trying to keep my -ism's for when it really counts
Quick aside – I wrote the majority of this post last week, before having attended an adaptive mountain biking weekend in Boise, Idaho.
The weekend has now come to an end and I am filled with so much joy (plus a little sharp sweet pain in my left side, but joy nonetheless!). I met some incredible people who do incredible things and part of me wants to speak at length about the feelings that riding with them brought me. I got to see people push their bodies to extremes that they didn’t think were possible (and were told weren’t). And more importantly, develop a deep & unwavering trust within themselves.
This weekend made me wish I could talk some sense into a younger me & a younger anyone struggling with similar feelings. I picture her—sprawled out on her bed after another uncomfortable interaction, hearing the most vicious words spoken by her own self, wishing so desperately to have been born in a different body. Those feelings were so big for her back then.
I wish I could show her just a snippet of the words shared between athletes this weekend —proof that there exists a lifetime of love and support waiting for her once she is brave enough to accept herself.
Another time maybe I’ll write more about these thoughts on adaptive sports and trail access but for now I’m going to keep this incredibly special weekend… special (although knowing me I could talk your ear off about how cool I think these people are the second anyone asks). Instead, on to some reflections about language-use & a really awful date I had recently. Okay okay, now I’m reaaaaally just stalling. Enjoy.
There is an ‘A’ word that has dominated many of my discussions recently.
Ableism.
I lived a good chunk of time without this word.
Then one fateful day, along it came: a new and shiny ‘A’ word that brought with it clarity and validation.
It didn't enter my repertoire casually. No no, like a 3 year old who has just learned a word for the first time, I used it any chance I got. No bashfulness or hesitation. As if I could not contain myself and the fact that I now had a name to give some of my hardest things and funniest feelings.
Suddenly, I had a 7 letter word to fervently circle in red pen! And boy could I circle!!
Finally, I had been given a lens to view experiences that always felt a little bit off. Such as, why the word disability seemed degrading and embarrassing when I was younger, and why I went to great lengths to deny it: “Sure! other people missing limbs are disabled, but that doesn’t apply to me.” Or the experience of my friends and family exclaiming, “I always forget you only have one arm!” as if this was a compliment; a badge to be worn for hiding so well. That the ability to “outperform” disability was to be celebrated.
I could finally put a name to what I also began to notice outside of my own experiences – how these funny feelings show up for others in very big ways that I had never considered – through transportation access or healthcare.
I could also now put my finger on a justification for why my denial of a job in high school not only felt shitty – but was illegal. And how there are laws in place (key; in place! not necessarily enforced) that should protect me and other disabled people from some of these blatant acts of ableism.
But, my friends, with language comes power. If we can name ableism, then we can talk about it and confront it. It IS a shiny word. But maybe I’ve had a bit of a trigger-finger when it comes to casually dispensing it.
Moving on to the worst date ever
I really thought I’d keep such elements of my life private, but I’ve decided I cannot go any longer without also subjecting you to a snippet of these 2 hours of my life that I’ll never get back. Not telling you would be a disservice to all of the countless other ‘bad first dates’ out there in the world. Plus (and more importantly) it connects to what I’ve been thinking about recently in terms of disability.
Alright. Come on. Can I guess what happened to you!? He asks (not waiting for a response), after gawking at my robotic hand (typical), and grabbing it (yes, not real… but it’s still my body??) and practically begging me to take it off so that he can see, “what I have left.”
In disbelief, I listen as he rattles off his guesses.
Shark attack? (Classic.)
Mauled by a bear? (Saw a ‘1000 Ways to Die’ episode on this once).
Electrocution?
Motorcycle accident?
Frostbite? A camping trip gone wrong? He chuckled to himself.
I wish I was joking.
He was quite disappointed when I let him in on the very simple reason for my anatomy being a little different.
After I left, I immediately called my friend. She bullied me a bit for not getting out of there sooner and gave me her takeaway: ‘That’s crazy Anni. He is so ableist.” I took the light bullying (needed it), and agreed with her, nodding back through my car speaker.
Now I’m writing to you a few weeks after-the-fact, and I’m not sure ableism really covers it. While I would love nothing more than to forget these few hours of my life, I keep thinking about his ignorant questions and all of the other little moments of rudeness I've lumped in or equated to be ableism. Here’s my working conclusion:
Some ableists are assholes, but not all assholes are ableists.
Let me explain.
This guy did a plethora of other awful things (e.g. stopping me mid-conversation to make me watch him do pull-ups; telling me he actually didn’t have a car and was in a car accident the day prior and so he needed me to drive him home; sending me a 3 minute voice memo saying he just wants feedback so he doesn’t screw up the next one when I didn’t respond to his text).
But does any of this make him ableist? Or just annoying, really clueless, and a little bit of an asshole? Maybe a little ableism is imbued in there, sure, but I’m going to go with your standard run-of-the-mill, seen-one-you’ve-seen-them-all asshole.
For example:
When the boy in my high school made a joke about me not being able to wear handcuffs to my entire class, I’d argue he wasn’t being an ableist. I actually doubt he’s even an asshole. I would say he was likely just yearning for some attention, using an easy target and probably trying to get a rise out of me?
Similarly, I don’t think my Worst Date boy is an ableist. I would argue that he's an asshole and he should be called an asshole by all who read this and should be made to answer for his assholeness. But ableist? I’m not so sure.
-isms and -ists
Now I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m probably conflating this to be a thing when it doesn’t really need to be a thing and yeah, maybe you’re right. Of course, my friend on the phone is lovely and was only being kind and validating and I also, like most of us, tends to gravitate towards this reflex of labeling. I too, have generously dispensed my fair share of -ists and -isms once they’ve first entered my vocabulary. New words! That put names to feelings! How refreshing! But I do want to make this distinction in the least self-righteous way that I can, because I know that this word really matters to me and so many people in the community. And because dead words don’t return.
Our ‘A’ word in question is real. Very real. People, and the media, and companies perpetuate ableism all of the time. We really need this word. We need it when it matters and when it actually applies.
We’ve seen other -isms and -ists get thrown around, and lose their oomph, their salience, their power and become too easy for other people to discount their reality as a result. So, I feel a bit hesitant when I chalk up unkindness, stupidity, or asshole-itude to ableism and want to try and get it as right as I can.
Calling my awful date an ableist now feels lazy (at best), or opportunistic (at worst). And as much as I wanted to call him every -ism in the book – if I care about these issues and the words that bring power and understanding to such issues, I need to be a little more careful with them.
Let’s reserve this word for the ways in which the media often tells disabled stories or the wellness industry’s pervasive focus on getting bodies to look as “able” as possible, or the way we design public spaces that are completely unfriendly to those with mobility impairments.
In the meantime, asshole seems to me to be a really solid label, perfect for many occasions, including the subject of this particularly uncomfortable Thursday afternoon of mine.
What do you all think? I’m genuinely asking!! Scrutinize my working conclusions — it’s called working for a reason. Or tell me you think I’m overcorrecting. Whatever it is, I’m curious. And maybe another time we can get into mountain biking and the power of access to movement for our community.