Casual Ableism
I’ve experienced ableism from the moment I was born.
The only difference is that I didn’t know it was discrimination until I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome at 18.
I thought it was just funny, innocent comments or actions I took too seriously. But in fact, there’s a term for this type of discrimination: casual ableism.
This is something that’s slowly becoming a new conversation around the disabled experience, and it should be highlighted. Think about it the same way you view microaggressions.
Many people don’t know they’re actually contributing to the problem.
There’s actually an amazing Instagram account known as Casual Ableism that highlights these universal experiences. Y’all might’ve even seen me share some of the posts on my Instagram story.
But according to this page, casual ableism can be defined as “the subtle discrimination in favor of able-bodied people, usually hidden in seemingly innocent phrases, conversations, actions or the lack of there of.”
In the spirit of showing how casual ableism affects a disabled person, I thought I’d share a few of my own experiences.
Before we start, I would just like to say, if any of you remember saying any of these things to me, it’s forgiven. You didn’t know, and I hope this post can help prepare you for your next interaction with me or another disabled person.
“Do you actually feel that bad all of the time?”
The short answer to this is yes. But the question itself is something you should never ask someone that’s disabled.
Many doctors use this exact question to gaslight us for years. For me, that meant ignoring all of the blaring symptoms of multiple disorders for almost two decades. Don’t ever question someone’s pain or experience.
Because most of the time, that very person has been questioning the entire time themselves. I know I have (and still do).
This makes me feel like the fact that I’m in pain should be ignored.
“Everyone has pain. It’s normal— just calm down and get used to it,” I’d have doctors tell me. It was hurtful when I was 10, and it’s just as hurtful (If not more) at 23.
“Don’t call yourself disabled. You aren’t; you’re much more than that.”
I’d have people shush me when I uttered the word disabled. Why is me being disabled such a bad thing for you to hear?
My disabilities shape my perspective, life experiences and overall worldview. Being disabled isn’t something less than, it’s something that should be acknowledged.
When someone does this, it feels like my entire identity being shut off. How am I not supposed to say the word when my disabilities intertwine with every aspect of my life?
“You know, your entire personality doesn’t have to be about being disabled.”
How can my “personality” not be about the biggest thing in my lived experience? This sentence has the same vibe as the one above, and all I can say to that is I’m proud to represent my disabilities.
If that means being disabled is my whole personality, so be it.
“Well, if you ever need anything I’m here for you!” *Proceeds to ignore every call for help*
Don’t say you’re there for someone if you don’t mean it, especially a disabled person. We are used to so many people ignoring our cries for help, and we don’t need another dismissing us.
Being disabled is an isolating experience, and I’ve lost friends because of my illness. Some people see it as “too much,” and because of that, trust is broken easier.
So please, don’t offer help and ignore us. I can say first hand that I’ve cried over situations like this.
“I don’t know how you put up with all of this medical stuff all the time. You’re so much stronger than me. I could never be disabled.”
I know this was meant as a compliment with a hint of empathy, but all it does is make me and other disabled people feel like outcasts.
Yes, my life is hard, but it’s all I’ve known. I’m not “strong” solely because of my illness; I’m strong because I have to be. If I wasn’t, I’d be dead.
But just because I am resilient in this regard doesn’t mean I want to hear pity for my circumstance. All that does is put a barrier between the disabled and able-bodied. I know this is harmless, but it always sits wrong with me.
“You’re always so tired! I stay up late like you too; I’m a night owl and too addicted to TikTok.”
This is obviously an innocent comment. The only thing is my night are filled with constant muscle spasms, rashes, nausea, neuropathy and chronic pain.
I love staying up late, don’t get me wrong, but I realized the only reason I was a night owl is because of the pain I’ve felt every night since I was a child.
I’m not staying up for leisure; I’m awake because I have to take medication and ice my entire body. Sometimes, I have to do my physical therapy stretches at 3 a.m. just to settle the pain.
The reason this is seen as casual ableism is because the person is minimizing our experience. They obviously didn’t mean to do it, but because many chronically ill people look healthy, people gloss around their struggles.
When you don’t fit the disability mold, most people forget you are sick. Instead, if someone says they’re tired and were up all night, ask why. If it’s just because they were on YouTube for three hours, then you can relate to their experience.
“You sure do get special treatment, huh?”
Someone said this to me when I explained my accommodations for college classes. First, this isn’t “special treatment,” this is a necessity. If I didn’t have them, I probably wouldn’t have a bachelor’s degree right now.
Just because someone needs help to live doesn’t mean they’re getting ahead. That one perk is what keeps disabled people on a level playing field.
“What is a young, pretty lady like you doing here?”
Old people at specialist doctors say this one every once and a while. Then, it’s usually followed by a “back in my day” story followed by a “wait until you’re my age to have problems.”
This one by far is one of my least favorite interactions. I can either tell this old person off and say I’m disabled or ignore it completely.
Either way, I’m uncomfortable. I wish we would stop judging people in waiting rooms based on how sick or old they look. If someone is in the doctor’s office, just assume they are sick. We shouldn’t have to prove our illness to every single person.
“Why can’t you just work out a little bit more. You’ll feel so much better. I tried this program, and it helped me stop getting sick!”
First: never blame the disabled person for their disabilities. You may think this is just a suggestion, but this statement implies that you don’t think they’re trying hard enough.
Either way, the person has to defend themselves. I can say first hand working out doesn’t resolve my disabilities.
I can’t do much to begin with, but I usually walk for one hour at least four times a week. Does it help me feel a little better after it’s done? Yes, but I’ll soon feel sick again. Does that help the muscle spasms or the swollen lymph nodes? No.
No amount of walking or lifting will fix my connective tissue.
Society has ableism tightly interwoven within its threads, just like every other form of discrimination. One way this shows is through subtle comments and actions. While you may think your words are harmless, it’s always best to double check.
The biggest step toward universal change is realization. I hope through my words I can help push a tiny piece of this world forward. Don’t be afraid to ask genuine questions. There are many disabled people like me that would love to answer.
Sincerely, Abbey
Side note: I’ve written a few articles touching on the topic of ableism. For more insight, give “My Experience with Ableism and Medical Trauma” and “What Not to Say to a Person with Disabilities” a read.