August 20th 2024.
As I was being wheeled through London Euston station, my body tensed as I noticed a group of men out of the corner of my eye. I had just arrived for a weekend to celebrate my friend's birthday and a staff member was kindly escorting me to the taxi rank. Suddenly, one of the guys stood close to me and I instinctively lowered my head and eyes. But then, he pointed his finger towards my head, invading my personal space and said something offensive. The group burst out laughing as they walked past me, completely unaware of the negative impact they had left behind.
The staff member quickly told me to just ignore them, a phrase I have heard all too often from non-disabled people who simply don't know what to say. But I couldn't just ignore them, and I didn't want to. In that moment, I felt objectified, threatened, and honestly, worthless. This is unfortunately a common experience for disabled individuals.
The word "that" lingered in my mind. Was that all I was to some people? Not even a human, just a thing? This is just one example of the misogyny and ableism I face as a disabled woman. It's disheartening to think that some people only see me as an object, not a person.
The thing is, I had woken up that morning feeling beautiful with my golden tan and long blonde hair. I was channeling a sun-kissed California vibe with my designer bag and sunglasses. I felt empowered and sexy. But as soon as I reached the train station and overheard the staff talking about a football event, I knew I needed to be on high alert. Being a disabled woman, I am all too familiar with the laddish behavior, alcohol, and sporting events that often lead to abuse or harassment.
In the immediate aftermath, I had to put on a brave face for my friend's birthday celebrations and hide the fact that ableism is a daily reality for me. Not that my friends wouldn't have been supportive, but I didn't want to bring that negative energy to their party. But the truth is, I am human. The word "that" continued to haunt me for weeks and I ended up sharing the experience with my therapist, close friends, and family. I needed comfort and support.
I didn't want to be the bigger person and analyze their behavior. I just wanted to be angry and see consequences for their actions. I wanted ableism to be taken seriously. This incident made me realize that there is a clear pattern - whenever I experience ableism from men, it is often linked with a sexual narrative. My worth is reduced to my ability to perform sexually or be seen as a sexual object. This is a disturbing reality that I have faced my entire life.
On the other hand, ableism from women and children tends to be more out of curiosity or ignorance. Like the random shopper who recently asked me my age and spoke to me like an infant. But the ableism from men is different. They use sexualized comments to degrade and dehumanize me. Looking back, I wanted to yell back at the group of men and say something along the lines of "You'd have to pay me to sleep with you!" But as a woman among a group of men, I felt vulnerable and it was safer to keep my head down.
What would have helped the most in that situation was for someone in that group to call out their friend's behavior. If it was called out for what it was, maybe it wouldn't happen to someone else. I want ableism to be taken seriously, but this can only happen if non-disabled individuals understand the disabled experience, in person and online. That's why I'm sharing my story now. If more people speak up and acknowledge the problem of sexualization and violence towards disabled women, maybe something will change.
Unfortunately, the sad reality is that I do not feel safe as a disabled woman living in the UK, especially when I have to face a group of intoxicated, misogynistic, ableist men. Do you have a similar experience to share? Let's continue the conversation by emailing me. Share your thoughts in the comments section below.
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