For most of us, there comes a time in life where basic functions become celebrations. Where abilities that were once take for granted are now mountains we must climb. Where often modesty and personal dignity step aside in the face of necessity.
These inevitable moments may arise after a surgery, when the recovering patient can finally use the restroom on his own instead of in a bedpan held by a nurse. A new mother finds sweet satisfaction in the ability to shave her own legs after months of not seeing her own feet. The simple words "yes" and "no," uttered from a stroke patient's mouth, brings victorious tears to everyone in the room.
Whether it's relatively short-lived or stems from a long-term illness, these experiences force us to look at ourselves - and the people around us - differently. Others often surprise us with their "true colors," as it were. The gruffest person we know could become our most attentive friend. Those we thought would stand by us may drift away. And through all this, our self-image is largely shaped into one of two categories: humility, or humiliation.
In my experience, much of the shaping factors are not the level of disability undergone, but how the people around you react to the situation. Now, I'm not discounting personal responsibility and the choice each of us has to view their circumstances in an ultimately healthy or unhealthy way. Regardless of the people around you, it is still a difficult internal battle. But the people surrounding a sick person can often make the difference in how hard that battle has to be.
So if you are part of someone's support system, listen up!
Needing help for the most basic of functions, or fighting your own body to accomplish those tasks, is a humbling thing. There's no way around it. No one can go through this alone. But often the most important help a person can receive is not physical assistance, but emotional support.
Before you stop reading because you're convinced you're not qualified, it's not actually that hard. As a disability systematically chips away at a person's self-respect, what they need most is some of that dignity restored.
Respect that person's triumphs, no matter how trivial it seems to you. It took them the same amount of effort as it would take you to train for a footrace. Celebrate with them; don't patronize them.
Believe them when they say they're ill. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean they aren't in a load of pain, fatigue, etc. Genuinely appreciate the struggle of trying to appear normal - often times specifically for you. They want to be the least difficult for you they can be. Treat them like the normal person they are underneath the disability and don't begrudge them the special accommodations they can't do without.
Humility connotes gratitude. Those with disabilities are well aware of what they are giving up. They do not have the option of whether to accept help. To have some of that dignity given back to them after having done nothing to earn it is one of the best feelings in the world. Humility becomes a place of peace, love, and acceptance.
On the other hand, humiliation is synonymous with shame. It strips away any remaining dignity a person has until nothing but a charred hull remains. It robs them of hope, of worth, of meaning. It is a place of despair.
Treating someone like their disability is fake or exaggerated is one of the most humiliating responses possible. In the name of "treating them like they are normal," the people that are supposed to build a person up often heap a greater burden of guilt upon them. While struggling to rise to unrealistic expectations, they are left with intense frustration and self-loathing in the inevitable face of failure. They think they are letting their friends down, concluding that their illness has rendered them worthless in the sight of their loved ones.
Refusing to acknowledge the accomplishments that you take for granted, or worse, mocking them, hurts. Getting dressed or brushing your hair aren't even tasks worth mentioning to you, but to your friend, that is the most they can do before having to take a nap. Embarrassment at accomplishing so little as compared with societal norms just encourages withdrawal, not motivation to find something more to life than pain.
If you have never experienced such a humbling situation, it is pointless to ask you to treat someone like you would want to be treated. The truth is, unless you have experienced it, you don't know. It is next to impossible to imagine a mindset in which your life is a war with your own body when you have never been drafted into combat. Far be it from me to judge your ignorance from the other side of the fence.
However, if you have read this far, you are no longer unaware. We, the ill/disabled, have no delusions that you will fully understand us. We often don't even understand each other, as we all have different battles.
We do ask to be respected. Respect that you don't understand. Respect our effort. Respect our needs. And respect the simplicity of it: we are all, chronically or acutely ill, disabilities or in perfect health, just...people.
These inevitable moments may arise after a surgery, when the recovering patient can finally use the restroom on his own instead of in a bedpan held by a nurse. A new mother finds sweet satisfaction in the ability to shave her own legs after months of not seeing her own feet. The simple words "yes" and "no," uttered from a stroke patient's mouth, brings victorious tears to everyone in the room.
Whether it's relatively short-lived or stems from a long-term illness, these experiences force us to look at ourselves - and the people around us - differently. Others often surprise us with their "true colors," as it were. The gruffest person we know could become our most attentive friend. Those we thought would stand by us may drift away. And through all this, our self-image is largely shaped into one of two categories: humility, or humiliation.
In my experience, much of the shaping factors are not the level of disability undergone, but how the people around you react to the situation. Now, I'm not discounting personal responsibility and the choice each of us has to view their circumstances in an ultimately healthy or unhealthy way. Regardless of the people around you, it is still a difficult internal battle. But the people surrounding a sick person can often make the difference in how hard that battle has to be.
So if you are part of someone's support system, listen up!
Needing help for the most basic of functions, or fighting your own body to accomplish those tasks, is a humbling thing. There's no way around it. No one can go through this alone. But often the most important help a person can receive is not physical assistance, but emotional support.
Before you stop reading because you're convinced you're not qualified, it's not actually that hard. As a disability systematically chips away at a person's self-respect, what they need most is some of that dignity restored.
Respect that person's triumphs, no matter how trivial it seems to you. It took them the same amount of effort as it would take you to train for a footrace. Celebrate with them; don't patronize them.
Believe them when they say they're ill. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean they aren't in a load of pain, fatigue, etc. Genuinely appreciate the struggle of trying to appear normal - often times specifically for you. They want to be the least difficult for you they can be. Treat them like the normal person they are underneath the disability and don't begrudge them the special accommodations they can't do without.
Humility connotes gratitude. Those with disabilities are well aware of what they are giving up. They do not have the option of whether to accept help. To have some of that dignity given back to them after having done nothing to earn it is one of the best feelings in the world. Humility becomes a place of peace, love, and acceptance.
On the other hand, humiliation is synonymous with shame. It strips away any remaining dignity a person has until nothing but a charred hull remains. It robs them of hope, of worth, of meaning. It is a place of despair.
Treating someone like their disability is fake or exaggerated is one of the most humiliating responses possible. In the name of "treating them like they are normal," the people that are supposed to build a person up often heap a greater burden of guilt upon them. While struggling to rise to unrealistic expectations, they are left with intense frustration and self-loathing in the inevitable face of failure. They think they are letting their friends down, concluding that their illness has rendered them worthless in the sight of their loved ones.
Refusing to acknowledge the accomplishments that you take for granted, or worse, mocking them, hurts. Getting dressed or brushing your hair aren't even tasks worth mentioning to you, but to your friend, that is the most they can do before having to take a nap. Embarrassment at accomplishing so little as compared with societal norms just encourages withdrawal, not motivation to find something more to life than pain.
If you have never experienced such a humbling situation, it is pointless to ask you to treat someone like you would want to be treated. The truth is, unless you have experienced it, you don't know. It is next to impossible to imagine a mindset in which your life is a war with your own body when you have never been drafted into combat. Far be it from me to judge your ignorance from the other side of the fence.
However, if you have read this far, you are no longer unaware. We, the ill/disabled, have no delusions that you will fully understand us. We often don't even understand each other, as we all have different battles.
We do ask to be respected. Respect that you don't understand. Respect our effort. Respect our needs. And respect the simplicity of it: we are all, chronically or acutely ill, disabilities or in perfect health, just...people.
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