Empathy and Difficulty In an Ableist Society

Over the last few months, I have been using a wheelchair to get around outside. It's proven more difficult than I imagined—proof of an ableist society.

My wheelchair is human-powered; I must be pushed or push myself. I need to build my arm strength to get around better, but I can maneuver myself around a small store if required and get around in a bathroom (if it's a private room with plenty of room, grab bars, and a wheelchair-friendly sink). I have yet to need to use a public bathroom with stalls.

At home, I use a four-wheel walker to help me save my strength and reduce falls due to weakness I commonly experience after too much exertion. It helps a lot, and when I feel like I might collapse, I can lean on it as I rush to bed, or rushing as much as I am able.

Our car is a compact sedan, which is not wheelchair-friendly. The trunk is not large enough to store it, so my husband has to shove it in the backseat—literally because it take some strength to push it into the tiny space between the front and back seats. Fortunately, the car is so old we'll have to junk it when we get a new one, so if the upholstery tears it's okay. The car isn't worth much of anything anyway.

To get to the car, I have to use my walker to get to the top of the stairs leading to the parking lot (we're on the second floor), hold onto the tall, decorative post at the top of the railing while my husband takes the walker to the bottom of the stairs, then he comes back up to allow me to hold onto him while I struggle my way down because the railings on the stairs here are useless, and then use the walker to get to the car and inside. The walker remains in the trunk while we're out. Return is the reverse of that process, only I have no choice but to hold the crap railings, one in each hand, on the way up while my husband stays close behind in case I lose my balance. It's an absolute pain.

Just in case you're a person who designs railings or installs them, a curved piece for someone to hold is useless when placed on a flat surface wider than the hand-hold. Think about it: when you need to hold something to keep your balance or hold yourself up, would gripping it with your fingers or your whole hand be more useful?

Stairs and narrow doorways mark the entire apartment building in addition to the useless stair rails. Not friendly for the physically disabled. I use a four-wheel walker to get around the apartment and out to the car. Fortunately, I can get around smaller spaces without tiring too much on an average day. 

It's not possible to use a wheelchair in our apartment because I can barely get through the doorways with my walker only measuring 20 inches (50 cm). I still bang on the doorframe if I'm not careful. My wheelchair measures 24 inches (60 cm). We had to remove the doors inside the apartment and hang curtains that we open with tie-backs.

We had to buy a shower chair and a few grab bars that attach with suction cups. I could potentially ask the owner to put in permanent grab bars, but these have worked fine, and I don't want to be a pain in the ass. I have them on the shower surround, one attached to the counter next to the toilet, and one by the sink. They've been extremely helpful.

When management did their annual inspection about a month ago, I worried that she would not be okay with us removing the doors. But because the doors are undamaged and we have the screws—and also the laws concerning disabled people which I could use to sic the ADA on them for any violation—she said it was not a problem and offered to search for a place to store the doors so they're out of our way. That would be greatly appreciated because our apartment is only 450 square feet (137 square meters).

Photo by Matt Bango

Until a few weeks ago, we did not have a handicapped parking permit, so shopping and even doctor visits have been a major pain. We needed to park far from the entrance to locate a spot that was empty on the passenger side and hope no one decided to park there. Additionally, there are no handicapped spots at our apartment complex, so if certain spots aren't free, getting out of the car is very difficult. I am hoping we can get one reserved for us.

There is so much that I need to function now, things I didn't anticipate while in the hospital and rehab last fall. All of this has taught me that previous to this, despite believing the opposite, I had little empathy for people with physical disabilities. That is something I regret.

Funnily enough, the thing I'm most worried about with going in public is some nasty person who can't mind their own business demanding to know why I'm using handicapped parking and what my disability is. Even more so, I'm afraid of someone calling management, or heaven forbid the police, about me using handicapped parking even though I have a permit.

When I worked in retail, the last time fifteen years ago, the way they told us to approach a person in a wheelchair is something I would find condescending and offensive, though others may not feel the same. I would rather be talked to and treated like anyone else, even if I have to look up, than have someone crouch in front of me to talk to me. Even at the time, the late 90s and into the 2000s, I thought it was a bad way to approach someone. It seemed like it would make someone feel othered, and possibly cause an able-bodied person to unconsciously talk down to them. I was right, at least the way I feel as someone in a wheelchair. I suspect it was the result of able-bodied people creating policies without asking multiple handicapped people what would make them feel more comfortable.

If you are disabled and experiencing ableism, even occasionally, my heart goes out to you. If you are a person without the need to use a wheelchair, please take care how you approach someone that does. 

And please, please ask someone on crutches or in a wheelchair struggling with a door if they would like help. The most important part of that is asking first. I appreciate help, but some people don't want it, and both are okay.

As a society, I hope we can learn to be more empathetic toward others and respect that there may be circumstances in someone's life we can't see. Disabilities can be invisible. Neurodivergence isn't visible. Autistic people are not stupid. And none of them decrease a person's ability to live a full life, even if accommodations are needed.

Don't treat others the way you want to be treated because others may need different treatment. Instead, treat people with the respect they deserve.