. And for those who are thrilled beyond words at your new job, expected baby, celebration of love… gently share that joy with us who are currently not as fortunate. In your sensitivity to those fragile feelings of hopelessness and despair, you both acknowledge your happiness (there’s no need to hide it) and the complex emotions of support and envy of those who currently can’t celebrate such success for themselves. And yet… don’t hide it! Please, don’t hide it! Your happiness, success, and joy tells those of us fighting in the trenches – in moments of weakness and darkness and pain – that one day, it will be us, and you’ll be right there cheering us on and lifting us up and holding our hands as we welcome our own joy and success into our lives.

Your “Inspiration” doesn’t Pay my Bills

31 Sunday Jan 2016

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I’ve been on the job hunt for almost a month now. It’s a very different economy from the one I saw three years ago when last seriously looking for work. Like many people, I have experience and skills; the biggest challenge I’ve found (and I am not alone) is getting call-backs for interviews.

The following statements are my own preference, based on my own experience of work, resumes, and interviewing; not everyone will share this opinion. I don’t ever pre-disclose my blindness to prospective employers unless absolutely necessary. In my opinion, it has little to do with my ability to do the job itself, and I choose not to give my interviewers any opportunities to walk into that interview room with preconceived ideas about my capabilities. The idea is, if the job posting indicates that my skills and qualifications fit, I send in an application just like everyone else; I wouldn’t apply for a job looking through microscopes or driving a truck. Sometimes this has worked in my favor; my resume has stood on its own, and my solid work history and a successful interview has landed me a great job. Other times, I learn when I get there that there are truly visual job duties that were not indicated on the job posting, in which case I choose not to assign blame. Other times, I get turned down for the job because… um…?

I recently ran into a situation (though not for the first time) where I was graciously turned down for a job post-interview. I was told that my skills and qualifications were solid, but that there were some job duties that posed a safety risk to myself and my guide dog. There actually was a legitimate case for this, so I chose to be gracious in reply… until I read the part that said my attitude and qualifications were inspirational, and the hope was that I would find a position somewhere else.

Guess what? If I wanted to be inspirational, I’d go on the motivational speaking circuit. I am looking for a job, something that can use my skills and background, where employer and employee have a functional relationship, both being realistic about the capabilities of an employee with a disability, making reasonable efforts on all sides to be accommodating. Seriously, it’s not that hard. People just have to get over the fact that I wish to be taken seriously, and actually want to work for a living, and my resume proves I have the chops to do it! I took to twitter to vent, but I never expected my little tweet to gain such traction (as of this posting, it had 50 retweets).

There are many noble causes out there aiding people with physical or developmental disabilities, those struggling with mental illness and/or poverty. What few people understand is that people with physical disabilities want to work, to be taken seriously in the classroom, boardroom, or salesroom. The more we get treated like token inspirations, the more likely we are to become recipients of aide due to poverty and mental illness. Very few well-known figures who advocate for social change and social justice due to race or gender or other protected grounds even touch on disability. Why is that? Don’t they understand that the more we get shuffled off as “someone else’s problem”, the more likely we are to get sick and tired of just being pushed aside?

In the meantime, I choose to fight, because someone, somewhere, will give me the opportunity to use my skills and background, who will take me seriously as a job applicant. It’s happened before, and it will happen again. But I have a few tough questions for social justice warriors on both sides of the disability continuum: For those who don’t acknowledge our needs at all, and choose to address discrimination based on race, creed, or gender (legitimate grievance, to be sure), why is this the case? We face more discrimination on a daily basis than many of those for whom you are fighting. For those advocating on behalf of the disability community: why is employment not front and center in many of your mandates? In my opinion, meaningful employment is quite possibly the only thing that gives those of us who wish and are able to obtain it the dignity and self-respect we so desire. And for those employers who shuffle me and others like me off, telling us we’re so inspirational for coming to the interview? Guess what: I am not someone else’s problem, and your inspiration doesn’t pay my bills.

If you Want it Done Right, you Do It Yourself… or Ask Someone Else to…

25 Saturday Jul 2015

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Last week I posted on my facebook status a question about which blog topics friends, family and readers wish me to cover. One topic brought up a HUGE level of discussion from blind and sighted friends alike:
When is it appropriate for a sighted person to say no to a request from a blind family member or friend? When is saying no selfish? When should the blind relative/friend take responsibility for themselves and be as independent as possible?

I took to Twitter and asked the question, and the level of responses was astounding. Ultimately, the answers went something like this (and I am inclined to agree):
1) A blind person should do whatever they can to be independent, but (just like sighted people) may find certain skills hard or challenging. Ultimately, making a concerted effort without resounding success is one thing; not even bothering to try in the first place is another.
2) A sighted relative/friend is within their rights to say no to requests if the requests are too frequent, unreasonable, or for a task that the blind person is clearly able to do for him/herself.
3) It IS selfish to say no if the task cannot reasonably be completed by the blind person. For example, if a blind person tries to get a restaurant’s menu online before going out for dinner and finds it inaccessible (embedded picture menus are very common), leaving them twisting in the wind and asking an overworked waiter to read them the menu while you’re sitting right there is unreasonable.

That having been said, it all depends on the friendship or family dynamic. Many sighted people are too quick to step in and do for us what they THINK we cannot do for ourselves; others have super-independent blind friends or relatives who insist on doing everything even if it’s not expected, reasonable, or even requested. My relationship with my friends and family has generally clear boundaries, not because of my blindness or their vision, but because all relationships are give and take and (I hope) communicative. For example: I fold laundry in my house (whenever I get to it); Ben folds the socks. Ben HATES folding clothes, and I don’t mind putting my mad organizational skills to work figuring out how to squeeze that last T-shirt into the dresser drawer. It takes me FOREVER to fold socks, and even then I can’t be sure they match; what takes me an hour with mixed results takes Ben five minutes. We’ve found it a generally fair tradeoff. When it comes to restaurants, if I can’t get the menu online ahead of time, any sighted companion who is dining with me will read me the headings (soups, sandwiches, pastas, wraps) so I can get an overview of the menu without having the whole thing read to me when all I want is pizza.

At the end of the day, it’s up to me, and others, as blind people to do whatever we can reasonably do for ourselves, and politely advocate when things are unnecessarily being done for us; it’s up to friends or relatives to tell us when our requests for assistance are unreasonable (too frequent, cutting in to personal time, without reciprocity). For every person and relationship, the specifics will be different (I love that my husband can cook, but I do some mean cooking myself; others might find cooking scary, challenging, or incomprehensible, and that’s OK). At the end of the day, communication on both sides of the blind/sighted continuum will make boundaries and expectations perfectly clear. So to my blind readers: do what you can, make an effort, ask for help when needed, but be generous with your thanks and mindful of time commitments. To my sighted readers, love us enough to tell us when we ARE being unreasonably “needy”, ask us what you can assist with or if our struggling with a task is necessary so that we can improve it. To everyone, sighted and blind, be quick to listen and slow to speak harshly, and keep an open mind.

She talks to me… REALLY!

06 Saturday Jun 2015

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About ten years ago, I remember being really REALLY mad about something.  After that length of time, I honestly can’t remember what I was so angry about, but I do distinctly remember Annie running away and hiding in her “secret place” for several hours.  Annie – the cat who spent weeks following me around the apartment, who yowled every time I left her alone, who was so terrified I would never ever come back – picked that moment to tuck herself away in a never-to-be-found hiding place.  I had been angry before, and over the years I would be angry again, but Annie never again shied away from it.

 

Science has not been able to draw a definite conclusion about whether animals sense human emotions in and of themselves or react to our facial expressions, body chemistry, or other indicators that give them clues into our moods, fears, or medical status.  But from what I have observed – both from my pet cats and my service dog Jenny – there is some inexplicable way I communicate with them, and they with me.  For the sake of clarity – and because I’ve been asked more about Jenny’s role in this – \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\I will address a guide dog’s intuitiveness in the next few paragraphs.

 

Jenny LOVES babies.  They are her downfall.  We get on a bus and there’s a stroller on board, she HAS to calmly, sweetly, take me to the baby carriage and show me the baby.  Normally, when she is excited about something, she goes insane, wagging her tail, maybe pulling, maybe whining, but with babies she is calm and collected.  I’ve had people who are terrified of dogs thank me for having such a calm dog around their baby.  This calmness was further exhibited last weekend when we visited with two other couples, one of whom brought their toddler daughter.  Jenny was game to play with her, and the cutest half hour of doggie-baby playtime ensued.  I don’t know why she is this way with babies and small children – perhaps she is trying to tell me something? – but even if she is excited when she notices them, when they are near her, she has this zen calm that defies explanation.

 

I am by no means the only guide dog handler who has experienced inexplicable calm from her guide.  Jackie told me of an instance where she had major surgery, and was away from her guide dog (matched for only five months) for several days.  She was very concerned her guide would jump on her or be otherwise too rambunctious for her that could complicate the healing process by breaking her stitches.  When Jackie got home from the hospital, instead of the welcoming committee, Tulip ran toward her, stopped and sat, and waited for Jackie to call her forward.  During the course of Jackie’s recovery, Tulip gradually became more playful, but Jackie thinks that Tulip just knew that she wasn’t in a position to jump and run and play.

 

I don’t have anything nearly so dramatic with Jenny, but there are many ways in which Jenny communicates with me, especially when we’re working.  Sure, there are the obvious things (how she moves in the harness, I verbally praise or correct her), but it’s so much more than that.  It’s like having a dance partner who intuits the next six steps before you have time to get your shoes on.  When we have bad weather, or I am sick, it’s like Jenny knows that I need her to be extra focused.  We once had a whole bunch of freezing rain in the afternoon, and my walk from work to the bus stop took half an hour (normally five minutes) because the sidewalks were veritable ice rinks; Jenny worried about me the first three times I fell, then took an initiative, dragged me across the street to a safer sidewalk.  I had to get us back on our original path, but I loved her initiative, no matter her motivation.

 

But it’s so much more than that.  Even when she is out of harness, we are always communicating, whether it’s a scratch behind the ears, her resting on my feet, or the incredibly hilarious “mrrrrrrrrrrph” sounds Jenny makes when she is bored out of her mind and wants the whole world to know it.

 

But recently, a troubling trend began to manifest itself in Jenny – she began to bark in harness.  This has occasionally happened before, but in the beginning of March it began happening more frequently, nearly daily.  I knew we were in big trouble one day when I was at work, and Jenny and I were walking toward the back door to go outside.  Jenny turned around and let out a low bark at the two people who were behind us walking to the same back door.  After that, I called BC Guide Dogs, not even being sure what I should worry about.  The prevailing theory was that she was suspicious of people, but that didn’t sound quite right to me, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.  I was advised to make a “barking” log, marking down where we were, when it happened, what was going on, etc.  Within 48 hours, I had part of my answer: anything she barked at was on her left, and Jenny started frantically scratching and pawing at her face.  Her vet diagnosed her with seasonal allergies, and with a combination of allergy medication, personal observation, and Rescue Remedy, we’ve been able to almost eliminate the problem.  On the occasions these days (much more rare) when she does bark on approach, it’s to someone she knows on a day where her ears are sore (I can now tell based on how she holds them) and she wants to tell THEM that she’s hurt.  The irony of all this is that if my own ears weren’t so sore on those days, I doubt I would’ve made the connections I have.  I wish she’d picked another way to show me all this – you know, something less dramatic and startling – but I am glad she tells me these things.

 

As I write this, I wonder if the mystical connection between me and Jenny – or any animal and its “person” – is far less mysterious than I have made it out to be.  But whether it’s magic, observation, or pure dumb luck, I wouldn’t have it any other way.