When people find out I am blind, they usually react in the following ways:
• A moment of silence – this person silently regrets all of the life experiences I have missed out on. They immediately begin talking (to me or—usually—to the person we are with) about how sad it is that I will not be able to achieve a reasonable quality of life.
• An awkward pause – this person doesn’t know what to say or do, they feel as if they have committed a social faux pas. Do they make a joke (“I thought you were wearing sunglasses in the house because you were high!”), do they apologize for not knowing, do they ignore it and continue with the conversation? In the end, the conversation never picks back up; knowing that I am blind makes it difficult for them to see me the way they did before: normal. And how do you interact with someone that is not normal?
• Start to praise – this person considers it their duty to inform me that I am doing so well (for being blind). They start listing my accomplishments and comparing me to people they know who haven’t achieved half of the things I have (and are not disabled).
• And? – This person doesn’t care. This person may or may not ask one or two questions, then continue with what we were doing at the time. This person doesn’t feel pity or concern or awe.
The first three people have something in common: they all believe that it is a tragedy to be disabled. To them, my life has been negatively affected because I am blind.
We are taught (both able-bodied and disabled) over and over again that disability, or being disabled is a tragedy. The mind and body damaged, requiring rehabilitation, treatment or (preferably) a cure. Society says that to be disabled is to be completely dependent on the state.
But why? Why is society so ableist? How did we get to this way of thinking?
To me, there seems to be two reasons. A religious reason (which I talked about in a previous post), which views disability as a sin, a punishment from God. And a medical perspective, which views disability as an affliction, something that needs to be fixed/cured, or prevented at all costs (antenatal termination).
To many people, being disabled means that your childhood was lonely, your education was stunted, and you will never have close and healthy relationships with others.
I grew up participating in gymnastics and ballet. I read large print. I enjoyed roller skating. I wore contacts. I had to make my bed and clean my room. I had to sit in the front row of the classrooms. I hated (and still do) drinking milk. I had to take eye drops twice a day for my glaucoma. I got into fights with my younger brothers. I used a magnifying glass to read. I played with baby dolls and hated Barbie’s. I had countless surgeries on my eyes. I loved hiking.
My favorite class was math. Once I learned braille, math became a lot more fun and faster for me to complete. I thought science was too hard. I had an Individualized Education Plan. I graduated from high school. I had extra time to finish tests. I graduated from university with a bachelors in English and Gender Studies. I take class notes in braille. I am currently pursuing a masters in Gender Studies.
Disabled Personal Relationships
Despite my mom’s constant urging, I am not married and I do not have (nor want) kids. I have a circle of best friends. I am close with my family.
As you can see, my life has not been negatively affected because of my disability. Nor has it been enriched because of my disability. Have I experienced hardships? Yes. Not because I am blind but because of societies attitudes and perceptions of the disabled and our abilities. Despite having a disability, I experience, achieved and am pursuing many of the same things countless others my age have.