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Impacting Language

  • Posted on May 30, 2010 at 10:27 PM

As a writer by trade, language is frequently on my mind.  Usually, though, I think about ways that we might change the language in common use.  Then, there are those bright moments when I see that the change is already occurring.

Saturday evening I attended my nephew’s high school graduation party.  I’m certainly proud of his accomplishment and the decisions he’s making to help shape his future.  But as he sat around with his friends, I observed another reason to be proud of him.  Generally speaking, I appreciate the wonderful people these children are as I’ve seen them interact with their cousins, my children (okay, two of them are now grown children!).  I can’t say how much coaching it might have taken, but they’ve always accepted their cousins for who they are—limits, challenges and all.  I appreciate that and am very proud of them for it.  But today it was a little thing that caught my attention.

This nephew sat around the table with his friends.  Ben ran around squealing with excitement over the new areas to explore.  The friends talked on, until one of them swore in an off-hand kind of way.  My nephew, conscious of his little cousin, said, “Watch the language!”  A moment later, another friend made a comment about drug-use.  “Watch the content,” my nephew exclaimed in theatrical exasperation.

It seems like a little thing, and maybe it is, but it says something wonderful about his character and his choice of friends that he felt comfortable to make his point.  I also appreciated his manner and approach in doing so.  A gentle reminder—performed well and complied with.  The issue was important to him, but he didn’t need to make a big deal of it to get his point across.

More recently, I was putting in some time freshening up on my grant writing studies.  A small subsection, on style and usage, made a quick, short comment about “political correctness.”  In a few short paragraphs, with a similar important-but-not-a-big-deal approach, the authors gave a lesson on respecting people with regard to race, gender and ability.  The reason it struck me is because their manner wasn’t one of qualification—this is the language you’re expected to use—but instead carried a subtle but discernible undertone of respect.  They didn’t say this just because it had to be said; they mean it.  I especially like this part:  “Don’t sensationalize with phrases such as ‘afflicted with,’ ‘suffering from,’ or ‘victimized by.’”

Don’t sensationalize…  With those two words they make a great, but subtle point.  Not unlike a young man who’s comfortable enough to stand up for his values and the values of his family without making it seem like he’s taking a social risk by doing so.

Our language is changing; our ideas are changing.  Sometimes it seems slow.  Our culture still has much progress to make.  But it’s happening.

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Fatigue, Compulsion, and the Search for Spoons

  • Posted on May 24, 2010 at 9:15 PM

Executive Summary: A less-than-100%-coherent search for spoons, which represent our daily currency to get things done.

During the latest Blogging Against Disablism blogswarm, I read a post that mentioned the “spoons theory.”  I wasn’t not sure what the author meant and he/she didn’t elaborate.  But I did find an article/post that described the theory. (Recommended reading!)

I’d gotten the general gist of the theory based on the context of the original post.  In short, spoons represent your energy and ability, like currency.  You have a limited number spoons each day and have to spend them wisely.

(I disagree with the author that healthy people don’t have to worry about this.  Perhaps some people don’t think about it, but the reality is we have all a finite number of spoons each day.  Some of us just have fewer spoons than others, and some of us require more spoons to accomplish a given task than others.  And every day is different.)

Most days I have sufficient spoons.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not rolling in spoons.  It’s not like I have so many spoons to spare that I don’t have to think about how I spend them.  Usually I have just enough spoons to get through the day.  But I do get through the day.

Each day I spend some spoons without making a conscious choice.  I have compulsive tendencies.  If I do not control these tendencies, they control me.  Controlling these compulsions requires having spoons to spend.  I also spend spoons to deal with the stimuli in my environment.

Noise costs me some spoons.  Interestingly enough, silence costs me spoons, too—just not as many spoons.  In order to not spend spoons, I need a manageable level of consistent white noise.  Then, of course, listening costs me some spoons, because I have to drown out the white noise to focus on what the other person is saying.  Really, when it comes to auditory stimulation, I just can’t win.

Touching an icky texture costs me a spoon.  A smell that triggers my gag reflex costs me some spoons, if I don’t have the spoons I throw up and that will cost me more spoons—even though I don’t actually have the spoons to spend.  Processing too many visual elements costs me a spoon.  Wearing clothing that requires processing costs me some spoon (itchy clothes, skirts, or tops that dip down if I bend forward are examples), how many depends on how much and how often my clothing requires my attention.  Basically, just having to process the world around me costs me spoons.  Add human interaction into the mix, and I use a lot of spoons just to exist within an environment.

Keep in mind I haven’t done any work yet and have already spent quite a few spoons.

(This is why I consider myself borderline-neurodivergent versus autistic.  This is not to say that I actually believe there is a border—I believe autism is a range within the human range of experience and that our choice to make firm distinctions is a value judgment that doesn’t accurately reflect reality, but that’s another post.  The point is that my ability to pass for most of my life without anyone suspecting anything was really “wrong” leads me to differentiate my experiences from both “normal” people and genuine autistics.  I seem to have more spoons than most autistics, but I spend my spoons on things that don’t require spoons from “normal” people.)

But there are those times when the monster under the bed eats my spoons before I even get up in the morning—or in the afternoon as the case may be when I’m being night-owlish.

Over the last month I’ve had sinusitis, or maybe it’s allergies, or—well, we really don’t know.  But I’ve had fewer spoons as the days go by, yet I had just as much work to do.  So, I overextended myself, spending spoons I didn’t have.  Of course, there’s a cost for that.  A steep cost.  I end up with fewer spoons the next day.  If that wasn’t problematic enough, I have to spend more spoons to do the same tasks, which I still have to do though I don’t have the spoons.  Thus, the cycle of spending spoons I don’t have continues and grows.

Work, of course, requires spoons as well.  Play requires spoons too.  Taking care of the kids, taking care of the house, and spending time with family and friends all require spoons.  Outings of any kind require having plenty of spoons to spend.  Getting ready for an outing costs me spoons.  The type of outing indicates how many spoons something is likely to cost, but the indication may be off depending on what happens during the outing.

On most days I have enough spoons to do all the things I need to do, most of the things I should do, and some of the things I want to do.  The closer I’m able to stay within my comforting routine, the fewer spoons I usually have to spend coping and the fewer spoons it costs me to complete a task.

Then, there are those times when I don’t feel well.  Having a headache costs me spoons.  And that’s just having the headache.  Treating the headache requires more spoons.  Doing something while I have the headache costs me spoons to have the headache, plus the spoons to perform the task, plus a few extra because the task requires more effort.  This is true of any bodily discomfort.

Lately, I’ve had headaches, nasal congestion, chest congestion, coughing, pressure in my head, feelings of disorientation, earaches, tickly ears, and a sense of unbalance.  Each of these symptoms necessitates the spending of spoons.  Just having the symptoms costs spoons.  Treating them costs spoons.  Doing other tasks while having the symptoms costs the spoons to perform the task plus extra spoons for the extra effort required.

It’s easy to see why I’ve been running short on spoons.  Yet, work needs to be done.  So, I spend spoons I don’t have, sabotaging future days and future work, which requires spending more spoons I don’t have.  Badness, quite obviously, ensues.

Now, getting the point, I spend spoons to control my compulsiveness.  If I choose not to do so, if I let the compulsiveness win, not only do I not spend spoons to control my compulsiveness, I get spoons for allowing myself to be compulsive.  So, when I finally admitted I had to stop spending spoons I didn’t have, I recouped by sleeping more and watching La Femme Nikita.  Television poses significant challenges for me.  Once I start watching something I really enjoy, I don’t want to stop.  It costs spoons to not watch.  The same thing happens with book series.  If the series continues, but I don’t have the next book, it costs me spoons not to purchase and read the book.  So, allowing myself to watch whichever show I’m into is like getting extra health points in a video game.  I get more spoons!

But, in the process, I lose time.  If I have a full day scheduled, I won’t be able to do all my work, because it costs time to get the spoons to do the work.  Then, I have to choose which work needs to get done, do that work, and let the rest go until I have spoons I don’t have to buy with time.

But (there seems to be a lot of buts in this post), if I try to indulge myself and am thwarted, that costs a lot of spoons.  So, when the DVD-drive on my laptop couldn’t find the DVD (hello!  It’s in the drive!), I spent four hours trying to make it work.  In the process I discovered that this drive has problems—not just mine, but a lot of people’s—and that there was no identified solution, so I ordered an external drive online.  Not because we had the money to spare, but because it was costing me far too many spoons and far too much time not having a DVD-drive that would actually, consistently and predictably play DVDs.  (I don’t cope well with things that don’t work the way they’re supposed to.  I mean, really: DVD-drive = drive that plays DVDs.  Why is that such a difficult concept for my computer to understand!?!)  After that, I took my DVD upstairs and watched it there.  Luckily, my husband recognized that watching the DVD had become a need—and I do mean need, I didn’t have enough spoons left not to watch it—and he abdicated his computer time in favor of my indulgence.  (Isn’t he fabulous!)

So, I guess the point is—do I have a point?—ah, yes, the point is that we must manage the spoons that we have.   We must be aware of how our spoons get spent and what gives us more spoons than is spent doing it.  It’s kind of like celery.  I once heard that digesting celery consumes more calories than the celery contains.  Most activities consume more spoons than the activity provides.  But there are spoon-rich activities (i.e., chocolate cake, not celery) that will provide more spoons than performing the activity consumes.  Everyone is going to have their own spoon-rich activities.  Find yours.  Use it to help you manage your spoons.  Then all you have to do is manage your time, but at least you’ll have the spoons to do it!

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Link Happy!

  • Posted on May 19, 2010 at 7:59 PM

KWombles of Countering Age of Autism is compiling a new directory, Autism Blogs Directory.

“If you know of a good autism-related blog, please comment with its url! Let's see how big a directory we can create! If you don't mind, please link to this directory, too!

If I miscategorize your blog, let me know where you want it! :-)”

In related news, I checked and the following blogs are not as dead as they once appeared:

Click on through and happy reading!

*Disclaimer* I do not monitor the behavior of my fellow bloggers.  I link to other blogs and Websites to provide information.  I do not necessarily support the content of these blogs, but I do support open communication.  If you feel I should be aware of unacceptable behavior, please e-mail me and I will provide a warning to other bloggers.  *End Disclaimer*

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Stillness

  • Posted on May 15, 2010 at 10:00 PM

Executive Summary:  Alex dislikes dental work.  I believe in empowering patients to make choices regarding their own dental care.  Yet, I do not allow Alex to refuse dental care.  The difference is that care is being sought for my child’s benefit, and not my convenience.

The waiting room was okay.  Alex bounded from spot to spot, reading as many words as he could find.  Then, the dental assistant came.  We talked for a few moments.  When it was time to go into the back I called Alex to me, but he didn’t come.  I took him by the hand.  He walked with me and stopped a few paces in front of the door.  I tugged gently on his hand, an act that was more communication then force.  He looked at me, and took just enough steps forward so he was inside the door.  The door closed behind him.  Step by step, we moved forward—him resisting, me encouraging.

I said, “I will carry you if I have to.”

Alex chose to walk.

The dentist’s office is a difficult place for Alex to be.  He generally resists anything that involves others touching his mouth.  He resists brushing his teeth, flossing, and all forms of dental care.  He resists us looking at his teeth or checking for wiggly, loose ones.  He resists the removal of wiggly, loose teeth or the removal of any miscellaneous particles he decides to chew on.

I expect resistance, which is why I travel two hours to take him to this clinic.  The staff is prepared for his resistance and the facility is equipped to make dental care as safe and as comfortable as possible.

This particular appointment was a “quickie.”  The task was to fill a chip on his front tooth.  Easy access.  No drilling.  No paste.  If Alex had cooperated the whole thing would have taken 5 to 10 minutes.

Of course, Alex did not cooperate.  Or, to be more accurate, Alex cooperated as much as he was able to do with his current level of oversensitivity and anxiety.  He squirmed most of the time.  He cried quite a bit of the time.  He got out some good words, through a pry-thing that forced his teeth apart, saying, “I don’t want.  Don’t want.  I don’t want.”

We acknowledge his words.  We told him we understood.  We explained as best we could that we had to fix his tooth so the big-boy tooth didn’t rot and break the way his baby tooth had done.  He understood.  He took a few ragged breaths and was relatively calm (but still squirming) for a few precious moments, which gave the dentist the opportunity she needed.

The dentist was quick as she could be.  She talked to Alex with respect while she worked within his limited range of cooperation.  She chided him when necessary and complimented him whenever possible.  In the beginning of the session, she joined in as I sang Alex’s special song to him to help him control his anxiety.

Alexander, Alexander.  I love you.  Yes I do.

Really special boy-oy.  Really special boy-oy.

I love you.  Yes I do-o-o-o-o.

Despite not liking the work she does, Alex likes his dentist quite a lot.  He made excellent eye contact with her, which is rare.  When it was all done, he even smiled for her.  But for all that he likes he, that doesn’t mean he’s able to cooperate while he’s in that chair.

The experience is hard on all of us.  He doesn’t want to do this.  I empathize, because I find the dental experience to be a miserable one myself.  I also don’t want Alex’s teeth to deteriorate the way mine have after a childhood (and much of my adulthood) of not receiving proper dental care.  I know, in the long-run, the misery of receiving dental care today is much, much better than the misery of decayed teeth with its tooth aches, drilling, pulling, and fake teeth.

One might think that all of this is beyond his understanding, but Alex gets it.  As much as he dislikes this he does get that we’re not trying to hurt him or ignore his wishes.  He gets that this needs to be done, and he gets that we try to make it as good for him as we can.  There was a precious moment after the filling was put on and set when Alex was calm.  He stopped squirming and crying.  He took a few ragged breaths.  He looked at the dentist’s face and he waited.  It was like he was saying, “Okay, what happens now.  I’m ready.”

The only thing that was left at the point was the x-ray.  Last time it took an extra person and four tries.  This time it only took two tries and no extra assistance.

We’re making progress.  Alex did really well.  The dentist and I praised Alex profusely.  Alex left with a smile, but he also left as quickly as he could.

Still, I look back and think about that precious moment of stillness.  As a mom, one of my biggest challenges is doing things to my kids that I know they don’t want, but need anyway.  Things like dental care, shots, and surgery.  These unwanted needs make me wonder how deeply my respect for my children really goes.  I strongly advocate the patient’s right to choose the type of care received or to forego care entirely.  I advocate these rights for patients who society deems incompetent to make these decisions.  Yet I make decisions like this for my children.

There are times I feel like a hypocrite.

Then, I think about that moment of stillness.  I think about the smile Alex gave to the doctor.  I think about the way he cuddled close to me after all of it was over, and how he relaxed after I told him he did a good job and that I was proud of him.

I think about how there are times, even as an adult, when I don’t want, but still need medical care.  I think about how anxiety-laden my own dental appointments are.  I think about how much it hurt to regain the mobility of my wrist.  I think about how, after the surgery on my wrist, I kept apologizing for needing a heftier dose of pain medication.  When I got home I apologized for needing my husband and my mother’s help.

And I let go of the guilt and the doubt.  I’m not a hypocrite.  As a parent, I have to make some tough decisions.  I have to decide what medical care has sufficient value to force that care on my children.  Sometimes this means dosing the child with antibiotics.  Other times it means restraining my child so a dentist can fix his teeth.  Sometimes it means talking the child through the anxiety of getting blood drawn or getting a shot.  But at no time do I do these things for me.  At no time do I put my convenience over my child’s care.  At no time do I treat my child as if his will doesn’t matter.  I talk, I explain, and I comfort.  I give my children choices whenever I can.  I refrain from making choices based on my needs or my convenience, but base my decisions on the long-term best interests of my child.  And my children recognize the difference.  That difference is going to empower my children to make their own decisions in the future.

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Alex’s (Mis)Adventure

  • Posted on May 13, 2010 at 1:32 AM

Today was a big day.  I had quite the adventure planned for Alex.  We were going to try something new!  So, with great enthusiasm, I loaded Alex into the car.  And off we went!

We got about seven blocks from our house and stopped at a stoplight.  The light turned green and I pressed the gas to start into my turn.  The radio flickered and died.  Oh, great, I thought, now I’m going to have to find a way to replace the radio!  Stupid car.  Then—before we’d even moved—the rest of the car died.

With an inaudible sigh, the car just stopped.  I figured the engine stalled.  It’s happened before.  So, I turned the key.

Not even a sputter.  I mean nothing happened.  The car was dead.

So, thinking it might help, I turned everything off, and tried again.  Nothing.  Not a thing.

Being the car-savvy person I am, I hit the dashboard and told it, “You’ve got to start!”  I turned the key.  The car—thinking hard as cars do on bitter, cold Wisconsin mornings (which this wasn’t)—considered turning on.  The gas gauge flew from an 1/8th of a tank to a ½ a tank.  The bad lights that say the car needs a doctor flashed on.  For a moment, I thought the car had decided I was right.  The car was going to spark and perform a rumbling imitation of good health.  Then, with an almost audible sigh, it died.  The gas gauge, the lights, and all of it turned off.

By now, the people behind me figured out I wasn’t going anywhere.  They moved around me.  By now, Alex figured out we weren’t going anywhere.  He started fussing and bouncing in his seat belt.  He didn’t like this whole stopped-in-the-middle-of-the-road-with-a-car-that-won’t-go bit at all.  To tell the truth, neither did I.

Across the street I saw a car repair shop.  It seemed like my best guess, so I found the hazards (which were a bit off-center and up, considering I was just starting to turn when the car died) and flipped them on.  Then, I got out and let Alex out.  No, he said in his non-verbal way, you do not get out of the car when it’s in the middle of the road.  You don’t.  You make the car go!

But we did get out.  We crossed the street on foot.  Alex protested the whole way.  He continued his protest as I asked the nice gentlemen at the mechanic shop for assistance.  He continued his protest as we walked back to the car.  And when these fine gentlemen started pushing the car, of all the wrong-est of wrong things to do, he really let me have it, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was not supposed to let wrong, confusing, unscheduled events like this happen.

Cars go.  Mom drives.  The car does not die in the middle of the road.  Strangers do not push the car.  This is not how things work.  As the mom I should know this.  But push it they did—right into the mechanics’ parking lot.

Alex calmed down as he waited in the car and the men looked underneath the hood.  He calmed down further as they hooked the car up to a charger that whirred and purred.  You see, waiting inside a car that is parked in a parking lot is allowed.  This is how things are done.  You park in a parking lot, not in the road.  After a little while with no more deviations, Alex became quite content with his circumstances and even came up to the front of our minivan to sit on my lap.  Of course, we had to be buckled up, the two of us together, because you wear your seat belt in the car even if the car is stopped.

Turns out our alternator was not doing its alternating thing.  It’s supposed to go round and round at high speed, feeding juice into our battery.  It went round and round.  It even went at high speed.  But it wasn’t sending as much juice to the battery as the car was sucking out.  So, the battery died.  The kind servicemen charged my battery, gave me a quote on replacing the alternator, and sent us on our merry way.  Alex was quite pleased to see the car go as cars should.  He was blissful as we parked in our driveway and got out.  This was quite a trip, and he was more than satisfied with his adventure, though it wasn’t the one I’d planned.

All’s well that ends with a happy, things-working-as-they-should ending.  Just so long as you’re not the one who has to pay for the car repair.

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The (Un)Importance of Words

  • Posted on May 10, 2010 at 2:20 AM

Don’t get me wrong.  I love words.  I believe the words we use and the way we use them are very important.  But, when it comes to the issues of disabilities—acceptance, inclusion, empowerment, and accommodations—words are of secondary importance.

A new reader recently suggested that I’m a proponent of people-first language.  While this assertion is wholly understandable, it is not accurate.

As a writer, I find people-first language to be clumsy.  It interrupts the flow of the prose.  Yet, I would readily and easily sacrifice the flow of my prose for the sake of putting people first.

Except, people-first language doesn’t do that.

People-first language doesn’t put people first, conceptually speaking.  It’s a political device that puts politics first.  I have far too often heard others use people-first language in an ablistic, derogatory, people-last manner.

“My son is a child with autism.  It’s so horrible having a child with autism that I’ve considered taking him by the hand and jumping off a bridge.”

People-first language is only as good as the thinking of its user.  Disability-first language is only as bad as the thinking of its user.  When I say my children with autism or my autistic children, my language has changed but my thinking has not.  If I use auties, autists, or autistic, my language has changed but my thinking has not.  My children are always people first in my mind.  That’s how I conceptualize them.  They are people.  Facets of those people manifest themselves in behaviors psychologists (and, in turn, society) describe as autism.  Thus, they are people with autism.

People-first language does not change people’s thinking.  People-first language just changes their speaking.  To change people’s minds, their thinking needs to change.  Language can help.  People-first language can help.  But people-first language is not the solution; and it is often the smoke-screen that disguises the problem.

Yet…  Autism is somewhat unique in this respect.  While I do not see “blind people” as being blind first and people second regardless of the language I use, I also do not feel comfortable citing such a disability first and the person second.  I prefer, clunky as it is, to use “person with a visual impairment.”  Though I will gladly use whatever the individual prefers.  The same goes for other physical or mental/intellectual disabilities.

Part of the reason why I make this distinction is because Western culture has, for so very long, seen people with these kinds of disabilities as being not-whole, and therefore not valuable.  It’s so easy to see the disability first.  Yet, by putting the person first we can hope (however much in vain) that people will start seeing the people, regardless of their abilities/disabilities.

Yet…  The more my path crosses with other disability rights advocates—those not directly associated with neurodiversity—the more I see advocates re-claiming words like “crip.”  I try to respect and appreciate what they’re trying to do.  I try.  But the idea of calling another human being a “crip” makes me uncomfortable.  But, if that is their choice, who am I to say they’re wrong?

In short, I am an advocate of people-first thinking.  If we need people-first language to facilitate that thinking, then so be it.  Someday I hope people-first thinking will be so strongly ingrained in our societal make-up that we can talk with and about people with any disability without having to think about what to call them.

***

Now, on a different note, if you’re interested in exploring language in a poetic style, I would recommend checking out http://www.wordgathering.com/ .  The Inglis House Poetry Contest has two categories.  One is open to all.  The other is limited to writers with disabilities.  The subject of poems submitted to both categories is disabilities.  There’s no entry fee, but there is a prize.  So, if you like to play with words give it a try!  The deadline is June 1st, though, so you’ve got to be quick!

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Introducing Purple Pen Writing Services!

  • Posted on May 4, 2010 at 5:52 PM

When I first started college at Herzing University I had two goals.  The first was to graduate with a 4.0.  One A- put the kibosh on that.  So, I graduated with a 3.99.  Yes, I know.  You’re crying me a river of tears right now.  So am I.  I mean, really, it’s tragic to graduate Summa Cum Laude with only a 3.99.  (This is sarcasm for those who cannot identify it on sight.)

Achieving my second goal was much more important to my family and me.  That goal is to own my own writing business.  Now I do.  Purple Pen Writing Services is officially open for business.  You can visit my site at www.PurplePenWritingServices.com.

I provide resume writing and business writing services to clients in the Greater Janesville area.  I’ll amend that.  While most of my marketing efforts target my local area, I’m online for a reason.  I will provide affordable writing services to any client who requests them, assuming their request is both ethical and within my abilities.

I’ll also provide some consulting services.  I have not completed my training, so the services I am comfortable offering don’t run the full gambit of career consulting or marketing consulting services.  For those individuals who are struggling with their personal marketing plan (i.e., getting the kind of job they want) or with their professional marketing plan (i.e., reaching their target customers) I would be more than happy to provide consultation on marketing strategies and tactics.  I can do so knowledgeably and effectively.

Of course, most of this is not of interest to Embracing Chaos readers.  The point that might be of interest is this:

Now that I’m working 50-60 hours a week getting my business off the ground I will not be blogging as much.  Once my business is off the ground I’ll be running my business and attending graduate school, so I still won’t be blogging as much.  I intend to maintain Embracing Chaos, continue to add links, continue to visit old friends and new blogs—just not quite as much as I’d like.

If it is any consolation at all, bringing neurodiversity more fully into the mainstream through articles and other efforts is a very big part of my short-term, mid-term, and long-term plans.

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Blogging Against Disablism: On Assuming Impairment

  • Posted on May 1, 2010 at 10:19 PM

Executive Summary:  Disablism happens because the majority of people (US-specific) believe physical, mental or psychological differences make a person disabled.  Yet the majority has technologies and accommodations that make them able.  The reason why the “disabled” sub-population lacks appropriate technologies and accommodations is because their needs differ from those of the majority.  It is this lack of appropriate technologies and accommodations that truly disable or impair these individuals.  As a society we can allocate our resources in order enable everyone.  Will we choose to do so?

Disablism refers to the societal tendency to single out, exclude or mistreat people with physical, mental or psychological impairments because of those impairments.  But even here, in this simple definition, disablism intrudes.  The physical, mental or psychological differences are assumed to impair (meaning to lessen the quality, strength, or effectiveness of) the person with said differences.

I wish to challenge that assumption.  In the US this assumption is the foundation of the paradigm (meaning the worldview formed on the basis of beliefs, teachings, and experiences that shapes the perceptions of an individual when processing new teachings and experiences) held by the majority.  Within this paradigm it is the disability or impairment—the mental, physical or psychological difference—that impairs or lessens a person’s ability to participate in society.

Obviously!  That which is obvious is not necessarily true.

We are all more able, more empowered, and more effective with the use of technologies and accommodations that help us go about our daily tasks.  For example, we are all impaired when it comes to talking over long distances—so we use telephones, cell phones, Web cams, chat rooms, and e-mail to communicate over these distances.  People who do not have these communication technologies are accommodated through public phones and library computers.  We are all impaired when it comes to traveling over a long distance in a timely manner—so we use cars, trucks, and bicycles to span these distances.  People who do not have these transportation technologies are accommodated with buses, trains, and other forms of public transportation.  We are all impaired when it comes to learning—so we use textbooks, schools, black boards, Web sites, Power Point presentations, and other technologies to condense and teach the things we all need to learn.  People who cannot afford access to these education technologies attend public schools, visit public libraries, and get grants and loans from the federal government to attend technical colleges and universities.

Because “we all” have these impairments, the technologies and accommodations we need to improve our effectiveness are readily available.  Individuals with disabilities, as a whole, make up a significant sub-section of our population.  However, the specific technologies and accommodations that can compensate for their individual differences are not readily available, because the technologies and accommodations that would satisfy their needs are often unique to them.  At the very least, they’re not particularly useful to the majority.

That is the difference.  The impairments “we all” have our alleviated with technologies and accommodations; the impairments “they” have are not, because the technologies and accommodations “they” need are of no use to “us.”

Thus, the pervasive American paradigm is based on the “we all” standard.  If “we all” need something, then it is normal and “we all” obtain access to the technologies and accommodations we need; even if it means burying our country under a huge burden of debt.  If “some” need something to help them do what most do “naturally,” then those who with special needs are impaired or disabled and satisfying their needs is a burden “we all” won’t accept or tolerate.

Is this the land of the free—where so many are impaired and boxed in by the barriers we create as a society?  It’s time to shift our paradigm (paradigm shift: the internalization of a new belief, teaching or experience that dramatically changes the worldview of an individual).  The individual is not impaired because of their physical, mental or psychological difference; the individual is impaired because he or she lacks the accommodations or technologies that would enable him or her to participate effectively.  A lack we the people created out of our own ignorance and small-mindedness.

The truth is this: With the technologies and accommodations that are right for them, individuals with physical, mental or psychological differences can participate in and contribute to our society.  They can live not as “disabled” or “impaired” individuals, but as able, powerful, effective people—people whose differences no longer exclude them from the world of the majority.  “We all” would be richer for it, from an economic, cultural and an individual perspective.

Yet our society is engineered with the majority in mind—the technologies and accommodations we as a people devote most of our energies to are those that the majority requires and the majority demands.  Those who engineer our society impair those who need different technologies and different accommodations, often doing so unconsciously and unintentionally.  It never occurred to the majority that it should be any other way.

Is that really what we want?  Is that the people we want to be?  I know I don’t.  Do you?

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