HOH Awareness - Forgetting my Disability

I've always resisted calling myself "disabled" (oh, I know all the culturally sensitive versions of that word - but they all amount to the same concept: the need to be either excluded or accommodated for an ability that most people take for granted). Now that I'm (technically) homeless and "unemployed" (meaning I don't currently get a paycheck), I've had to rethink my attitude about that - particularly since a disabled status (coupled with my zero income) can get me assistance that would be unavailable to me otherwise.

What's remarkable about the "disability" that I and a lot of you who read this share, is that in many situations, it's entirely (or nearly) invisible to others - since either "aided" or not, many of us can function effectively in many areas of our life. My vertigo symptoms (related) fall into that same category, since (again, like many) I'm not dizzy all the time (and I'm blessed lately with huge periods of remission), so nobody who isn't in constant contact with me is going to notice a thing. Strangely enough, neither will I.

That brings me to the point of this post - I often forget my personal limitations until they're thrust full-force into my face. Examples are conversing with a speed-talker, understanding across a big meeting room, and answering the inevitable question about why I don't drive. I cruise through most of my day and - surprise! - slam into my "disabled" wall. How I handle that speaks both to my overall serenity, and my experience/acceptance of my limitations.

First and foremost in that acceptance process is the understanding that I'm hardly unique - even among "normal" people (notwithstanding my dear friends who share my specific trials). I'm trying to remember a person I know or have known who doesn't have some limitation(s) that would count as disability if they were challenged to use that "feature" in their livelihood (larger meaning than "work") - and I can't. The reason is easy - the human condition applies to everybody (human).

So what drives the difference - because there is a difference - for those of us who by necessity must cross over the "disability" line? Looking at the way the public service sector (wherever you are) defines that line doesn't help answer that question. The range is too broad; I'm "mildly" disabled at worst (by local standards), and I (stand?) in the same line with people who need far greater accommodations than I. In fact, one of the issues I've struggled with most is in that comparison of limitations. It's pretty humbling to ask for help along with people I very well could be helping myself.

There's a divide (my perception) between overt standards of ability (e.g., a job description) and the routine assumptions we all make about the abilities of people we interact with daily. Hearing ability is an obvious example (I can do the job - but whoops! - I need accommodation to fully function at meetings - that question can't even be asked legally in the U.S.) I'm reminded of recent job applications I've submitted (for jobs that don't involve driving - for a large, "culturally sensitive" company) in which an actual requirement in the job description is "A valid California drivers license and a vehicle." Well, that's an overt standard, anyway.

"Why don't you wear a button?" ("Hard of Hearing...") - asked by a wise and well-meaning counselor at my (alcohol) recovery program. Well, why don't I? I probably will, at some point. Resistance? I hate reminding myself of my limitations, let alone reminding other people when my limitations don't even apply - again, the button is a shotgun where a scalpel is the preferred instrument. I just can't figure out where to find the scalpel. Or the scalpel is simply me saying "please... I'm hard of hearing... slow down." But I won't always say it - (got assertiveness?) - so the button is the thing.

So the whole thing, as always, boils down to my attitude. To the extent that I'm willing to assert the truth of who I am without shame or fear to the people who matter (that's everybody I meet or interact with), I will be effectively moving forward in a life worth living. Same as everyone else. Same as you.

With gratitude.