YOU.

[Image: a woman in a wheelchair sits in front of a grey shed door in the bright sun. Her hair dress and stockings are all pink her shoes silver.]




I am a disabled woman.

I am a disabled woman.

I AM A DISABLED WOMAN.

And

I am disabled by you.




Yes, you.

You there.

You who's looking shocked.

You who thinks, oh she can't mean me?

You who is starting to feel the slow creep of discomfort and defensiveness.




You who see inspiration and bravery before I act or speak a word.

You who feel the sharp pang of pity when I cross your line of sight.

You who pat me, or tell me in a Play School voice that I'm "doing so good!'

You who think, she doesn't look disabled. She doesn't sound disabled. She doesn't act disabled.

You who uses words like overcome and despite when referencing my disability.

You who see me and think, if only she could be fixed.

You who's first question is "so what's wrong with you?" or "what did you do to yourself?"

You who shares Inspiration Porn and simply can't see the problem. "But it is inspiring! Just look."

You who insist that I'm not a disabled woman, I'm a woman with a disability. And insist. And insist. And insist.

You who tell me that disability is a dirty word.

You who tell me I am a person, not my disability.

You who delight in your own perceived enlightenment, because you don't see my disability.

You who uses words like handicapable, (dis)ability, differently-abled.




Just say the fucking word.




You who cheer our paralympians, but baulk at forcing businesses to comply with even the most basic accessibility standards.

You who support accommodating disabled people, until it inconveniences you.

You who book events in inaccessible buildings.

You who create businesses with heavy doors, steps, no accessible change rooms and aisles too small or too cluttered.

You who work in them and say nothing.

You who see a ramp and think that access is sorted.

You who gets offended and angry when your failure is explained.

You who never considered accessibility in the first place.

You who say, why don't you just ring and check?

You who cannot understand how exhausting it is to ALWAYS have to ring ahead to check. And that a yes is no guarantee.

You who think, well disabled people never attend anyway.

You who cannot conceive that the constant lack of accessible venues becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.





You who think it'll never happen to you.

You are too virtuous, health conscious, perfect, to ever become disabled.

You who knows and are, better.

You who uses the R word or it's derivatives.

You who tell me why it's not offensive, because it doesn't mean the same thing anymore.

You who instantly begin making excuses or explanations for perpetrators when I share my stories of Ableism. "But they had good intentions." "But he really means well." "But what about their feelings?" "Let me play devil's advocate for a second."

You who don't believe Ableism exists.

You who still don't know what Ableism is.




You who say, I wouldn't give in and use a mobility aid.

You who say, oh but I don't mean you. I'm not talking about you. It's okay for you to use one.

You who use terms like "wheelchair-bound" and "confined to a wheelchair".

You who feel defensive when I become angry at their use.

You who ask if I need help, then ignore me when I say "No thanks, I'm fine".

You who feel entitled to put your hands on me, on my wheelchair, without even the most basic of common courtesy to ask.

You who feel entitled to ask my medical history.

You who come up with such unique and witty lines as "that chair could take you to Mars", "Do you have a licence for that?" "The two of you should have a race."




You who think you are a great ally.

You who speak of diversity and privilege, but repeatedly fail to include disability in the list of marginalised groups.

You who speak of embracing your body. embracing your beauty. But fail to include disabled people in your narrative.

You who talks about embracing difference, when what you mean are the differences you find palatable. Not disability.

You who rally against violence, unemployment, homelessness and restrictive reproductive rights but never acknowledge that disabled people are frequently over represented in the statistics. That disabled people who also inhabit other marginalised groups are even more at risk.

You who discount lived experience. What would I know?

You who think your able-perspective can explain my life better, write my life better.

You who think your right trumps mine.

You who believes that in re-centering the narrative around the disabled voice, you are missing out.

You who speak of diversity but only on your terms.

You who think you know better.

You who think we should be grateful.

You who think I'm some sort of inspirational saint for simply living my life.

You who instead expect me to devolve into a puddle of weeping flesh because disability came my way.

You who think you're a superhero for your vigilante policing of accessible parking spaces.

You who shout FAKER and refuse to believe the permit sitting on the dash.

You who still can't understand that invisible disabilities exist.

You who knows most of them are bludgers, fakers, rorters, leaners.

You who tell me I'm "lucky that he's stuck around."

You who think I am so burdensome that I should not expect anyone to want to stay, or, to love me.

You who reads a story about the murder of a disabled child by a parent, a disabled wife by her husband, and think "Understandable" "Justifiable" "Act of Mercy" "Act of Love."




You who think I am pretty, articulate, confident,

FOR A DISABLED WOMAN.

I am disabled by your attitudes.

By your infantilisation.

By your low expectations.

By your erasure, wilful or unintentional.

I am disabled by you.



By you.



By you.



By you.

I AM A DISABLED WOMAN.

A proud disabled woman. 

An amazing disabled woman.

I AM A DISABLED WOMAN.

Michelle

Update: I wrote a post in response to some of the messages I received about this piece When you know better, do better.