Who? Us?

We are two disabled, oldish women who have been adventuring through life for years. We are talking about how disabilities, both visible and not, change the way we enjoy our retirement.
Showing posts with label denigration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label denigration. Show all posts

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Don't Call Me Honey

Don’t call me honey.  Don’t call me dear. And fergawd’s sake, don’t excuse your behavior by saying, “I do that all the time and nobody else minds.” We do mind.  

We were taught as young girls to be ‘nice’ and subservient to males. Always let them think they were smarter, faster, better than we were. Make sure our grades were not too high so they would know they were 'superior.' They were allowed to call us sweetie, honey, dear or what’s worse, girlie. Many of us think it’s just fine for men to talk that way. Most women think it’s cute. When we stop and think about it, do you really want to be thought of as a second class citizen, to be called any ‘endearment’ men can think of.  

This is not just an ordinary action of those awful men who whistle at women who are walking by their construction sites or for that matter, just sitting on a bench in the park. Men think it is is their right; they even think that it’s called for and we expect it. They think it’s a compliment. 

And when we become disabled, the comments worsen. We are called honey or dear by everyone, not just men. Somehow we become children again unable to care for ourselves.  Women finally have somebody to be better than.  So all of our lives we have had to live with catcalls and diminishing remarks from men of all ages, and now we have to hear it from women too.

I was visiting my dentist and we were talking about how we dealt with men who persisted in those habits. I told her that I always said to men, “Did we sleep together? Those are the only people who call me honey.” The dentist said she always says, “Are you aware of who I am?”

Love her response and may steal it from her. She may vary her answers as well.  

Disability does not make these discriminating comments go away, it magnifies them and makes most of the population feel as if we need to be treated as if we are under the age of 12.


Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Please, no pity.

Do not feel sorry for me. Do not pat me on the head, in fact do not touch me at all unless you know me very well. What is it about being disabled that makes total strangers think they can come up and put their hands on my shoulder?  No one has patted me on my head yet and they best not unless they want to pull back a bloody stump. 

 Good grief, I am not a ‘poor thing’ to be talked over as if I am not there.  I have been talked over in jest, but really having people act as if I am not there is one of the most demeaning things ever.  Don’t do it. If you have something to say, say it to me. I shall respond to you. My ears work fine. You don’t have to talk to your friend or worse yet,  a stranger passing by about how brave I am to be outside by myself. I am 73 years old, old enough to be outside alone. And driving my car does not make me brave either. I’ve been doing that since I was 16 years old, back when the earth was misty. 

And don’t pity me either. No reason to. Nothing is worse than being pitied for any reason. Rolling around to grocery shop certainly doesn’t call for pity. 

“Being an inspiration for us all?” That gets old in a hurry, if it ever started to being with. I have never been inspiring. I have lived a regular normal life, working, paying taxes, conquering problems. Just like you.


I didn’t overcome anything to do what I want to do, go where I want to go. I did those things when I walked. What makes you think I can’t do them now?