“You should probably write that down so you don’t forget it.” I was on the phone with the office of disability services at my university trying to arrange a meeting. My pen hovered above the paper, ready to write down the time the receptionist had told me. Upon hearing those words, I quickly dropped it. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. “I’ll watch my email for a zoom link.” I told them, pretending I didn’t hear the (presumably) unintentionally condescending comment. There was silence on the other end. Finally, the receptionist said, “have a good day.” After hanging up the phone I picked up my pen. Their assumption that I might forget the time if I didn’t write it down actually was correct. Their assumption that I didn’t have the necessary skills for coping with that and needed their unsolicited instruction was not. Following that exchange, however, writing down the time was the last thing I wanted to do.
Though this might be a testament to my stubbornness as much as anything else, the thing I most frequently want to tell people as a woman with a learning disability is this: If I’m in a life-threatening circumstance that could be prevented with a direct instruction, please tell me what to do. If a basketball is flying towards my head, by all means, please yell “watch out!” or something to the effect. If I explicitly ask you how to do something, instructions are greatly appreciated. If the advice is completely unsolicited and stems from the belief that I’m incapable of organizing/navigating/handling my own life (especially if you’re not in a formalized position of authority over me), I would invite you to pause and reflect instead. The reality is, there are things that neurotypical/able-bodied people can do to help that are a lot more helpful than exerting control over neurodivergent people through assumptions of incompetence. If you’re a non-disabled person who wants to help, you could write to your local transportation program manager about the need for effective and reliable public transit, challenge statements that reflect a fundamental belief in intellectual conformity, educate someone in your life about the benefits of test-optional college admissions, or look for inaccessible public spaces in your local area and take action to promote positive change. I guarantee that every one of those actions will make 100 times more of a difference than an unsolicited opinion on how I should or shouldn’t go about living with the disability that I’ve had for 24 years.
There is a big difference between offering help and inserting unsolicited advice. Offering help might look like volunteering to drive if we’re going somewhere together, asking for clarification about whether the event you’re planning is accessible, offering academic support in an area that Ihave identified as being difficult for me, and accepting whatever answer I give to such inquiries. Unsolicited opinions, questions, and advice sound like, “you might want to write that down so you don’t forget,” or “Type the address into your phone so you don’t get lost.” This category also includes spontaneous explanations of how to calculate a tip, which way right or left is, or how to study for an exam when I had offered no indication that I needed assistance. When I say that unsolicited advice or instruction are not always helpful, I am not claiming to know everything. By saying this, I am claiming my right to self-determination over my own need for accommodations and pushing back against those who believe on a subconscious level that respecting the boundaries of young disabled women is optional.
During the orientation week for my Masters in Social Work, one of the wonderful professors at my university led us in a thought exercise that I will never forget. She first asked us to close our eyes and imagine ourselves sitting in our bedrooms at home or in another private space that felt safe. She told us to picture the room as clearly as we could and try to recall how we usually feel while spending time there. I remember a vivid image coming to mind of me sitting on my bed turning on my string lights and preparing to go to sleep. After we all had a moment to picture our safe and private rooms, she asked us to imagine that a stranger walked in started pointing out perceived problems with the furniture, the paint color, the organization, and the decor. This was deeply unsettling to me as I became very concerned with why a stranger had theoretically walked into my bedroom, thus taking me out of the thought exercise and into a real-life worry that I may have forgotten to lock my door when I left that morning. I was further intrigued by the person’s outfit because my subconscious mind had taken this thought experiment in a perplexing direction by dressing this judgmental stranger in a foreboding, vampire-esque black cape. I pictured myself once again sitting on my bed, this time saying, “Dude. What’s with the cape?” … but I digress.
My strange imagination aside, this guided thought process was intended to help us imagine how we would feel in the situation being described. We were then invited to picture what we might be thinking and feeling about this person and their unsolicited advice. Finally, we were asked, “would your feelings about the situation change if the person followed all of this by saying, ‘I only have the best intentions.’”? Everyone laughed as the point of the exercise became clear. As future social workers, we don’t know the people we work with better than they know themselves. Our job (usually) isn’t to tell them what to do, criticize their actions, or even give advice. Ideally, our job is to guide, empower, and support them in all of life’s challenges (and yes, there are exceptions- but even in those exceptions, the focus should still be on initiating a process that honors their autonomy, agency, and self-determination to the greatest degree possible).
Even when there is no cape-clad stranger insulting our approaches to home decorating, most disabled people regularly face uninvited opinions that feel like violations of personal boundaries. In the same way that Vampire Cape Dude had no authority to advise me on the placement of my tapestries, most of the people who I encounter in life don’t have the authority to determine what is best for me with regard to how I manage my disability. The most interesting part of this is that the unsolicited opinions frequently come from people who know nothing about me except my disability status. Whether they are aware or not, these instances provide a window into the assumptions that exist within conceptualizations of disability (particularly as they relate to adults with disabilities). We should all be working to examine our inner “well-intentioned judge” and consider the ways that we project that part of ourselves onto others based on learned social prejudices. We have a lot of work to do, but I believe that collective humility is an important next step to disability justice.
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