disability

The Inside Doesn’t Count Unless the Outside is Beautiful

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You would have to be quite reclusive (or, perhaps, very lucky) not to have heard of body image as it relates to self-esteem. We’ve all heard the endless platitudes: looks don’t matter, it’s what’s inside that counts, etc. Books, television shows, and even the odd pop song routinely remind us that “inner beauty” is infinitely more meaningful than anything on the outside. And yet…

Pretending that looks don’t matter at all is akin to burying your head in the sand; it’s as unrealistic as the relentless beauty standards thrust upon us by popular media. Women are targeted more often, but more and more, men are falling prey to the same rhetoric: while women are coached to be thin, sexy, and perfect at all times from all angles, men are expected to bulk up and maintain an image of hypermasculinity. As we all should know by now, this standard can only be upheld by a very few people, raising the bar impossibly high for the rest of us.

Even if you’re not pressured to be stick thin, you’ve probably been pressured to look “put together” at all times. Not a hair out of place, perfectly applied makeup, (what do you mean you don’t wear makeup?), and of course the ideal outfit. Looking your best is more than being presentable, clean, and well-groomed; it’s about looking perfect while making it seem effortless. It’s not effortless, of course…and that’s the point.

If you’re feeling edgy, you can branch out; just make sure it’s not too edgy, am I right? You don’t want to stand out for being weird, do you? Being different is only good if it inspires others to adopt your ways. Otherwise, you’re just weird. And not in a fun, cool way.

So, let’s entertain for a moment the blissful fairy tale we’ve been fed: looks don’t matter. As long as you’re smart, funny, and kind, the world will open up for you, promise! Work hard, be yourself, and everything will work itself out. Then…then you enter the real world, and what do you find? You find that a whole host of people have been kidding themselves. You find clothing stores that will only hire employees with a certain look. Abercrombie & Fitch, in particular, was criticized for hiring muscular men and paying them extra to pose shirtless with besotted young women. Other stores have been caught requiring their employees to wear a prescribed amount of makeup and “good” clothes (whatever that even means); God forbid they dare to put on a little weight. A restaurant in Toronto got into trouble because the hiring manager was given strict instructions to only hire thin, busty women with pretty faces; after all, a pretty face sells anything, right? And just in case you think these are all aberrations, there is a website out there with a job recruitment section dedicated solely to “beautiful” candidates.

While it is true that good-looking people are actually discriminated against in fields such as engineering and construction, it is only the women, and only then because good-looking women are presumed to be a bit on the dull side. Most of the time, however, employers will put their attractive workers on display where customers can appreciate their gorgeousness while they shop for jeans or eat their fish and chips. Even though science does not consistently back the claim that attractiveness lures consumers in, employers continue to live by this golden rule. Yes, the practice is illegal, and yes, it is problematic on so many levels, and yes, people still do it. Perhaps you’ve heard of the oft-quoted formula of advertising? It goes thus: “youth = beauty = popularity = happiness”. This ideology has crept into everyday life to the point where we now live in a world where “the ugly need not apply”. Young adolescents have been found to engage in risky and harmful behaviour on the quest to be attractive.

I have personally witnessed sighted people make sweeping judgments about those they’ve never even spoken to—judgments I’d have to know the person to be able to make with any accuracy. “Fat” people, for example, are often assumed to be lazy and lacking in self-control and/or self-respect. I’d have to watch someone in action for quite a while before being able to make such a judgment. This is not to say that blind people are incapable of fat shaming, but my personal experience has shown me that most blind people are far more accepting of them than are sighted people. How on earth does being overweight automatically and irrevocably brand a person in that way? Where is the logic in that? How about the girl not wearing makeup? Is she really clueless, or could it be that she thinks she looks okay without it? Could it be that she dislikes the way makeup feels on her skin? Could it be that she is allergic to most cosmetics? Could it possibly be that it’s none of anyone’s damn business but hers?

Even if you’re lucky enough to be powerful and well-respected, you are always a bad plastic surgery away from scorn and shame. Just look at what people have done to poor Renée Zellweger. She had a choice: either allow herself to age naturally, (a big nono in Hollywood) or “age gracefully”, a euphemism for getting work done. So, she got work done. And the backlash was terrifying, to say the least. Even influential celebrities aren’t immune. Being physically unappealing can ruin your career, get you ousted from your peer group, and even prevent you from being hired. Still think the outside doesn’t count?

You may be thinking that you’ve heard all this before and wondering why I’m blogging about this on a platform dealing with blindness issues. I’ll help you: imagine, for a moment, that you have never seen your own reflection. You have no idea what you “look like”, exactly. You know your weight, and body shape, and how your skin feels etc. … but you have no idea how you might appear to the eye. Maybe people have described you, but that doesn’t really cut it. Now imagine that you have never seen anyone else, and have only your other senses to tell you whether someone is physically attractive or not. Sure, you can find people attractive based on physical attributes, but your understanding of physical beauty is limited. Next, imagine that you have no concept of colour coordination; You don’t know which colours go together on more than an intellectual level (and you only know what you do because someone told you), and you certainly don’t know how they could ever clash. It all seems very arbitrary to you, and all you can do is hope you can keep the facts straight. Finally, imagine that the “facts” change constantly; one day, you’re allowed to zip a sweater all the way to your chin, and the next you’re not, because that looks dorky. One day, you wear a skirt low on your hips, the next you’re told you have to wear it high on your waist. One day, the dress you love looks fantastic; the next, it’s way, way out of style and can’t possibly be worn out in public ever ever again. And by the way? Those hundred-dollar shoes? Yeah, they only go with that pair of leggings, which only goes with that skirt, which only goes with that tank top and that sweater and that scarf. Still with me?

What is more, you may only have your sighted friends or family, ridiculously condescending books written by sighted people, and maybe a few fashion blogs to guide your way, so unless you’re one of the lucky ones who manages to pick out tasteful clothing without even trying, you’re in a sticky situation. Because guess what? You could show the same outfit to five different people, and they could all disagree on whether it looks okay or not. Beyond how something feels, you can’t accurately judge whether you like the “look” of something, so your only choices are to either give into the whimsical world of fashion, or wear whatever the hell you want and hope to get by that way. No matter what you do, it’s tricky.

The blind are already chronically unemployed, severely marginalized both socially and politically, and disadvantaged in just about every arena of life. Sure, we make it work, and there are groups a lot worse off than we are, but living in a visual world that places such stock in physical appearance is daunting even when you can see and understand it. Imagine my frustration, then, when I am forced to conform to the seemingly illogical whims of a population I can’t understand, using standards I can neither perceive nor appreciate. Despite the constant assertions that I don’t have to be pretty, or that I’m fine the way I am, the world keeps negating this over, and over, and over. What if I go to a job interview with an “inappropriate” outfit and don’t even know it? What if someone rejects me socially because they haven’t stopped staring at my cane long enough to look at my face? What if I’m immediately dismissed romantically because I’m not wearing loads of makeup and dressed to kill? What if…what if I lived in a world where people cared more about my intelligence than my breast size? What if I lived in a world where people put more stock in my credibility than in my fashion sense? What if—call me a dreamer if you like—I lived in a world where the laws governing attractiveness were fluid enough that I could actually (gasp!) be myself? And, while I’m dreaming, what if I lived in a world where being a good person was higher on the priority list than being pretty? What if? …

In the end, though, I don’t live in that world; none of us do. What, then, is to be done?

I promised before sitting down to write this that I would not end it on a bleak, nihilistic note. If I offer up a problem, I will also provide solutions, at least as best I can. Make no mistake: I respect the fact that being clean and presentable is important. There’s a difference between agonizing over fashion and striving to be respectable-looking. A blind person who goes to a job interview in soiled, ripped jeans and an old t-shirt (inside out, perhaps?) deserves to be treated as someone who doesn’t respect the venue enough to at least try to dress properly. A blind woman who goes to work in a conservative office wearing a skirt so short and tight she can hardly walk is also showing flagrant disrespect for her work environment. But can’t there be a middle ground? Why, for example, are black jeans so much more acceptable than blue ones? Why is one skirt okay, and another not? Is it absolutely necessary that I wear three layered tops in order to pass this test we all take each day? Do I have to be sexy to get attention? Do I have to be beautiful to earn respect? Do I have to be “put together” on the outside for people to think I’m put together on the inside? Is the outside really as reflective as we like to claim? I’m thinking … maybe not.

So how do I deal with all this? Well, I worry a lot. Ask Gregg, and he’ll tell you of my ongoing struggle with body image. I worry about that extra pound I might have gained because my jeans are a bit tighter than usual today. I get stressed because I worry that I won’t be taken as seriously because being blind is bad enough, but being blind and only average-looking? Fiasco! Despite this, I do my best. I go shopping with people I trust to pick out practical yet reasonably fashionable clothing I can easily figure out how to coordinate. I occasionally pick something for myself if I really, really fall in love with it. I focus, for the most part, on being clean, well-groomed, and respectable; the rest, I hope, takes care of itself. In short, I make it work, just like every other person out there, blind or sighted. All I can say is, I hope that one day, people will admit that the inside doesn’t count. Once we accept that, we can start making it count.

10 Ways To Be a Good blind Person, Part II

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As I mentioned last week, the “rules” governing the conduct of blind people are a tangled mass of contrary ideas, making it impossible to get it right. I’ve essentially given up trying, but I still feel it important to illustrate the end of the spectrum I did not cover last week. It is the end I like to call “dependence, abnormality, and extreme expression”. While last week’s rules focused on blending in, emulating the sighted, and feeling subpar, this side of the spectrum focuses on playing up the blindness to levels I consider unhealthy and absurd. While this set of rules is likely observed by far less people than last week’s set, they are doubly significant because they are, if possible, even more damaging than the others. It’s time to call these out for the ridiculous, self-defeating falsehoods that they are.

 

 

  1. A good blind person understands that disability automatically and permanently bars one from competing in this sighted world in any meaningful way. Any attempts to be competitive should be restricted to the Blind Community, for it is only there that one can hope to stand out in a way that matters. If sighted people try to draw a blind person into the wider world, they should be strongly discouraged.
  2. Blindness is an inextricable part of one’s identity, and should be treated as such. Those wishing to suppress their true selves by avoiding blindisms (EG: rocking, head bobbing, hand flapping etc.) are guilty of trying to fit a hopelessly square peg into a round hole. Blindness is all of what we are, and striving to seem normal is both futile and disloyal to oneself and the Community.
  3. A good blind person acknowledges that disability invariably breeds dependence on others. Asking for help—even when one could help oneself—is inadvisable. Because we are so disadvantaged, we should accept that our lives were meant to be made easier by are more capable sighted counterparts. Blind people who devote themselves to becoming more independent than is natural are merely in denial, and will eventually realize that disabled means dependent, no matter who you are. After all: what kind of logic would permit a person to do something for themselves, often with undue hardship, when it can be done for them?
  4. A good blind person will immerse him or herself fully and completely into the Blind Community, especially where blindness-related technology, education, social networking, and other such pursuits are concerned. Championing causes aligned with greater independence, especially in the work force, are unnecessary. There is no point in wasting one’s energy trying to make this world easier for us to live in. It is much wiser to accept the altered (and cloistered) life that blindness affords us.
  5. A good blind person blossoms when surrounded by the unique solidarity, comfort, and support only fellow blind people can offer. Trying to fit in with sighted friends, coworkers, (assuming one bothers to work), and love interests is a disaster waiting to happen. We only fit in with those who are like us, and the sighted should only be interacted with when absolutely necessary. Only with fellow blind people can we truly be ourselves, and being true to what one is is the golden rule. Blind people professing to be at ease with sighted people will be dismissed as arrogant; it is likely that such people have delusions of grandeur in any case.
  6. A good blind person will live a life that adequately displays his or her self-love and self-acceptance. It is perfectly acceptable, therefore, to live off government assistance, avoid working at all costs (no one would hire us anyway), and spend the bulk of one’s time browsing social networks for the blind or associating with blind friends. Longing for a normal life is silly and unproductive; one should instead enjoy what the disabled world has to offer. So go ahead: name your cane; write long and detailed social networking posts about your guide dog (preferably from the dog’s point of view); put “blind” into your every username or alias; wear your mismatched, faded clothing with pride, and don’t be afraid to spin in a circle with your arms in the air; don’t let anyone, sighted or blind, advise you on what looks “normal”, even if your observers’ opinions might matter. Of course, one should be prepared to demonstrate the proper level of indignation should people marginalize a blind person when they behave this way. There is a certain glory in abnormality; learn to embrace it.
  7. Following the above, a good blind person is always totally content with is or her lot. Anyone lamenting the fact that they cannot see for any reason (even for matters of practicality) can only be unable or unwilling to accept his or her true identity. If one seeks a cure, one is turning away from the Community that would otherwise have nurtured and protected them from all outside forces. Being blind is wonderful in its way, and if one is not specifically proud of themselves in the concept of one’s blindness, serious issues will arise. Persistently indulging in such thoughts will result in an outright betrayal of oneself and of one’s Community.
  8. A good blind person should treat the sighted population as the strangers that they are. They are not like us, no matter how much we may want them to be. They are even inferior in some ways—with their groping about in the dark, their constant reliance upon their fallible vision, and their insistence upon worrying about silly things like physical appearance and blending into the landscape. It is perfectly acceptable to mock them with epithets like “sightie” or “sightling”. Sighing over their peculiarities and failings is encouraged. While they are convenient to have around, they are not our peers. Do not ever think otherwise.
  9. A blind person must accept that true competence is beyond them. One does not have to cook, clean, or keep house for oneself. One is not under any obligation to work, or play a productive role in the wider society. All that matters is that one is an active and useful member of the Blind community. Escaping into the sighted world and trying to carve out an existence there is a most grievous offense.
  10. A good blind person remembers that we live in a sighted world, but that there is a separate Community to which we all belong. All that is outside this Community is frightening, hostile, and cold. We will never find happiness or success there. Because we have been severely disadvantaged and are destined to lead diminished lives, we must remember that society owes us the luxury of getting more out of life than we put into it. Even if we mostly dismiss the sighted world at large, we should still recall that accessibility is our right, inclusion our privilege, and admiration our due. Disability sets us apart, and that we must respect; we are not like them, and they are not like us.

10 Ways To Be a Good Blind Person, Part I

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Many of the blind people I know have an unspoken code of conduct, consisting of their opinions about how a typical blind person should behave. Most of us don’t expect anyone else to follow them, but we hold ourselves to these standards, determined by nothing more than personal preference. Even so, for as long as I’ve interacted with other blind people, various rules have been passed along to me, determining how a “good” blind person should behave. Besides the fact that it is restrictive and judgmental to try to tell another individual how to live his or her life, these rules are often a mass of contradictions, making it impossible for me to figure out how I’m supposed to reconcile so many conflicting views. To illustrate how ridiculous this can sometimes get, I have written out 10 “commandments” of sorts, which I’ve taken from one of the more extreme ends of the spectrum. You might call this the “independence, normality, and suppression” end of the spectrum. They are quite extreme, but make no mistake: people out there really do believe this stuff, and look down on those who don’t. Next week, I’ll give you 10 more (and completely contradictory) rules from the “dependence, abnormality, and major expression” end of the spectrum. Placing these posts side by side should demonstrate how utterly impossible it is to please the blind community at large. It all comes down to that time-honoured piece of advice: when you try to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one. I hope these make you laugh, but I hope they make you think, too; just remember, while you’re giggling over these silly commandments, there are people out there right now trying with all their might to follow them.
1. A good blind person should always be mindful that, first and foremost, life is a competition. Regardless of circumstance, the exemplary blind person will strive to be equal to or better than every other blind person they know. Should another blind person point out that it’s okay to find certain things difficult and that we’re all friends here, be sure to gently remind them that they shouldn’t go giving us all a bad name. We are all ambassadors, and must therefore take responsibility for impression management on behalf of the entire blind population.
2. A good blind person must attempt to be as normal as possible as often as possible. This begins with the relatively simple task of eliminating blindisms (i.e. any behaviour associated with blindness but not typical of the general sighted population), and should culminate in seeming as sighted as one can without actually being able to see. This will mean dressing, acting, speaking, and thinking in normal, generally accepted ways. For example, anyone found to be using “blind” in their internet usernames shall be considered deviant and will be encouraged to change their online handles to something more “sighted”. While one should accept that passing for sighted will never be achieved, one should still expend enormous amounts of time and energy trying. Should a fellow blind person deviate from the general standard of normative behaviour in any way, be sure to express the appropriate amount of scorn, lest they draw attention to their differences and make us all look abnormal.
3. A good blind person shall remain as independent as humanly possible. He/she shall seek to be an island at all times; asking for help is frowned upon, and attempting to be at peace with one’s disability in any sense is strictly prohibited. If one is forced to accept help under dire circumstances, one must display the proper level of embarrassment and despair. Despite the natural human need for interdependence, good blind people will rise above this weakness, showing the world that they don’t need anyone at any time for any reason.
4. A good blind person will be as active as possible in any blindness-related cause, campaign, community, etc. If one is not actively involved in as many blindness-related causes as are available, one shall be considered a detriment to the betterment of one’s own future and the future of others. Exceptions only apply where the cause, campaign, or community encourages dependence and/or self-acceptance. Outright disinterest in the blind Community at large will not be tolerated.
5. That said, a good blind person will take care not to become too close to other blind people beyond the level that is necessary to further the advancement of the blind in general. One shall make as many sighted friends as possible; one shall choose a sighted mate; one shall socialize with sighted groups whenever the opportunity arises. Associating with other blind people strictly for pleasure or support is frowned upon. Anyone actively inclined to surround themselves with other blind people will be considered an embarrassment to the Community as a whole. Sticking to one’s own kind is an affront to the Community’s efforts to assimilate itself into the world at large.
6. A good blind person will take on as many normal pursuits as possible. A good blind person is involved in several clubs, has tons of friends (preferably sighted ones), has a bursting social calendar, at least one college or university degree, a steady (ideally impressive and difficult) career, and of course the requisite marriage and children. Any blind person who finds contentment in a less than hectic lifestyle shall be considered unambitious and will therefore be a stain on the entire blind Community.
7. A good blind person should be unhappy with his/her lot at all times, forever wishing to be sighted, normal, and therefore on par with other humans. Any attempt to accept oneself as one is will be met with disgust and, if the attitude persists, outright exclusion from the Community. If any type of cure (or even a hint at a cure) should become available, one should jump at the chance to try it, and loudly dismiss those who are more hesitant, or who may be content with their current state of being. If necessary, a good blind person will point out that such people are a tragic drain on the system and ought to be purged from this world.
8. A good blind person should worship the sighted with due reverence and respect. They are, after all, our superiors, and ought to be treated as such at all times. One should forever strive to be exactly like them, so much so that any disability all but disappears. If one cannot emulate a sighted person perfectly, one should simply not leave the house ever again, lest they risk inconveniencing the sighted. Any sighted person trying to deny his or her superiority should be dissuaded.
9. A blind person must be perfectly competent in all that he/she does. This competence must be independent of one’s skills, talents, abilities, and knowledge. Regardless of one’s strengths and weaknesses, one must be an excellent cook, an immaculate housekeeper, a highly successful employee/employer, and an exceptional spouse/parent. Good blind people understand that they should hold themselves to a higher standard than do sighted people, meaning that they must settle for nothing less than perfection in every area of their lives.
10. A good blind person remembers that we live in a sighted world, and will, therefore, accept that they have no rights or privileges beyond what the benevolent sighted choose to allow them. Any request or demand for accessibility, if denied, should be immediately retracted with all grace. After all, the sighted world owes us nothing; we merely rent space here, and do not deserve to expect equal treatment, even when that treatment is guaranteed under law. In these cases, we must do what we do best: keep quiet.

Exhibit A: On Getting Past The Novelty Stage

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It’s natural to be fascinated by someone new. Our brains love novelty; new things and people tend to seem more interesting and attractive by default. So it’s no surprise that many of my most cherished friendships were founded upon at least a little novelty. People are always curious about the blindness thing: they have questions, concerns, etc. While it’s not the most ideal way to make friends, I don’t mind too much. I might do the same if I made a friend who was deaf, or in a wheelchair; I have no doubt that I would have plenty of questions to ask, and wouldn’t always be successful in curbing my insatiable curiosity. All normal, all healthy, all good. But… (and there’s always a but)…

 

…there are some friendships (and I use the term loosely here) that seem to thrive upon the sheer novelty of disability. People really get into the whole sighted guide adventure. They love coming up with new questions to ask me long after I’ve answered all the usual ones. They want to help me with absolutely everything, just to see how “it all works”. This becomes a little off-putting after awhile, because I’m left wondering whether they’d be my friend at all if not for the blindness. Is that my only selling point? Is that what they’re into? Because if it is, then where exactly does that leave me? What if I eventually lose my intrigue? Will they go off and find some new disability to coo over?

 

I was once invited out for coffee by one of my instructors. I assumed we’d spend the time chatting about the course; I’d done quite well, and had more than a passing interest in it. Instead, it turned out to be an hour’s worth of Q and A. To his credit, once he figured out that there was more to me than spokesperson for all the blindies of the world, our conversations became far more interesting. Still, it was a rather disappointing experience.

 

There are even people who stick around after the novelty wears off because associating with me gives them the warm fuzzies. They think that helping me is the nicest, most Mother Teresa-like thing they could possibly do, and it reassures them that they are good people. (FYI, studies suggest that Mother Teresa was actually a little bit nuts, so maybe find a different role model.) I always appreciate magnanimity, but there’s such a thing as too damn much. People make me into a walking, talking source of validation, if you will. Beyond my need for help, I’m worth very little to them, even if they don’t consciously realize it. The more independent I am, (and I’d like to think I’m reasonably independent as people go), the less I matter to them. If I don’t need something, we don’t see each other, period. My value lies only in what they can do for me; beyond that, I’m not worth their time and energy, because they’re either out with more interesting friends, or busy saving other lost little souls. Invariably, the friendship ends when they become bored, and they move along to the next one. And there is always a next one.

 

Needless to say, I consider this type of friendship highly undesirable. I am fortunate in that I have had this happen to me only a very few times, but each time, it has hurt deeply. I befriend people because I like them; it’s as simple as that. To know that others befriend me because I’m some fascinating superfreak, or because I can help them feel good about themselves, is insulting, damaging, and depressing as all get-out. Friendship is supposed to be grounded in healthy, mutual interest and respect; I don’t want to be someone’s charity case or pet social experiment. I’m not a novelty object, and I’m not a living breathing pity party. If you want to be my friend, please do so because I make you laugh, or because you enjoy my company, or because I make delicious cookies (and I do), or because you think I’m a genuinely interesting person (you know, beyond the eye stuff). Don’t befriend me because you think it’s the “right” thing to do, or because you think you might be able to write a book about the experience later. You certainly shouldn’t befriend me solely because you want to blog about it; Blogging about my broken eyes is my job, damn it! PSA: Blogging/writing about me will not make you much money unless you’re good at embellishment; I’m not that interesting, just as a heads up.

 

In all seriousness, let me be a bit of a broken record and restate what I’ve been saying all along in these posts: disability in no way negates humanity. Treat us like people, not like objects, or circus freaks, or exhibits. We don’t exist for your personal validation. We love it when you help us, and if you are good friends to us we will adore you forever. Even if you’re not really friends with us, but you’re a naturally helpful person, we will still think you’re awesome. Just make sure that the friendship has a lot more to it than that, because on our end, it will be about way, way more than what you can do for us. If that does not prove true for you, find another friend, because no one deserves to be a walking support system.

 

For anyone who fears that a friendship is edging towards the danger zone, here are a few tips to nudge it back towards a healthier direction. I’ve used these for my own friendships, and I find them to be very effective.

 

Analyze the reasons you hang out with each other. If you find that the majority of your hangout time is devoted to helping your disabled friend, you may want to kill that pattern as quickly as you can. Feel free to be helpful to them, but ensure that you’re socializing with them just for the fun of it more often than not. The last thing you want (and probably the last thing your disabled friend wants), is a friendship built mostly upon your ability to be helpful.

 

Let your friend be of assistance to you in whatever ways they can. Everyone has something to offer; find out what your friend can help you with, so that you can break a potential cycle of mild parasitism. I’m not suggesting that you attempt to make your friend feel useful; I’m merely suggesting that you allow them to do for you what you do for them as a matter of course. Friendships in which one friend is of exponentially greater value to the other are destined for disaster, and can be enormously unfulfilling for both parties. Don’t assume that your disabled friend has nothing to bring to the table. I’ve been known to edit my friends’ essays, play counselor when they have profound issues they need to talk through, and make jokes when they’re sad. (You’ll have to check with them on the efficacy of that last, though.) It can’t be denied that I give fabulous hugs, as well, so there’s that. See? I’m positively brimming with perks!

 

Resist bringing disability into every conversation. It’s okay to be open about it, and if it comes up, then it comes up. However, there is such a thing as making it into something bigger than it needs to be. It shouldn’t be an integral part of everything you discuss, and it shouldn’t be the centre of attention at all times. Chances are, your friend is sick to death of talking about it anyway, and would love to chat about almost anything else. I admit that it can be cathartic to vent about my disability to friends sometimes, but it’s definitely not something I’d want to do every day. As an experiment, try spending a whole day with your friend without mentioning it beyond what necessity might dictate. If it’s hard to find things to talk about, you know you’re in trouble. On the flip side, if you catch yourself completely forgetting that your friend has a disability at all, pat yourself on the back: you’re doing just fine.

 

When introducing your friend to others, don’t dwell on the disability; make sure you mention cool stuff about them, like what they’re really good at, or what they’re interested in. Establish common ground, so that the focus can shift away from the novelty of their existence and toward things they might actually want to be known for. If you set the tone, others will follow your lead.

 

Assess your friend’s attitude towards their disability, particularly in the ways that affect your relationship with them. If you find that they are focused only on what you can help them with, not to mention how utterly tragic their lot is, it’s time to say your farewells. As I mentioned earlier, no one deserves to be regarded as little more than a source of help and comfort. Don’t let yourself be used, no matter how guilty you might feel. The majority of us would never do that to you, so don’t let the few of us who would get away with it.

 

Finally, reassure your friend that you appreciate them for more than their disability. I have actually caught myself making blind jokes because I felt like that was all the other person wanted to hear. I even found myself going out of my way to discuss it, because it was guaranteed to peek their interest in a way that nothing else could. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I felt almost self-exploitative, and was ashamed of both myself and the state of the friendship. Never let things get as bad as that, if you can help it. Even if it feels a bit awkward, make sure they know that you value them for themselves most of all. It may seem obvious to you, but it may not be obvious to them. For all you know, they’ve been spending hours trying to think of a delicate way to bring it up. I know I have..

My Blindy Senses Are Tingling!

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“So…your hearing must be, like, really really crazy good, right?”

“Actually, no, it’s just that I know how to use—“

“…and your sense of touch? It must be amazing!”

“Again, it’s just that I know—“

“…you must have, like, super senses!”

“No, really—“

“Wait, are you like Daredevil?”

“Noooo!”

 

If you’re blind (or if you have any other disability, for that matter) then you’ve heard this one before. If you’re sighted, you’ve probably wondered about it. Today, I shall make it my mission to dispel the myths once and for all. Tell your friends! Seriously! This is bigger than IOS 8, and you won’t even have to put up with a U2 album!

 

Let me start out by reassuring you that assuming we have heightened senses is both logical and not entirely false. There is evidence that the neurons normally responsible for helping us see would instead find other tasks to perform, since our bodies don’t much like wasting resources. There is also evidence that the visual cortex—so much larger than those devoted to our other senses—might rewire itself after awhile, seeking more urgent work to do. So, to expect that we might have better hearing or a more sensitive touch is not unreasonable. In fact, it may even be that the nerve endings in our fingertips become more sensitive the more we read braille; the fingers I use to do this are definitely more sensitive to fine detail than the fingers I don’t use much. So, do we have heightened senses? Maybe, but if so, the difference is not nearly as significant as some imagine it to be.

 

What we do have is a better understanding of how to use our senses, particularly hearing, touch, and smell. We can all hear echoes, but blind people are better at deciphering what those echoes can tell them about, say, where the nearest building is. We can all smell cafeteria food or coffee, but blind people will probably rely on this as a scent clue to help them locate a particular room. We can all feel bumps on a page, but blind people are particularly adept at figuring out just what those bumps mean without having to look at them first, as many sighted braille readers do. In other words, we don’t have “super senses”; we just know how to use what we have.

 

I’m usually very patient with people who think I can hear far better than they can; as I said, this is a fairly reasonable idea. I’m less patient with the more ridiculous assumptions people make, many of which border on the ludicrous. It’s gotten so bad that I have frequently joked about whether or not we can hear grass growing, paint drying, or the whispering of souls who’ve gone from this world. In fact, Gregg tells me that he’d like to inform you that all paint dries in the key of B flat, just so you know.

 

I’d like to share a tidbit with you that will illustrate some of the more incredible ideas otherwise intelligent people have come up with over the years. A few months ago, Carly Marno, (a Persian cat breeder), was interviewing at a cat show. At one point, she was asked whether she had some kind of “special bond” with her cats because of her blindness. She asserted that she did not. While she does intensively handle all of her cats for obvious reasons—and knows them all very intimately because of it—she does not feel she has some kind of special connection with them just because she can’t see them. In fact, cats are highly visual creatures, which makes the likelihood of a special bond even smaller. Undeterred, the interviewer kept probing, insisting that she really must have some kind of special blindy superpower that linked her with her cats. Carly is very successful, so perhaps the interviewer was grasping at straws, trying to figure out how a blind person could do so well. Who knows? Either way, she refused to give in, and the interview was never published. Coincidence? You decide.

 

I think people desperately want to believe that we have super senses, because it explains how we can be so competent at times. People simply don’t understand how someone without sight could possibly get around as well as we often do, so they rationalize it by deciding that we’re just blessed with superpowers. Not so! Being as competent as we can be takes a lot of hard work, practice, and copious amounts of trial and error. I have even heard people put forth the idea that greats like Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles were as talented as they were because they had an advantage over sighted people. It couldn’t possibly be because they were, you know, particularly talented. No, people had to justify their success by claiming they had God-given superpowers to compensate. Sorry to say, but we blind people don’t get some kind of consolation prize in return for the loss of our sight. We aren’t given superpowers in other areas to make up for it. All we have is what everyone has, and a particular drive to make use of it. In fact, the idea that we would need superpowers to be successful at all is a bit insulting, no? Instead of assuming we can hear gaps in the sidewalk or, I dunno, smell a person’s emotions, ask us how we do the things we do. Most of us will be very happy to tell you.

 

I’ll draw this post to a close; I have to go and sort my laundry using only my sense of taste! Did you know that white clothing tastes very distinctly of lemongrass? It’s quite a treat!

 

Further reading:

Below are a few articles about the link between blindness and heightened or altered senses. The last link is a blog post by CrazyMusician, which further explains how hearing can help us navigate, and what can happen if our hearing is impaired for any reason. You should also visit Carly’s cattery:  She has cat pictures! Everybody loves cat pictures!

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/superpowers-for-the-blind-and-deaf/

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/05/120508152002.htm

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC544930/

http://blindbeader.wordpress.com/2014/09/18/did-you-hear-that/

The Dreaded “Can’t” Word

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Before I get started today, I must first emphasize that this post is not intended as a poorly-disguised roast of a certain individual (who here remains nameless). The situation was unfortunate, and I have my own opinions about that as you’ll see, but this is not a roast. There are many who know a lot of details about this situation, including the professor’s name, the course she teaches, and the program she is involved in. While some of this may be guessed at, and while I am not bound by anything in particular, I ask those of you who have this information to keep it to yourselves. I discourage any spreading of information that isn’t already in this blog post. I don’t want unjustified backlash to hit this person, her program, or her institution.

Now that that’s out of the way … on we go!

The word disability implies that there will be some things a person will be unable to do if they have one. If you’re blind, being unable to do certain things goes with the territory; you get used to it early on, and maybe if you’re lucky you manage to prove a few people wrong along the way. In general, though, some things are going to be beyond us … and that’s okay. I’ll never be able to colour-coordinate my outfits; I’ll never pick out my own wedding dress (simply liking how it feels isn’t enough, sadly); I’ll never be able to be a photojournalist. (Okay, so I’m at peace with that last one.) And guess what? I’m fine with that.

 

What I’m not fine with is being told I’m unable to do something when I am, in fact, very able. This type of statement usually comes in two forms:

1. “You can’t do this at all, because you’re blind. Sorry.” Or,

2. “You can’t do *all* of this, so you shouldn’t do any, sorry.”.

First of all, unless we’re talking about the painfully obvious stuff (photojournalism, anyone?), no one is a better judge of what I’m capable of than I am. I know myself best, and as long as I know what I’m signing up for, I’m usually right. This goes for things I can’t do, as well: if I insist that such-and-such a task is absolutely impossible, it probably is.

 

Being told I can’t do something when it’s actually true is tough to hear, but I can deal with it. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, etc. etc. However, life isn’t always so kind. A few days ago, I was just beginning my third year in a university program I really, really love. I took this program with fairly specific goals in mind, and third year is when I get to realize some of these goals. I was very, very excited. And then …

 

I got an email right before the class I was looking forward to most; it was from the instructor teaching the class. I was expecting a “welcome to the class” sort of message, but that’s not quite what I got. In effect, the email informed me that the instructor was sure I would be partially, if not totally unable to do the work required for the course; she thought I had probably been ill-advised, and that I should consider alternative paths. After finishing the email, I swear I felt my whole world shift beneath me. It didn’t quite crumble, but it thought about doing so. I was instantly in tears. “There goes my future…” I thought to myself. The class was a core, required prerequisite to other classes I desperately wanted to take. I had paid for it. I had been accepted into the program, and promised that I’d be given  the chance to do as much as I possibly could to be on par with everyone else. And yet, here I was, being barred from one of the most important courses in the entire degree.  That would all have been devastating, but acceptable … assuming the instructor had been right. Sometimes, there are bits I simply can’t master, and that’s perfectly okay with me.

 

I understand where this instructor was coming from: she wasn’t sure how much time it would take to accommodate my needs on a regular basis. She wasn’t certain of how to go about teaching me differently than the other students. She was hesitant about having to mark me somewhat differently than the others. The list goes on. She was very polite, very gracious, and very sincere. I knew then (and know now) that she was not trying to be discriminatory, or malicious, or any of the other descriptors others have thrown at the situation since it got started. If I have her as an instructor in future, I will be very fortunate: she really knows  her stuff. About this, though, I think she might have been wrong.

 

First, I have since discovered that the course can be taught in very different ways: another professor at this same university teaches the entire class on computers, making it very accessible for a blind student. Second, I have discovered that the method this instructor was using was not so standard as to be the only viable way to go about things. I would still be employable, even if I was unable to do the work exactly the way her sighted students can. Deciding not to teach me at all, therefore, put her insistence on sticking to a certain method above my ability to do the work at all. Without boring you, suffice it to say that it came down not to my skills or abilities, but rather to the fact that I can’t use a pencil. That’s it. That’s all it really was, if you look at the big picture. Such a tiny, insignificant detail! And yet it was enough to keep me from pursuing my goals in this program.

 

I accepted everything she said with as much grace as I could. I agreed to audit the course (I’d still pay some tuition but get neither the credit nor the feedback) and went on my not-so-merry way. I thought then (and still think), that she was probably doing the best she could. Maybe I didn’t like the result, but I knew better than to take it personally. While it is my opinion that she should be prevented from doing this to future students unless it’s truly necessary, I do not and will not endorse any roasts, rants, or other negativity aimed at her personally. If you see any of this, know that I neither approve nor validate any of it. I have not included her name, so those of you who know it should please keep that information to yourselves. My quarrel is with the situation, not the individual herself. Let no more be said on that matter, in particular.

 

Here’s the thing, though: her refusal to think outside the box very nearly impacted my degree. I got lucky (another professor stepped up to the plate, brave soul), but others don’t get lucky. Others have professors who mark them down on purpose, trying to get them to fail out of the program. Others are denied entrance into a program on the basis of blindness or other physical disabilities for very flimsy reasons. Others are told that the only things they’ll ever be good for are basket-weaving and maybe some beadwork if they’re truly enterprising. Yes, people are actually told these things. Today. In 2014.

 

Because others are not so lucky, I feel obligated to speak for them. I am fortunate, but others were not, and are not, and will not be. People will be turned away, and set aside, and pushed out of where their dreams take them, all because of laziness, or stubbornness, or fear of progression, or lack of understanding, or any other sad excuse anyone is willing to name. I wasn’t turned away. I was able to go where I wanted to go, and found people more than willing to take the journey with me. Most importantly, I am being given the chance to find out whether that instructor was right or wrong. Maybe she is right, and maybe I’ll fall flat on my face in a heap of exhaustion two weeks into the course. Maybe. … But what if I don’t?

 

Ultimately, I was able to respond to  “you can’t”, and “you won’t”, with “I can”, and “I will”. Let’s help others do that, too. If you see any instances of discrimination, whether intended or unintended … whether well-meant or malicious … whether seemingly justifiable or blatantly ridiculous … say something. Please. The victim may feel that the discrimination is justified. They may feel bound by confidentiality agreements, or politics, or fear of retribution, or serious backlash. I myself was hesitant about speaking up, because I was afraid to damage my relationship with  the university, the program faculty, and anyone else who might want to weigh in on the situation. Most of all, I was afraid to endanger the tenuous relationship I could have with the instructor who turned me away. The last thing I want to face is difficulty in future because I advocated for myself.

If they can’t speak (and sometimes they just can’t), then who will? Sometimes, we can’t do things…but most of the time, we can. And we will.

Things That Go Buzz In The Night

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Summer is drawing to a close, and to make myself feel a little better about the autumn chill in the air, I’m going to take this opportunity to discuss creepy crawly buzzy creatures you only find during the otherwise idyllic summer months.  Who knows? It might just make you feel better about the impending cold, too!

 

 

Insect phobia, also called entomophobia, is one of the most common phobias worldwide. Its effects can range from irritating to crippling. Some people won’t even leave their houses for fear of encountering even the most inoffensive of insects.

 

I didn’t always identify as insect phobic, reasoning that my fears did not impede my life enough to qualify as bona fide phobias. I’ve since changed my mind, and use the label quite freely. I am irrationally afraid of many different types of insects, and being blind can add a further dimension to this fear, making it harder to cope with and more severe.

 

Sometimes, coping with insects when you’re blind is no more difficult than it would be for a sighted person: as you’re lying in bed, drifting off, the insidious whine snaps you back to alertness. Then, you search vainly for the mosquito, intent upon murdering the insolent little nasty before sleep is possible. Turning on the light doesn’t help; the mosquito usually vanishes until darkness returns. Mosquitoes are easy enough for blind people to kill. They’re usually too stupid or too slow to escape a swat once they’ve landed. (I’m not yet at an emotional point where I’m fully capable of letting mosquitoes get near enough to land on me at all, but I’m working on it.)

 

Unfortunately, it’s another matter altogether where bees, wasps, hornets, and other bugs are concerned. There are generally several tasks that blindness makes more challenging. First, you have to identify the insect. What are you dealing with? Is it a mellow bumblebee, high on nectar and enjoying life? Is it a slightly more threatening honeybee, looking for a snack but not unwilling to attack if frightened? Or is it—horror of horrors—an evil little wasp, just waiting to launch its vile assault?

 

Second, where is it? Sometimes, insects that make especially loud noise can seem closer than they actually are. Is the bug near enough that any sudden movement will disturb it, or is it far enough away that escape is possible? And do you dare find out?

 

Third, how should you go about eliminating the threat? I’m as big a bleeding heart as anyone I know, so my first instinct is usually to put a harmless spider or lady bug outside rather than ending its little wee life. I’m not near as philosophical when it comes to creatures that buzz, however. My fear of insects is sometimes so acute that the mere sound of an insect—even a house fly—will set me so on edge that most thought processes simply stop. I want to either escape, or see the creepy-crawly slaughtered (hopefully by someone who isn’t me).

 

I’m not alone, either. Alicia tells me that she finds the mere idea of being trapped in an enclosed space with an unidentified insect terrifying in itself. If there’s an insect in her house, she’ll avoid it rather than trying to kill it or put it out. Even worse, she hates the knowledge that she may not know a bug is around until it crawls on her, at which point she has no warning, no sense of what the bug might be, and virtually no time to evade it.

 

Once, while alone in a car, I noticed that there was an awful lot of buzzing going on directly behind my head, right against the back window. I knew there had to be at least four or five different insects there, but I wasn’t entirely sure what they might be. They sounded like they could be flies, but they also could be bees or wasps for all I knew. Positively quaking with fear, I hunched down, put my head between my knees, and stayed curled like that until my friend turned up. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed, opening the car door, “There are about six bumble bees in here!”. … I still shudder at the thought.

 

I’ve been by turns laughed at, scoffed at, sympathized with, and coddled because of my all-consuming fear of big buzzy things. While a lot of the fear is quite normal and part of being human, some of it is directly related to being blind, and I wanted people to understand that feeling as much as possible. It starts to make a tad more sense once you step into my shoes for a moment. Keeping in mind that not all blind people react this way (my boyfriend, for instance, feels little more than irritation with most bugs), I beg my readers to cut me some slack when it comes to things that go buzz in the night.

 

 

The Trouble With Transit…

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Public transit is a truly wonderful thing, especially if your city has a good system. It’s particularly wonderful for blind people, who have no alternative except expensive taxis and carpooling. It’s a bit hard on the pride to continually ask for rides, and it’s even harder on the wallet to take taxis everywhere you go. For routes that I travel often, the bus (or LRT train) is the best way for me to get around.

 

Unfortunately, traveling with public transit isn’t all roses, as even experienced blind travelers will tell you. Having grown up in a rural area most of my life, I’m still getting used to how transit works. Everything from finding the right bus, to locating a seat, to getting off at the right stop is a challenge. Last summer, I had my first job, and I had to figure out the ins and outs of public transit in a few short days. It was … interesting to say the least. Below are just a few of the things which make bus and LRT travel so difficult for me. They make great stories, but I can’t say they’re some of my fondest memories.

 

Once, I asked the bus driver to drop me off on 109th avenue and 149th street, indicating a specific bus stop. When we got close, she said something very ominous: “I’ll just drop you off over here.”. Being hopelessly green, I didn’t think to say “Wait! Wait wait wait! Where, exactly, is ‘over here’?” I got off the bus, thanked the driver dutifully, and tried to get my bearings. Immediately, I knew I was in trouble. I was on an unfamiliar sidewalk, along an equally unfamiliar street. I walked to the nearest intersection, whipped out my phone, and tried to get my GPS to tell me where I was. It wasn’t helpful at all. I then called CrazyMusician, whom I was staying with at the time, but she couldn’t help much at first, either. I must have stood there for fifteen long, long, long minutes before she finally figured out where I was and got me back on track. When a blind person memorizes an exact route in an unfamiliar area, you can’t knock them even a little off course. If you do, their entire concept of where they are is changed. If I know the area, you could drop me off a block or two away and I’d figure it out eventually. If I don’t know the area, though, my destination could be 1000 miles away for all the success I’d have searching for it. Maybe other blind people are much better at mapping than I am (I expect I’ll be hearing from them, indignantly accusing me of misrepresentation), but I need to know exactly where I am to get anywhere with any kind of grace. Drivers who drop me off “over here” probably don’t realize that they’re endangering my entire sense of orientation. From then on, I  insisted that I be told explicitly where I’m being dropped off.

 

I used to have a very, very grumpy driver in the mornings on my way to work. Every day, just to be cautious, I’d confirm that hers was the bus I was looking for. There’s nothing worse than getting on the wrong bus and discovering it later. Every day she’d respond, sounding more and more irritated. One morning, she finally allowed her exasperation to show through. She, of course, was tired of saying “yes” every single time I asked. Probably, she thought I was a little on the slow side or something. I explained to her as politely as I could that it’s very important to check which bus I’m on. Annoying drivers for the rest of my days is worth being secure in the knowledge that I’m where I’m supposed to be. If I annoy you, well, I’m sorry, but I’d rather risk annoying you than end up somewhere other than my destination.

 

Locating a seat can be a bit of a challenge. The more a blind person rides buses, the more comfortable they will be with finding things. As I’ve said, though, I’m not overly comfortable with much of anything yet, so I definitely have a few stories about fumbling for a seat. For the sake of brevity, I’ll stick with this one: I was searching for a seat, reaching out with my hand like a good little blind person to feel what I was about to sit on. Instead of finding the rough material of the front seat, I encountered the lap of a very startled gentleman! I don’t think I’ve ever apologized so profusely before or since. I just hope he didn’t focus on the implications of such an intimate moment …

 

Perhaps my favourite story is the one where I tried to ride the LRT train with my friend Jess. Jess is a wonderful guide, but sadly there were no empty seats available, so we had to stand. I, having no balance whatsoever, was swaying so drunkenly with the movement of the train that I had to use her as a support pole, being unable to find one myself. Luckily for me, she’s a very steady person, so I just wrapped my arms around her and held on for dear, dear life. I had a similar incident on a bus one day. It was standing room only, and since I wasn’t sure where the nearest pole was, I simply fell towards the left side of the bus. Again, I was fortunate: a large crowd of passengers all rose at once and caught me. It was actually a bit surreal. I thank the universe every day for good people. They’re everywhere, they really are, and they’ll help you out of almost any sticky situation.

 

My final tale is one that’s a bit more serious. It happened while I was with CrazyMusician, so I’ll let her tell it:

“I was thrilled to have Meagan come and visit me. We laugh and talk like sisters sometimes, and bring out the hidden girliness in each other.

On Saturday, we went out for brunch at a mall near my house, and the timing and weather was just perfect enough to take Jenny, my black lab guide dog,

for a run in the park to expend some of that Labrador energy.

This path is a wonderful straight line of concrete where we could walk, and runners and bikers can exercise, and strips of grass on either side where Jenny

could run, frolic, and generally have a great old time, resulting in one very VERY tired dog.

After our lovely walk/run, we made our way to the bus stop to go back to my house. there are two buses that stop there – one that gets us home and one

that doesn’t.  Two blind people sitting on the bus bench – one of whom is with a guide dog – are not exactly inconspicuous…

We were sitting and chatting, and I think one of us (I don’t know who) looked at her phone, when a diesel vehicle just came flying past the bus stop.

As it shifted gears, I turned to Meagan and asked, “Wasn’t that our bus?”

I don’t think either of us would’ve been surprised if the bus had slowed down, we didn’t indicate our interest, and then kept going, but at the speed it

was flying down the avenue, there’s no way it could’ve stopped safely. As a result, Meagan, jenny and I were waiting on the bus bench for another thirty

minutes in the growing – though not unbearable – heat.

I did call in a complaint to the transit company, if for no other reason than the driver should have slowed down at the very least.  Had I been sighted,

perhaps I could’ve seen him at the corner and been prepared; perhaps not.

I am married to a bus driver.  After chewing me out for not calling him to pick us up (the thought never once occurred to either of us), the first question

out of his mouth was, “Did you call in a complaint?”  I know how bus drivers are supposed to do their job, and that driver did not do it well, period.

All this to say, as a blind person I am very visible; most blind people are.  Glasses, canes, guide dogs, magnifiers, squinting at signage and sometimes

bumping into things make us, by our obvious difference, noticeable.  It is sometimes a source of aggravation to me, especially when people seem to think

that I am only defined by my blindness; sometimes a big help because I get to meet new people I wouldn’t otherwise get to meet.  It is unfortunate that

on that hot summer Saturday, two blind people seemed completely and utterly invisible to that bus driver.”

 

All in all, I’m deeply grateful for public transit. We’re lucky enough to have a reasonably efficient system in Edmonton, and for many folks, blind or sighted,  it’s a real gift. As I’ve shown, however, there is a certain amount of risk and hassle involved, and the results can be disastrous at times. Next time you take a bus, just be grateful that you haven’t gotten on the wrong one, groped a stranger’s intimate bits, or been dropped off on some random street you don’t know.

 

I know some other blindies out there have some juicy bus stories to tell. Share them in the comments below, so we can all have a laugh at (…I mean with…) you!

Running In Circles: Superblinks And The Quest For “Normalcy”

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Today, Gregg and I have teamed up to address a topic which troubles us both. We hope that this offers some insight, even if you do not agree with our general stance. Enjoy!

 

Anyone reading this article is apt to have seen at least one so-called “supermom”. She’s the sort of woman who’s involved in everything her kids do, while still managing to cook, keep house, balance the family accounts and take time for herself to pursue a hobby or three. Many of these women are wonderful people, but the worst among them can be frustrating, condescending and infuriating by turns if others don’t do as they do. This particular phenomenon isn’t limited to mothers, however. A small group of blind people are guilty of much the same thing, and we commonly refer to them as “superblinks”.

 

Being good at a lot of things doesn’t make you a superblink. Trying to help other blind people get better at things you can already do quite well doesn’t make you a superblink either. There’s nothing wrong with either one of these things, as long as you exercise caution with the latter so as to avoid coming across as a know-it-all. Superblinks are defined by a rather strange paradox. They do as much as they possibly can, in as “normal” a manner as they can manage, to stop people from thinking they’re inept; being blind, however, means they’re going to stand out sometimes no matter what they do, and since relatively few superblinks exist, they end up seeming more abnormal than ever. Their desire to blend in makes them stand out. Central to the idea of the superblink, as well, is the insistence, to any and all around them, that their way is best. This often manifests even if the superblink in question has trouble with the task at hand or cannot fully understand why they need to do something a specific way. Many superblinks are excellent at the things they do, but some are not; for those latter individuals, doing something well becomes secondary to doing something normally.

 

Most of the time, it’s easy enough to let “superblinks” be. True, they can sometimes be irritating, just like supermoms who drive everyone else crazy with their insistence upon being the very best at absolutely everything. Unfortunately, there is a certain subset of superblinks who can be downright damaging to themselves and to other blind people.

 

It can be very taxing to associate with someone who tries with all their might to seem “normal”. They are so unwilling to accept their blindness as part of them that they do everything in their power to behave as much like a sighted person as possible. For these people, appearing “blind” in any way is undesirable. I’ve even met some people who refuse to carry canes because they don’t want to “look blind”. These people are a danger to themselves and occasionally, to others. These are the superblinks who march out into traffic without caution, explore new routes without a clue where they’re going, and refuse to acknowledge that they are different in any way. Needless to say, this lifestyle is absurd at best and dangerous at worst.  No matter how hard you try, your blindness will never go away. We’re not suggesting that one has to embrace their blindness with open arms and adore that part of themselves; it’s perfectly normal to feel a little subpar sometimes. But to ignore it completely? That’s wrong on so many levels. To value normality above all other things is a grievous mistake, considering that no one really knows what normal means.

 

Those who dismiss their blindness can be trying enough, but still worse are the superblinks who define themselves by their disability. These are the types of people who are inordinately proud of their accomplishments in the context of their blindness. For example, someone might be very proud of their cooking skills, employment-related skills, etc. That’s perfectly fine. Being proud of one’s accomplishments is sometimes underrated. What isn’t so nice is when someone is proud of these things because they are blind and still manage to do them. Sighted people do this to us all the time: “Look! This guy is a singer/skier/teacher/lawyer … and he’s blind! Isn’t that just amazing? What a hero!”. There are people who defy the odds and take on tasks that are difficult for the blind to do. This is admirable, certainly, but there is really no need to go around singing one’s own praises. Be proud, by all means, of what you have achieved, but don’t contextualize it all the time.

 

I’ve known blind people who are so intent on defining themselves by their blindness that it’s almost as if they think they have “blindy” superpowers. “Look at me go! I’m blind but I can do this, this, this, and that!”. It sends the message that we’re special or heroic or worthy of adulation simply because we do what sighted people do anyway with particular skill. Certainly sighted people might admire us, and that’s not in itself a horrible thing, but we should know better than to adopt the practice ourselves. In fact, for someone who is so intent on seeming “normal”, defining all of one’s accomplishments by the difficulties caused by blindness is awfully counterproductive.

 

The main reason that these types of superblinks are a problem, though, is the judgmental behaviour they often exhibit towards other blind people. They assume that, just because they can do certain things well, every blind person should be able to do them equally well. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you do this? I can. There must be something the matter with you.”. I’ve already discussed the dangers of comparing blind people to one another, and superblinks really should know better. There’s a difference between being supportive (“You can do this!”) and being judgmental (“Why can’t you do this?”). Call me a dreamer, but I think the world would be a much better place if people spent less time judging and comparing, and more time supporting and encouraging.

Guest Post: Building Bridges

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Today, we’re very lucky to have a guest post by Gregg Chambers. As he’ll explain below, he is covering the very thorny issue of mutual understanding. As blind people, we understand that we’ll never know what it is to be sighted. That said, we must also acknowledge that sighted people (even if they close their eyes and bumble around for a bit bashing into things) will never understand what it is to be blind. As I’ve mentioned, this is a profound and thorny issue, and so Gregg brings you his take on the matter (with far more eloquence than I could). I promised I wouldn’t try to speak for all blind people, and I won’t; however, I’m more than happy to let others speak for themselves, and am proud to give them the venue in which to do it. So without further ado, here’s Gregg.

 

 

We often say that “everyone is different”, and what we usually mean is that difference is not something to be feared or persecuted. Misunderstanding is probably the single largest gulf we need to cross, if we can, and in that light I’d like to offer some insights that might help us narrow the gaps in our understanding of one another.

 

The very first thing I want to do is to clear up one particular misconception. These bridges, as it were, rarely cover their intended distance entirely. There is always a little space across which you must leap or, more often, be carried.

 

Misconception 1: The blind and the sighted can understand one another’s worlds completely if they try hard enough

 

No, they can’t. They can try very very hard, and it will never form a complete picture. We must rely on others to carry us across the gaps we cannot bridge on our own.

 

Having been born without my sense of sight, I will never fully understand what it is like to see unless there comes a time where that sense is somehow given to me. If I listen to what people tell me instead of hearing what I expect to hear, if I absorb information and do my best not to make assumptions, I can learn a great deal, but full understanding will forever be beyond my grasp. If you are reading this with a pair of functioning eyes, then you are in the reverse position. You will never know in full detail what it is like to live in a world without light, without shadow, without colour. You will never know on a gut level what it means not to view almost all of your environment visually. All of this is completely okay, because no two people share precisely the same view of the world. Problems arise only when one person presumes to know more about someone else’s situation, either deliberately or without realizing it.

 

Sight is a very resource-heavy sense. If you have it, then most of your experience contains visual elements. If you don’t have it, then you are largely ignorant of those elements. Restoring someone’s sense of sight after they had been blind since birth would be a traumatic, bewildering experience. Robbing a person of their vision would be devastating in its own right. Such drastic changes lead quite naturally to most people pondering how they would cope if they suddenly found themselves blind and, owing to how much they depend on sight, these thoughts usually tend toward how difficult everything would suddenly become. This makes sense, and no one should be blamed for being afraid of a world they do not know and do not yet understand.

 

Misconception 2: All blind people are struggling mightily just to perform everyday tasks

 

No, we aren’t. While many of us do have trouble with certain aspects of daily life, most of us figure things out rather quickly. We do it because we have to, and mostly we don’t even think about it.

 

While blindness might seem foreign and scary to you, it is nothing more than another facet of life for us. We might be anxious in certain situations, particularly if we’ve never encountered them before, but we are not afraid of being blind, any more than you are afraid of having sight. No matter how daunting the prospect of sightlessness is for you, it is very important that you not assume that we view the world the same way. You must remember that for us, blindness is normal, and not frightening at all. Accepting that we can perceive the same thing from different angles is the first step in the right direction.

 

Misconception 3: Being blind would make life virtually unlivable

 

No, it really doesn’t. Life can be annoying, frustrating, exhausting and sometimes nerve-wracking, but most blind people lead full and happy lives.

 

If you are a sighted person who is terrified by the idea of going blind, and you continue to insist that all blind people must be living a nightmare existence, you are letting your fear trump our experience. Let us show you that our world isn’t as bad as it looks, and while we may never be able to convince you that sightlessness isn’t scary, we may be able to show you how we get along from day to day. If you can’t do this, then whether you intend it or not, you will continue to quietly assert that your view of blindness matters most, and doing so has potentially awful consequences.

 

Misconception 4: These fears and assumptions can’t hurt anyone

 

Yes, they can. They can and they do. Just because they aren’t hurting you doesn’t mean they aren’t harming someone else.

 

Blind people are largely very normal. We wish to be needed, to be loved, to be respected, to carve out our own little niche in life and to be happy there. We don’t wish to be made into something we’re not. As soon as you start behaving in a way that limits or glorifies what a blind person does because they can’t see (barring the more obvious things like stopping a blind child from trying to drive a car, for instance), you’re putting your opinion of blindness above everything else, including the person in question. We’re generally perceptive enough to catch this when it happens, and it hurts. It can make us think that someone’s view of us is polarized by something we can’t help or change. It can also cause us to wonder just how much we’re being perceived as people rather than as inconveniences, necessities and complications. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: let us tell you and show you what we can and can’t do.

 

Misconception 5: Blindness is hard, so it’s amazing when blind people do common tasks

 

No, it’s not. Some blind people have done some pretty incredible things, but by and large, the things we do are pretty unremarkable. We eat, dress, shop, go to school, go to work, travel abroad, maintain social lives, make love and raise families just like the rest of the world.

 

While most everyone likes honest praise for a hard job well done or a little encouragement when things are tough, we probably won’t react favourably if you make a habit of blowing our everyday accomplishments out of proportion and giving us praise we neither want nor deserve. Some of us find it condescending, because there is an assumption buried in every bit of unmerited praise: “I couldn’t have done this, so if I couldn’t do it, then you must have had a hard time.. What’s worse is that this sort of behaviour isn’t present when dealing only with sighted people, so the focus is clearly on the sighted person’s perception of blindness as an unbreakable obstacle rather than on the abilities of the specific blind person. We can’t represent ourselves if you force your opinion of blindness to represent us.

 

Misconception 6: Blindness is hard, so I should give blind people a break wherever possible

 

No, you shouldn’t. We largely don’t want a free lunch, and we’re often just as capable of helping out as anyone else. Let us prove it.

 

If, instead of giving too much praise, you want to make our lives easier by letting us dodge things that you presume will be too much effort or will present too much danger, please bear in mind one thing. Although it is wisest to understand someone’s abilities before setting them a task, you will never know the limitations of blindness as well as a blind person. If you know that your blind friend can cook, and if you know that he can get around his neighbourhood pretty well, then not expecting him to bring food to a family reunion on account of his blindness, particularly if others were expected to do so and if he had asked if he should pitch in, would be an insult. Don’t give us busywork or try to puff us up with a false sense of accomplishment either; instead, try and ignore the blindness outright for a moment and then reconsider the scenario. If a blind person knows they are capable, offers to help and is turned down for no other reason than that someone else believes their blindness will make things too difficult, it can foster feelings of worthlessness and, in some, can compound the issue by making the blind person in question stop trying to offer help. What’s the point in offering to assist if you’re always going to be turned down, after all?

 

If the way I’ve displayed these misconceptions strikes you as obvious to the point of offense, I apologize. They may appear this way because the thoughts which drive them are so simple and direct that they often go unrecognized. I believe that when the above situations do occur, they happen mostly without consideration, and that’s most of the reason I decided to write this post. If I can get one person to stop and think before deferring a task, if I can get one person to ask instead of assuming, then I can safely say that I’ve done something worthwhile.

 

Every one of us has something to learn. There are no exceptions. If all of us can remember this one thing, above all others, then we should be able to bridge the empty spaces in our comprehension of one another. If that happens, the pain caused by ignorance and intolerance will recede, replaced by the curiosity and eagerness of an open mind.