Tag Archives: employment

The UBC Back to School Edition: Looking back

02 Sunday Apr 2023

Posted by in Ultimate Blog Challenge, Part 3, Uncategorized

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If I am being honest, I’m surprised I’ve gone back to school. I never in a million years thought I would have the time, funds, or inclination to do so. Truthfully, I’m not sure I really have the funds and time – school can be expensive, and I work, train for races, and volunteer in my community, so time is at a premium – but I have the willingness to learn and finally found something I wanted to study, so… why not?

What Took you So Long?

When I graduated from high school, I thought I wanted to be a translator. I had taken several languages in high school, including French immersion, and thought I would excel interpreting for people or translating documents. I looked at the university courses required, and thought “no thanks!” I was interested in the history of language, and all of the practical courses, but I remember looking at most of the other required courses and getting a headache thinking about them. How in the world could I manage four years of school when more than two thirds of the classes were either impractical or uninteresting to me – why would I need three science courses for a languages degree? Even looking at other areas of study for a degree, I could not find anything that could hold my interest and that I thought would be worth the financial investment and time commitment required. An Arts degree had a bunch of tangential and irrelevant requirements, I did not want to pursue sciences, I’d burned out on math classes and concepts in high school, social work or similar disciplines would be too emotionally taxing for me. The idea of a degree felt both daunting and out of reach, so I walked away from that life path.

I also had practical concerns. Many blind young adults I had known as a teenager had degrees from Bachelor to Masters to Doctorates, and still struggled to find employment. I did not want to slog through four or six or eight years of school, get into massive amounts of debt, and still not be able to afford to keep a roof over my head. In addition, even if I had wanted to walk the path of a four-year degree, in the early ’00s, accessibility of course materials was a real concern. Electronic materials were not always guaranteed to be accessible, braille books were big and clunky and took up a ton of space, and audio records of course materials might not always be appropriate for the course at hand. Both the journey and the destination were not going to be uncomplicated, and could not offer a great return on investment. So, I thought, what was the point in a degree?

Choosing a Different Path

I decided to grab an opportunity for a one-year certificate program in emergency communications. I was trained to answer emergency calls and dispatch emergency vehicles, such as police, fire departments, or ambulances. The course was all practical and useful, and would in some ways tie in to what we would be doing on the job. I faced an unrealistic and discriminatory requirement – put into place by the disability services office, no less – that if I could not find a practicum placement before starting the course, I could not start in September. My classmates could wait until January to find a placement, but I could not; the rationale was that it would be hard to find a placement for me, as it would be to find work, so if I couldn’t find a practicum, there was no point in starting. Thankfully, I had connections in the industry and had written commitments from all over Canada and the United States for emergency services agencies who said they would be willing to accept me for my practicum. So I started that course and (found out later) had the most hands-on practicum of any of my classmates.

I never did get my foot in the door, working full- or part-time with any emergency service. Many fire departments and ambulance services still used paper cue cards at the time, and technology was not yet at the point to be fully integrated to come up with accessible alternatives. One police agency, on multiple occasions, had no qualms about telling me that my vision impairment meant that I could not interpret my colleague’s body language, so could not identify an emerging situation non-visually, and I would not even be granted an opportunity to test for a position I had trained for, was good at, and for which they were regularly advertising. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized I would have burned out on the emotional toll the job would demand of me. It took me over a decade to feel gratitude that my life went in another different direction, but I am grateful every day that I took that emergency communications course, and also grateful that I never did work in that field – even if the reasons I never did were flat-out discriminatory. The fact that the disability services office at the school was right – that finding employment would be difficult or impossible – that was hardly the point; I should never have had to face that barrier by a department that was supposed to decrease barriers to my education.

Then what Happened?

Over the next few years, I worked in multiple industries. I’ve worked for non-profits, governments, and private sector businesses. Even when I was laid off by a company in the oil and gas industry during the downturn in 2015, the idea of expanding my education never had any appeal. I didn’t have the inclination, I certainly didn’t have the funds, and – even if I had both of those things going for me – I had no idea what I would study that would both hold my interest and enhance my skill set. I saw no point in going to school just because… reasons – even though I’ve had many conversations over the years with people who’ve been surprised at my lack of formal education.

Then, I had a conversation that created a bit of a monster, and sent me back to the classroom.

Join me tomorrow. I won’t promise I’ll name names, but I will tell you what I’m studying, and why.

Never Stop Learning

19 Thursday Aug 2021

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31 days ago, I entered my office for the first time as an employee. Since then, I’ve learned lots, asked what I’m quite sure are the most foolish questions ever to be asked at a new job, cursed at Microsoft Word for creating documents with six different fonts…

And, despite my perfectionism, and the feeling that I mustn’t fail at anything, ever, for any reason… I’ve made mistakes…

And it’s OK.

Because the mistakes I make today will not be made again tomorrow. I now know how to make sure my document has a universal font. I’ve googled more Microsoft Word key commands in the past month than I have done before. I want to reach a point where I feel confident enough in my document production that I don’t need someone with working eyeballs to spot-check it.

And I’m getting there.

The common wisdom is that it takes three to six months to settle in to a new job. I’m feeling that discomfort these days! I find myself thrilled that I know certain industry-specific things; it feels like I’m making up for the things I don’t know off the top of my head about document preparation. I haven’t worked in an office with paper in nearly a decade, and I find myself irrationally intimidated by something as pedestrian as a postage machine.

but when I get something – like all 17 steps on how to book or reschedule something, or why things are done a certain way – I feel this sense of joy and accomplishment. I had been at my previous job long enough to train fellow employees; I’m not used to being the trainee. But I didn’t mind being a student, where you are expected to learn, to ask questions, and to improve over the course of time.

Maybe it’s best for me to look at my new job as – yes, a job with rules and expectations – but also as a “school” of sorts. it’s time to be comfortable as a student, to learn whatever I can. Heaven knows I’ve got plenty of patient teachers.

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

21 Saturday Jul 2018

Posted by in blindness

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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.

Your Fear is Not my Reality

21 Saturday Oct 2017

Posted by in blindness

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I was recently given an opportunity to speak at a conference attended by (among others) social workers, HR professionals, mediators and educators. To share a platform with so many innovative thinkers (some of them well-known) was an incredible honour for me.
After I spoke, regarding (primarily) disability and employment, I took questions from the audience. One of the questions has stuck with me in the weeks since that conference.
Is part of the problem the fact that people with visible disabilities embody a very real fear of one’s own potential of acquiring a disability? When facing the embodiment of that fear, do we project our fears onto that person because their reality scares us?

I had to pause and think.

The reality is, we all – as human beings – have things that scare us. Some of us are afraid of heights, while others can jump out of airplanes. Some of us love traveling, while the idea of leaving the comforts of home is terrifying to others. There are gourmet chefs out there who know people who are afraid of burning the house down if they turn on the stove. Whether fear is rational or not, it’s there, and fear is human.

How it relates to disability?

It seems that fear of one’s OWN disability – because it could happen to anyone – IS projected onto the person living that life. You are not likely – at age twenty or forty – to suddenly wake up in the morning and learn you’re Caucasian rather than the African-American you always believed yourself to be. Nor will you wake up tomorrow and suddenly find yourself – at thirty or fifty – attracted only to men when you’ve been attracted to women your whole life. But you could, conceivably, find yourself either physically or mentally impaired or disabled due to any number of variable causes from medical misdiagnosis to vehicular accidents, assaults, or any number of other biological or physiological factors. It’s true that disability shows no particular favoritism; it IS the only group that anyone can join at any time.

To avoid the disability label, sometimes people go to extreme lengths. Vision can be viewed as sacred, even at the potential of costing a child’s life. Disabled people frequently hear that a person they are talking to would rather kill themselves than be disabled.

Is disability so hard, really?

Or are attitudinal barriers – piled on to the challenges of disability itself – really what’s hard about living with a disability?

These thoughts all jumped around in my head as I stood in front of all of those people. I said some of the following in response, and wish I had said more.

Fear of sudden disability onset IS terrifying. If I woke up tomorrow and I couldn’t move my legs, or if I couldn’t hear my husband speaking to me, I would be devastated. I would try and find out anything I could to make things different. If they couldn’t change, if my condition became permanent, I would be sad and angry and terrified. Any major life change IS difficult, and people who recieve a disability diagnosis will go through stages of grief and recovery and acceptance.

That is human.

What ISN’t reasonable or fair is to project your human fear of going blind tomorrow onto the reality of my existance. The resume on the table in front of you is just as present as I am sitting across from you; the two are not mutually exclusive. I’ve had years to learn and to grow, just as you have in your own way. Disability does not automatically stunt one’s emotional growth, though the prejudices and fears of others can stunt professional or academic growth for us.

Your fear of imminent disability is not the reality I live with every day. If I scare you that much, is that really about me?

And yet I take the fall for it. My disabled friends take the fall for it. We get passed over for job after job, for opportunity after opportunity, not because we don’t have the skills, but because of someone else’s own personal fear.

It’s time to put fear where it belongs, into perspective. Just as I doubt I will ever know what it’s like to be a Sumo wrestler, or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, you may nevver know what it’s like to be blind. And that’s okay. You can wonder what YOUR life would be like if you went blind tomorrow, just as I can ponder what I would do if I lost my hearing. But what I cannot do – and what you must not do – is to take those fears and questions and uncertainties and place them on the shoulders of those who embody that reality. Our shoulders are not meant to bear your fear, but our hands are capable of providing help and guidance and productivity to your organization, your school or your company. Maybe in ways you never would expect.

Summertime… when I Feel More… Respected?

24 Saturday Jun 2017

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This time last year I remember (and facebook reminded me) getting up for a 9:00 AM job interview. I opened my eyes and got hit with a sudden burst of intense stabbing pain… right in both eyes. I had two options: reschedule the interview (as I had already done the day before because I was feeling absolutely awful) or attend the interview with a light-sensitive migraine. If I chose the second option, I had two options stemming from that: suffer through it, or do the somehow stereotypical “blind” thing and walk in with sunglasses.
It was far from an easy decision. To me, sunglasses were for sunny days, not moderately cloudy ones, and absolutely never ever ever indoors. I looked so… blind in them (I still don’t know what I meant by that thought). When I asked several people I knew – sighted and blind – through the instant question-answer format of social media, I received so many answers, and many conflicted with each other. All paraphrasing is mine, but the general ideas went something like this.
“Absolutely not! Your interviewer NEEDS to at least have the semblance of eye contact.”
“Why not? Your eyes hurt; you need to be functional.”
“It’s SUCH a blind thing to do.”
“If they’re fashionable, wear them!”
I chose to wear the sunglasses. They had been purchased years before and were both fashionable and moderately functional for my purposes. The frames were basic black with round lenses, and they didn’t scream “blind person!” to anyone who looked at them. The instant I put them on, just before leaving my house, I felt my entire face relax, and the stabbing pain in both eyes magically disappeared.
The interview bombed. It bombed worse than almost any other interview I went on the year I was unemployed. It had nothing to do with my glasses, my headache, or anything else. The job and I were simply not a good fit.
But when I left the interview and went about my day, my sunglasses still in place, I noticed something else I hadn’t considered before.
People treated me better.
You see, if you were to look at my eyes directly, you would know that I am blind. My left eye is, for all purposes, unusable. My right eye won’t stay still. Walking down busy downtown streets that morning – even with a guide dog – while wearing those sunglasses, people seemed more inclined to make general non-blindness-related conversation with me, or accepted my assertions that I didn’t require their assistance. This old pair of sunglasses seemed, in a way, to be magical to me, to open a doorway to some previously rarely-found milieu of autonomy and dignity.
During the course of a few weeks, the more I wore my sunglasses, the less blind I appeared to others. The less blind I appeared, the more people left me alone (or at the very least respected my polite declining of their assistance, something they offered less frequently). I loved how it felt.
But those glasses I wore to that interview no longer flattered my face the way they had years ago when I had first purchased them. I needed, as a friend stated, a more fashionable pair.
So what does a girl do when she needs a stylish pair of sunglasses that she doesn’t need to see clearly through? She goes to Walmart, and finds the coolest, most professional-looking pair of sunglasses they have that also covers her eyes and flatters her face. I spent a grand total of $15 on my sunglasses, and the complements from friends, family, and strangers make me feel like I should’ve spent more. And when I wear them, people generally treat me better, like I’m any other office worker or customer or pedestrian.
I wonder why that is.

And I wondered why I had resisted them for so long.

When discussing this topic, I had no idea the types of division I would stir up. Some people were very comfortable with their choice to wear glasses, others firmly confident in their decision not to, and many fell somewhere in the middle. Comments ranged from “No blind person should wear glasses, ever, because it makes them look pathetic,” to “I wear them on sunny days because the glare bothers me, but I’m still uncomfortable doing so… it’s such a blind thing to do,” to “I wear glasses because my eyes hurt otherwise,” to “I wear them because I know my eyes are damaged due to accident or illness, so I wear them for the general comfort of those around me.” Others hadn’t considered them one way or the other, either because they were never encouraged to wear them, or because it was really never an issue; while my sunglasses made me look “less blind”, some believed that their wearing them would call attention to their blindness in a way that their uncovered eyes never do. Still others believe that wearing sunglasses means that they are hiding a part of themselves – their blind eyes – even if they are imperfect.

But one friend, whose blindness is due to Retinoblastoma, described in vivid detail being forced by parents or teachers to wear them. She would get in trouble in school if she took them off, and even now – as a grown woman – if she’s in her family’s company, the comment is made that she needs to wear them. Like it or not, she is judged on her appearance. Retinoblastoma can sometimes lead to facial scarring that may be off-putting to some, so some may argue that if it can be covered by makeup or glasses, then why not use them? And yet, my friend has a very complicated relationship to glasses today, for the simple reason that they were pushed at her so much as a child and teenager and even now as an adult.

A simple accessory to some, to others a way to make it through the day. To some they bring freedom, to others a sense of complicated shame. I had no idea that the job interview a year ago would start me on this journey of asking questions about an accessory that most people wear without a second thought. It’s opened up far more questions for me than it’s answered, and yet, I’ve made my own piece with my sunglasses. My cute sunglasses make others more comfortable with me, which makes me more comfortable with myself. I hate that this is so. And I hate that others would receive the exact opposite reaction because their uncovered eyes don’t make them look blind.

So for now, while the days are long and the sun is so bright that almost everyone has to squint to navigate the world visually, I’ll take that automatic respect that these lenses and frames seem to have granted me. Now the question is… can this continue in the winter?

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.

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

When Life just Doesn’t Seem Fair

09 Friday Sep 2016

Posted by in Uncategorized

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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.

Schoolbooks and Slingshots: Education, Legislation, and the Mess In Between

26 Friday Aug 2016

Posted by in blindness

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What does discrimination look like? Is it being told, flat out, that you can’t do this task or have this job or enter that building or raise a family? Is it using insulting words, raised voices, thrown objects? Or is it subtler? Is it the pervasive idea that our presence in and of itself – with minds or bodies that don’t function “correctly” – is unwanted?
More important than that, how can we combat it? Is education the best way to eliminate misconceptions? Or is confrontation more productive? Over the years I have believed that one or the other is appropriate, but I’ve done a lot of thinking recently… why is it assumed that the two are mutually exclusive?

Not long ago I found a couple of friends posting on Facebook a status that went something like this: “Maybe I’m the only blind person you know, and maybe you’re afraid to ask me questions. THIS is a safe place to ask any questions you have – big or small – about my life as a blind person.” It’s an interesting thought – something that I would consider doing on social media, for people who have already built up some form of a relationship with me. But I question the appropriateness of educating the general public… just because they are curious and don’t know how I live my life. It’s one thing for a prospective employer or university professor to ask questions about how the job gets done – but my life is my own, and I shouldn’t have to educate the passenger beside me on the bus how I cook, clean, live my life, just because they’re curious and are dying to know. If someone has the time and inclination to share this information, that’s absolutely acceptable. But not everyone wishes to do so, and should not feel judged by the disability community at large or by the general public for politely declining to answer what can be considered nosy, invasive questions when directed at a non-disabled person.
But what if someone says or does or asks something truly offensive? Is education appropriate? The answer is… yes and no. It does definitely depend on the situation – what was said, how it was said, and how willing the other party is to understand that what they said, did or asked was inappropriate or invasive. I recently had a really rough day, where someone I asked for directions talked over me as though I couldn’t talk for myself, an interviewer told me that my resume was just what she was looking for but she “just didn’t know if I could do the job”, and then a woman on the bus told me that I “looked so young and attractive” that she “never would’ve guessed I had any challenges.” With person number 1, I was admittedly abrupt and short, thanking him sincerely for his help but that I could take it from here and speak for myself (His response: “Really? You can?”) The job interviewer was much trickier, because I felt like I had to not only convince her that I COULD do that job, but also be polite in the face of that dreaded C word (“can’t“). When I was later advised the position had been given to another candidate, I requested more information about my interview itself and was able to explain why her comments and questions were unreasonable and inappropriate, and how it’s always best to presume competence; she thanked me for my feedback and promised to implement changes to her interview practices. The lady on the bus… I was so taken aback by her comment – that attractiveness, youth and disability couldn’t co-exist – that I thanked her for her compliment but told her that it was offensive, because disability is not just for the old and the unattractive. She thanked me for telling her and said she would choose her words more wisely in the future.
But not everyone is as willing to hear our answers, having their own ideas about our capabilities and the realities of our lives. More than once someone has made a statement of how sad my life must be, but when I try and explain, I effectively get told that I’m wrong – that I miss out on so many beautiful things. It’s frustrating on an emotional level, but when it comes to employment it becomes economically frustrating as well. So what do we do when others’ perceptions and ideas and design affects our ability to work, to study, to access facilities? We sometimes fight through legislation. Maybe it won’t change someone’s mind until they realize how serious it is that we’re denied job opportunities, academic pursuits, and the ability to move freely through cities, streets and businesses. I’ve never seen the picture of the “Capitol Crawl” – a public visual demand for passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act – but it’s an important image to keep in mind: access to some is not access for all, and until all citizens have access to the same products, services and facilities, a society is not truly free and equal. And even though not everything is a fight, it is important to band together as a stronger disability community – to support each other and the non-disabled who stand with us as we try and make a difference.
Sometimes it’s best to catch flies with honey rather than vinegar. But if you can’t catch them with honey because they just don’t care, vinegar is absolutely a valid option. It’s important to choose our battles wisely, to conduct ourselves with a strong will tempered by grace, wisdom and logic. Emotion, if channeled appropriately, can be powerful, but it can’t be the only way we respond to circumstance. And logic without personal experience is dry and boring and, frankly, no one wants to hear that either. Sometimes change is best accomplished through well-timed, well-tempered words; other times it means pushing back against ideas and thoughts and practices through personal or government advocacy. No one way is right or wrong for everyone, but it is important that whatever we do, however we combat discrimination and prejudice, that it improves life for everyone, not just one segment of our community.