A Hostile Letter to the Non-disabled

Dear Temporarily Able Bodied person, I have recently gotten in touch with my anger toward you. It isn't enough that you feel sorry for me. And it isn't enough that you assume my incompetence. It's also not enough that you expect me to be gracious and grateful and polite no matter what you say or do. It's even not enough that you consider my fate worse than death. I could live with all that if necessary. Unfortunately, you seem to insist upon engaging in beliefs and perpetuating a society that literally keeps me from what I want. You, in the form of this society, even taught me that it is what I should want. This world you've created teaches little girls to want families and encourages grown ups to find their life partner. At the same time, you school everyone in the fact that I'm helpless, dependent and pitiable. I should want home and hearth. I should just be fine without ever actually getting it. When it comes to accommodations like accessible formats, audible crosswalks, and Braille on elevators, I can at least comprehend the obstacle created by having to take that extra step, to make the effort. You need to think that someone blind might want to read the menu, cross a street, or go to the eighth floor of a building and do something about it. The additional thought and exertion necessary is, well, work. What effort or energy does it take to stop feeling sorry for me? To cease expecting my politeness in the face of insult? To desist in assuming I'm not competent? There's no effort. It's not a Herculean task. It's a simple act of not.... Instead, these negative beliefs become the armor you use to protect yourself from the distress of my existence making it easier to feel pity rather than trying to understand, to offer supposed compliments in place of questioning the underlying insulting assumptions and to dismiss me as a substitute for perceiving my value. It's more comfortable when you don't actually perceive me as a person. My personhood comes entirely too close to you having to consider what your life would be like if you became me. Mustn't contemplate that possibility. So, to make your life all comfy, safe, and easy, you keep me from what I want. You make me an undesirable mate and nothing I say or do can in fact remove that stigma from myself. I have Hester Prin's scarlet letter tattooed on my forehead only nothing I did put it there and nothing I do can remove it. My anger at you knows no bounds. I'd scream, but I'd become hoarse long before I had even begun to express my fury. Becoming a hermit would work except for the fact that modern society makes us all interdependent – a fact you conveniently forget. I only wish I could morph my personality into one that would welcome your pity, low expectations, and devaluation with gratitude because at least then it wouldn't add to my misery. Instead, I get to be full of rage in a way beyond my ability to express and beyond my ability to change. Ironically, frustratingly and ridiculously, the fixing of it is left to you who could care less that your unthinking assumptions deny not only me but an entire class of people something you proclaim necessary for happiness. I didn't choose disability to be a part of my life, but I did do everything in my power to make my life work. What, exactly, have you done except get in my way? Respectfully, Jen NOTE: This blog is moving, but I'm giving you time to adjust before I fully transition to the new site. Point your browser or whatever to People Aren't Broken

Counting to Ten

On the bus today, I heard the following conversation.
Woman: I can't imagine being like Bob. I'm so grateful I'm not like that.
Man: I saw someone like Bob once. He was a judge.
Woman: :Wow, really?
Man: He did a good job.
Woman With all Bob's issues, I can't imagine what it took to go to college and then law school.
Man: Yeah, but if I were in court, I'd want a judge like Bob. I think he'd do a better job at deciding because of his issues.
Okay, so Bob is clearly me and these two people were obviously discussing blind people WITHIN MY HEARING.
I tried counting to ten. Still wanted to kill someone. I counted again. Still pissed. Then I decided to do the squares of numbers. By the time I got to 20 squared they were done talking. Thankfully.
I guess if I'd been brought up on murder charges, it would have helped to have the blind judge they were discussing. He would have understood the situation as justifiable homicide.

Cherry Picking

Okay, other disabled people, I have a question for you. Have you ever noticed that non-disabled people in your life seem to pick and choose what aspects of your disability they will and will not deal with? This is the friend who will come over and visit, but not go out because finding a wheelchair accessible restaurant is just too hard. This is the person who will understand what it is like to encounter an inaccessible building, but will not understand how socializing can be inaccessible. This is the individual who knows all about your deafness and moves heaven and earth to accommodate it, but thinks you should maybe just try harder to be less depressed.
Society creates disability. Society makes dealing with the disability the responsibility of the disabled person. Our loved ones further add to the situation by cheery picking the consequences of our disabilities they do and do not wish to cope with. In this age of unconditional love, disability is somehow outside the bounds of what those who love us are expected to handle. It's somehow too much to ask or expect.
I guess I've missed all the chances in my life I've been given to "decide" if I wish to deal with this or that aspect of my disabilities. Maybe the offer was tendered in print?
Should such a proposition have been made, for my entire adult life, I would have replied that disability is a package deal and to separate it is akin to selling a house one room at a time.
Lately the conditionality with which those around me "accept" my disabilities has begun to irritate me in a way I cannot dismiss. Maybe if the conditionality was explained in terms of their shortcomings. "Jen, I want to drag you to this movie, but I don't think I can describe it. What can I do?" Instead, people just conveniently assume, despite me saying the contrary, that I can't go to movies. Or maybe if it was broached forthrightly. "Jen, what do we do about my other friends who don't know how to interact with a blind person?" Unfortunately, in its place, I'm left to fend for myself.
More and more, I've been feeling like one of those boxes you get at a yard sale or auction. You bought it for the cool bowl on top. When you get it home, you sort through and set aside what you want and what you will discard.
Well, I've decided I'm no longer a yard sale box. I haven't yet figured out how you go about manifesting such a decision in the real world.

Passin'

Recently I read the novel "Passin'" by Karen Quinones Miller. It's the story of an African American woman who looks white and because of that, is not hired for a job designated for a "black" person. Under another name and without mention of race, she applies for a similar job, is hired, and continues to "pass."
While about race, it touched upon many issues I find interesting and relevant to disability such as what constitutes passing, the tangled relationship it creates with ones group status and personal identity, and the emotional consequences of actively hiding an aspect of oneself.
First, we need some clarification of terms. Passing involves not just actively concealing identifiers of group status but intentionally taking on characteristics of the majority group in order to appear to be a member of that group. While many people might cover up telling traits, concealment is not sufficient to constitute passing. The person must actively try to be perceived as a member of the majority culture.
These days being mistaken for sighted is a common experience for me. Though I do nothing to cause it, I unintentionally pass all the time, which boils down to normative bias. People presume I'm like everyone else, thus sighted. Unless I actively indicate my status by word, deed, or use of a cane, visual impairment does not enter the realm of possibility for consideration.
While I abhor normative bias in part because it strips away my identity, I sometimes actually benefit from the assumption, especially socially. On an airplane, a fellow child traveler was friendly up until she showed me a picture I had to explain I couldn't see. Like with adults who suddenly figure it out, her manner morphed into awkwardness. Nothing about me changed, yet everything changed reinforcing the fact that disability has significant social impact. Each time this happens, it is disheartening.
Unlike my discomfort with even unintentional passing, the novel's main character went to great lengths in order to hide her race. She wore nothing "ethnic," did not cook or eat "soul" food, did not express musical preferences, and eschewed "black" neighborhoods. Taking it further, she adopted the preferences and styles of "white" culture. She even refused to recognize a black relative when approached in public.
The author made it clear that passing is frowned upon within the African American community akin to lying. The dominant white culture was portrayed with more ambiguity, but I had the sense that the behavior was not encouraged.
In start contrast, the way mainstream society thinks about passing in relation to disability is far different. In fact, it's encouraged. "You move so naturally that I couldn't tell you were blind" is meant as a compliment. The more I look like the majority culture, behave like them, and keep quiet about my disability-related needs, the more TABsseem to like it. Even when my disability status is known, I am praised for how much I do not behave like a blind person, offering more proof that passing as non-disabled is admirable.
The discomfort shown when my disability status becomes a known issue goes beyond what the female protagonist encountered. While people get "weird" in both cases, I often sense something deeper than unconscious prejudice. I hypothesize it is about existential fear – TABs worried about becoming me. There is also an element of concern over being burdened with helpless me. I represent people's worst fear and sucking demand on their precious time, neither of which racial difference represents. Furthermore, while racial or ethnic difference is considered human variation, disability is considered human defect.
So why don't I pass and enjoy the perks that can come with it? My mommy taught me not to lie was the answer when I was a kid. Now it's more about a refusal to deny who and what I am. I am thinking about trying to pass, though, just to see what happens and to test my ability to do it. How long can I go without mentioning disability? I'll let you know.

What I Want Cured

In the book I'm reading, one character just asked another, "What's worse, bad friends or no friends?" Without considering it for even a second, I said, "No friends." This bothers me. A lot.
In my life, I have learned desperation born of loneliness causes me to make suboptimal choices. I stayed in a relationship too long, continued "friendships" with people who take but do not give, and others indicate people can take advantage of me because of it.
Over the past five months, I have been working on making better choices about the people in my life trying to focus my efforts on those who have the same friendship philosophy as I do. For those I love, I will do all I can to be supportive, be there without having to be asked, and have enough respect for them to speak my mind but allow them to make their own choices. IF a friend needs me, I'll abandon what I want for their need. In other words, the people in my life are a priority.
Fortunately I have a healthy sense of self-preservation that keeps me from abandoning my physical needs. I comprehend that I cannot be a good friend if I'm a mess physically. For a short time, I am able to put aside my own emotional issues to help another.
Somewhere I read/heard that you shouldn't make someone a priority if they consider you an option. I've been trying to follow that advice. With my uncensored answer to whether bad friends or no friends are inferior, I now realize self-delusion is mine. Apparently knowing I deserve better does not translate into not settling for less.
Do disabled people have to settle for less? Are we trained to do it in other areas so find it natural to do the same in relationships of all kinds? Is it fair or right that people evaluate our worthiness for friendship by considering the complications that come along with us? Am I more deluded than I realize?
I may lose a friend because he considers my life to be "too heavy." I keep holding back my instinctive response. "If you think my life is so heavy, shouldn't the fact that you care about me lead you to want to help alleviate that?" I have already said goodbye to him in my hearth. On a fundamental level, I don't expect him to see the worth in me instead only perceiving the harder parts of my life.
Being blind isn't a big deal. Feeling like crap isn't the end of the world. The way people deal with it causes pain I don't have the words to describe. That is what I want fixed. That is what I wish we could cure.

Becoming *That* Person

Flying home Monday, I almost became *that* person – the one who betrays her people by supporting the opposition --the black, gay Republican, the woman supporting lesser pay for members of her gender, or in my case the disabled woman who wanted to tell the other disabled woman to sit down and shut up.
I cannot be certain of the contentious issue because my attention was not snagged until voices were raised an the phrase "violation of the ADA" uttered. We'd left our originating city late because of a mechanical failure, so our layover was abbreviated. Apparently, this woman wanted forty minutes to exit the plane and do something related to her body and the uncomfortable seats. The flight attendant was refusing her request. I found myself agreeing with him. I found myself wanting to defend him.
Superficially, my instinctive response to my fellow traveler made complete sense for the woman's approach was not nice, rational, or designed to educate. It was shrill and slightly offensive. I believe she told the flight attendant that she knew more about the ADA than he did and she hoped he never had a reason to know as much as her. As someone who wants to change for the better how disability is perceived, I object to other disabled people behaving badly.
The ADA was designed to provide reasonable accommodations to people with disabilities so we could fully access anything the general public had entrée to. Over the past 21 years, it has been twisted, stretched, cut, and shredded by our court system into something I doubt even its author's recognize. As it reaches the legal age of drinking, like a new born infant, it's purity and innocence is long gone. In some ways, it's that inmate who was abandoned by its mother, beaten by its father, sent into foster care where it was raped, and then thrown into the real world because the calendar said it was time. I only wish we could send the ADA to rehab, intensive therapy, and if all else fails, lock it away.
Back to my fellow passenger and disabled person. Her request seemed a bit excessive to me. Holding up an entire plane for forty minutes so she could be out of an uncomfortable seat seemed nuts. Asking to be able to walk around the plane, take a later flight, switch seats, or even have two seats to be able to get comfortable would have struck me as reasonable. Instead, she made a radical demand and resorted to insults when denied her request. In the process, she gave everyone within hearing an example of an angry, irrational disabled person. She's why people hesitate to help me thinking I'll yell at them.
Why didn't I say something? I didn't know the entire situation. She could have been in so much pain that her behavior was explicable. It could have been that she spoke to the airline when making her reservation and they weren't holding up their end of some previously negotiated agreement. Without the full picture, I chose to be silent.
All this is to say that sometimes a member of a marginalized group is a complete jerk giving everyone in that group a bad name. Being part of an oppressed population does not instill sanity, wisdom, or righteousness. My disabilities do not grant me an inherent ability to be right more than another person. They do give me markedly more experience making my opinions more than random thoughts. Understanding the difference between "She's disabled so she must be right" and "She's disabled so she must know something I don't" is hard. Understanding that difference is essential to navigating the minefield of opinions held by people within and without a marginalized group. Anyone can have a point. Anyone can be right. Not everyone can know what it is like to be a part of a particular marginalized group. Our experience has value. Our experience does not make us always right.

Fixing It?

If authenticity represents a greater risk for disabled people, then how do you claim the joy Dr. Brene Brown contends comes from feeling connected which can only be achieved with authenticity and vulnerability? If societal expectations and perceptions of disability foster a disconnect how do you establish connection?

I have been struggling to answer these questions explicitly over the past week, but on some level my entire life. I know being authentic and vulnerable is not easy for anyone, disabled or not. My intuition says disability is a complicating factor like other marginalized group affiliations, but probably represents a dynamic with more impact than most. It is unique because society defines group membership by something the individual cannot "do", pigeonholes members into a tragic but brave category, and yet somehow ignores the fact that membership is a constant possibility. What my intuition refuses to cough up is the way to deal with disability so that it does not decrease one's chance to create connections.

I have some pieces of the answer, like shame. Dr. Brown defines it as the fear of not being worthy of connection – is there something about me that if others knew would make me unworthy in their eyes? Disability is in fact such a stigmatizing trait that we attempt to conceal, divorce ourselves from, and distract so others do not notice. Blind people wear dark glasses, learn to mimic sighted mannerisms, and my personal failing – become paranoid about clothes matching. People with scars cover them up. Deaf people sometimes hide their hearing aids. People with prosthetic legs avoid shorts. The list goes on.

I know and have sometimes parroted the rationalization behind concealment. We live in a world that perceives disability and the "defects" that define it as negatives. Hiding those traits facilitates social interaction. In other words, we do it to maybe avoid some of the crap dished out to us every day.

Yet in order to be authentic and vulnerable, disabled people need to stop hiding "flaws." This will in theory lead to a greater feeling of connectedness. My question, still unanswered, is whether the gain in authenticity can overcome the disconnect inherent in being disabled.

Long ago I stopped concealing my physical manifestations of disability, but I still experience shame. If people find out how much help I need, will they think I'm worthy of knowing? What if I seem incapable? Believe it or not, I experience shame simply by running into something while using my cane. Though I joke around about "sucking as a blind person," it's just a way of trying to coat my shortcomings in a layer of humor that might make them more palatable.

Maybe my problems finding connection are because I don't show my weaknesses. I equally know it is true that societal perceptions and expectations surrounding disability make connection more difficult. I am an imperfect being. The world is an imperfect thing. Guess we could all stand for some improvement.

Where Law Cannot Tred

In any civil rights movement, political activism has a key role. Same sex marriage is only one example of political activism utilized to change laws that will directly benefit individuals. Without political pressure, the American's with Disabilities Act would not have become law, but as so many pointed out on its twentieth anniversary, progress hasn't met expectations. The position people with disabilities inhabit in our society still reflects a second class citizenship where we are not full participants in the greater world. Why?

Disability, as a marginalized group status, is unique for a physical difference and/or "inability" is readily identifiable. In the nineteenth century, we saw how a tangible bodily variation effected societal status. Phrenology – the practice of determining traits such as intelligence based on the size and shape of the human skull – was used to rationalize the oppression of blacks. Today, those physical differences amongst the various races are considered irrelevant. On the other hand, disability is commonly defined as an inability to function in two or more major life areas such as school, work, mobility, and socially. Thus, group membership provides All that is necessary to justify our second class citizenship.

If my status was entirely based upon and solely limited to the fact that I cannot see, I might be willing to accept my position, but this is not the case. Take a moment to really consider this. How, after all, is my intelligence or competency in question simply because I cannot see? A person with a cognitive disability might be limited in terms of intellectual goals. Jobs requiring manual dexterity or physical strength are still legitimate options, yet an entire system of social services agencies exist just to convince employers to hire people with such conditions. What I cannot do has little in common with the beliefs that characterize my social status.

Society takes the inability – a fact – and adds what it perceives to be the implications of that truth. These perceived implications are based on fear, ignorance, and even well-intentioned compassion. Sometimes, as with blindness, it's inaccurate conclusions such as sight is necessary to bake. Other times it's more subconscious, such as fear shaping conclusions. The discomfort felt around a person with Down's Syndrome minimizes a desire for contact and the assumption that the individual has nothing meaningful to contribute because of their intelligence is an easy excuse. Even compassion leads down an erroneous road for often Deaf people are thought not to enjoy music and left out of invitations to go clubbing. (FYI, the base in of loud music can be felt.)

This crucial element of implication in the chain from difference to discrimination cannot be attacked with laws. It is embedded in the minds and hearts of people, perpetuated by what we teach our children, and magnified by a rigid societal structure. (Rather than embracing the idea of ramps, people are physically barred from public spaces, then devalued because they cannot access the places necessary to, say, perform a job. If disabled people are to be freed of their second class citizenship, hearts and minds will need to change.

Consider two pieces earlier published in this blog. You Can't Play gave a list of ways people like me are relegated to a lesser position and very few can be fixed by legislative act. Is There Disablism in Dating? argues that attitudes about disability subtly shape partner preferences. Is Congress going to pass a law that requires people to find me appealing as potential mate?

On the other hand, if we can alter the implication portion of the equation, it will ease the way for legislation or make it less necessary. After all, a law is only needed when people aren't going to do the right thing on their own.

Does this mean I think political activism is pointless? No way. I do believe that shifting how people conceive of disability deserves more effort and attention. WE need spokespeople that immediately pop into American's minds when they think about disability. How many of you know who Judy Heuman is? Justin Dart? Steven Drake? I'm certain Ellen Degeneres and Jesse Jackson are both known to you. Can you even think of someone with a disability who is in the public eye changing how society perceives physical difference?

With this blog, I try to be one of those people, but first someone must stumble upon it. Many disabled folks are doing the exact same thing – using the web to educate. Sooner rather than later, I believe we will reach some critical mass and a few articulate disabled people will emerge from the cyber world into real life. Making use of all the lessons I've had about "positive language" and manifesting what you desire in your life, I'm jus going to put out there that I will be one of those people.

It's in the Eyes

[This is a follow-up to Eyes and I.]

Having matching prosthetic eyes has been both what I expected and anything but what I predicted. Though I know I made the right decision for me, I have yet to feel comfortable with this new version of myself. And there's absolutely no forgetting they are there because they make themselves known in countless ways. For example, over the holidays I discovered that your eye lids don't like touching the freezing surface of acrylic. It's like touching any mucus membrane to cold plastic. Ugh.

There are moments when I forget they exist and go through my life pretty much as I did prior to all this eye craziness. It's peaceful to just be the me I've always known. Then some physical reminder will transpire and I'm back to consciously knowing I'm different from before. I pause during the day and take deep breaths trying to inhale a new self-concept that includes these eyes that I try to not view as other. They might come out, but they are me. Trying to wrap your mind around that is not exactly easy.

The other mind-bending aspect of this is other's reactions. Actually, it's the lack of reaction. Friends who have known me for years have literally not been aware of the change. Apparently the ocularist made eyes that so fit me that they look like they've been there my entire life. Since I'm not sighted, I can't exactly judge what superficially seems to be a deficiency in observational skills. Not noticing? It blows my mind each and every time it happens.

Based on who has and has not noticed, I have come up with a determining factor – how the person felt about my appearance before. I suspect those actively disturbed by it are aware of the change because they are aware of how I look in general.

Part of me worries that those who do not see changes in how I look may have gotten to a point where they don't really see me anymore. Did that "not seeing me" happen as a coping mechanism for being around me? The idea that people must not truly see me to be comfortable around me is upsetting and all too familiar.

Then we have changes in behavior. One man who I know in a wait staff capacity suddenly became much friendlier, making certain I knew his name, tossing off "good night" or "take care" when I walked past him out the door, and trying to strike up conversations. I'll admit it freely. My response has been polite indifference. Personally, I think he's lucky I haven't given him a lecture on not treating people differently based on how they look.

And of course there was the "beautiful" incident. I encountered an acquaintance who hadn't seen me in months. While it took a minute for the difference to register, when it did her reaction was the most intense thus far. She said, "Oh, wow, your new eyes. They look great." Then her voice changed as she cupped my cheek in her hand and said, "You look beautiful." I held back, "I looked beautiful before, too. Glad you finally noticed."

Finally, the other day I am pretty sure my request for the Cheese Man to go above and beyond was met because I asked in a funny way, tossed my hair, and smiled. Never has that happened to me before. There's a certain heady power in it that I hope I never exploit.

So has this changed my thinking about anything? Yes. It dawned upon me recently that I am walking around with less about me that gives people pause. I have long posited that physical differences such as scars, abnormal features, or deformed eyes loom so large in other's perceptions that they are unable to see the individual. Not only are my physical charms beyond their ken, but they don't really notice my intelligence, sense of humor, or quirky personality. My physical difference blinds them to who I am.

Now with my "normalized" appearance, there is less to kidnap other's awareness. This will shape my interactions in ways I cannot ever know for such a thing is impossible to assess. Its impact on dating does seem clear to me. With less obscuring me, people will have a better chance to know me which I find disturbingly wrong, but nonetheless my new reality. On one hand, I will never know if a person would have found me attractive before. On the other hand, I won't object to an increased chance of romantic entanglements.

I mourn the loss of my old appearance. It taught me so much about society and human nature. With my new eyes, I am now experiencing the world in a different way. Much of it makes me even more convinced that societal standards of appearance are wrong and need to change. If anything, I am more motivated to change the world.

I Wish Happiness

When I find out somebody is pregnant and want to wish them luck, I say, "I hope you have a happy baby." Though the typical blessing is "healthy," I refuse to say that because I firmly believe after years of experience that health is not a guarantee of or required to achieve happiness. Helpful? Yes. Necessary? No.
Happiness is one of those nebulous concepts that we know when we feel it, but cannot define in concrete words. Moreover, it is not restricted to one specific feeling rather a term that covers multiple distinctive emotional states. Between the different kinds, comparisons can be made. Euphoric joy is better than satisfaction, both superior to contentment, yet all encompassed by the word happiness.
For a long time, happiness wasn't even a state on my radar. I was too busy being miserable about my chronic illness, wishing it would go away, and planning for the great life I would have when. Constant yearning unfulfilled is pretty much happiness toxin.
Finally, it dawned upon me that healthiness was a part of able bodied culture that I had swallowed as essential to my happiness. It took time, but eventually accepting my health status allowed me to be happy. For me, it was about taking what I had and making that into a happy life. Very pioneer spirit in a weird sort of way. Don't have a pen and paper to draw a map? Use a stick on the dirt or charcoal on birch bark. It's about using what's at hand to get where you are going.
And then I unthinkingly fell into the decision to work on getting healthier. It proved to be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life taxing every emotional resource I possessed. When you are focused on your health in such a single-minded way, every sign of progress or regression is noted. Each symptom is cataloged and analyzed. Did eating that food make my pain worse? Was I too drained after that hike? Did a particular supplement improve the situation? A step forward was success and a step back was failure. Given the nature of my chronic illness, I often felt failure. Life was a constant emotional rollercoaster with my health the driver.
Even though my health was a slowly rising spiral, eventually I realized I was cracking under the pressure. Multiple times I tried to shift my thinking without success. Finally, it came to me that I needed to return to making the most out of what I had fashioning it into a happy life.
So, with an improved health situation giving me more resources, I did just that. In the process, I realized something very important: health while not crucial to happiness did make it easier.
Over the past year, my health has been all over the map, yet I would not hesitate in saying this has been the happiest year of my life. I haven't completely sorted this all out, but I have become more convinced than ever that our cultural emphasis on health being key to happiness is total crap.
To me, the essential part of happiness is maximizing what you currently have and shaping it into something you want. Waiting for some distant day when you might feel better in order to be happy seems rather pointless to me. Then again, I do have a weird way of looking at the world.

Inspiring Lower Expectations

Tell a TAB that they are inspiring and the person will be aglow with pride. Compliment me in the same way and I'll duck my head and try to become invisible, which of course never works when I want. It is almost as bad as being told I'm amazing.

A seatmate on an airplane asked me a crucial question, "Isn't it good if by your example you cause another to do something worthwhile?" Since nobody can argue with that result, of course I agreed which began me thinking. What is so objectionable in being an inspiration?

I realized there are two forms of inspiration: the role model type and the amazing flavor. They differ in that in the former inspiration has led to act and achievement whereas the latter is focused on emotion.

Their common ground is that of expectation. In order for something to inspire, it must seem out of the ordinary for human behavior. An obstacle assessed as insurmountable must be overcome. Circumstances determined as utterly bleak must have been successfully plumbed for happiness. A perceived burden must be shouldered as though it is feather-light.

If it were simply about behavior out of the ordinary for human beings, I would have no objections to engendering inspiration, but it's not. People based their expectations on the limits they assume my disabilities impart. These constraints are typically based on socially perpetuated beliefs about disability as opposed to the reality. Thus people think I can't bake, so when I do they find it inspiring. This makes me crazy.

If the inspiration leads to an individual behaving differently and accomplishing something, I have more tolerance. Perhaps this is because the inspired person has perceived us to have common ground. They are not viewing me as other and setting the bar lower as a result. Instead they realize my reality has traits familiar because they are present in their own lives and use an identical yardstick to measure both of us. This feels far less like being thought less competent and hence less objectionable. It also helps that a person is getting more out of the comparisons than a surge of emotion.

It dawns upon me that there is a subset of inspiration that has always been nebulous to me. I tend to engage in these discussions when people start gushing about my amazingness and I feel obligated to object. Sometimes the person says something like, "I can't sow, so I'm amazed you made that skirt." When questioned, they seem genuinely convinced that it isn't my blindness that makes the act seem extraordinary, but rather the common ground we share as human beings.

So I suppose my objections to those who find me inspiring are solely related to whether or not the person sees us as the same or different. It's about whether they use the same yardstick to judge me as they use to judge themselves. The instant my disabilities inspire them to create a separate set of expectations, it becomes insulting. If the expectations were higher, I'd probably find it irritating, but somehow they're always lower.