By William G. Stothers
I have been distressed lately by the recurring mental image of an old acquaintance. This fellow, an avid hunter and fisherman, wrote about the outdoors life. Now, though, he is retired and not long ago fell and severely broke his shoulder and uses a wheelchair. I am told that these days he just sits in his wheelchair in front of the TV set. He refuses to go out and doesn't want to see any of his friends. He is embarrassed.
I feel a twinge of recognition and kinship with the Outdoorsman.
When I was young and newly disabled, I used to sit in my wheelchair in front of the TV set, too. I was bored and felt that I didn't have anything to do. And I felt desperately unable. I couldn't run and play as I did before I became disabled. I didn't want anyone to see me. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I wanted to belong, but I chose seclusion over exposing my disabled self to the rest of the world.
That was many tears ago. The requirements of public education, and then employment, drew me into the world. I learned how to get along in the non-disabled world.
But for all the changes in the past half century, the culture still conditions people with disabilities to feel ashamed and outside. The Outdoorsman becomes disabled and retreats indoors. Okay, he has retired from his work. But that's not the end of life. And disability should not be either.
The easiest thing in the world to do is to tell someone else how to live their life. I can tell the Outdoorsman that he has plenty of life in him yet, indoors and out. Till I am blue in the face, I can tell him about the wonders of technology that can help him get around and function well. Eyeglasses are assistive technology, just life a fishing rod and a hunting rifle þ and a wheelchair or a scooter.
I can tell him all of that, but only he can hear it, believe it and act on it. And only if he wants to. The trick is getting him to want to do it, but that is not an easy task.
My own experience was to dismiss the pleadings and cajoling to get out there and participate. As a youngster I did only what I had to do to silence the harping so that I could retreat to hiding and be let alone. I wore a dark cloud. Plenty of people told me what I should and shouldn't do, how I should and shouldn't feel. I didn't buy it. How did they know what my disabled life was like? It was easy for them to say.
So how do you motivate someone to live actively when everything around them seems to say their life is pretty pitiful and not worth living? By living actively, I don't necessarily mean going skiing or playing basketball. But it is possible to be actively engaged in relationships with family members and friends. Work is possible, as is active retirement, recreation, travel, all sorts of things.
If you want to sit home in front of the TV set, well, that is an option. It is amazing how much time goes by when you surf dozens of channels looking for something to catch your interest.
For myself, and I think for others, retreat from the world betrays a lack of faith. Growing up with a disability, I had no faith in life. I felt isolated and figured I would never be accepted because I was disabled. Why hope? Why dream? In many respects, I plodded along through school and into a job with a cool detachment that chilled ambition and pleasure.
It is easy to blame somebody or something "other" for our situation in life. Somebody didn't like me. Or, they were afraid of someone with a disability. Or, they wouldn't make any accommodations. I missed promotions in the workplace and blamed it on the fact that I was disabled. It seemed reasonable at the time. In hindsight, on at least some of those occasions, I lacked the desire and commitment, if not the skills, required for the job.
Recently I came across the thought that our limits are defined by the limits of our vision. In a world where disability is feared and stigmatized, those of us with disabilities are prone to limit our possibilities by those stigmas. It is easier to sit in front of the TV set or accept a place on the sidelines than to risk the discomfort of change, of challenging the role assigned us.
Maybe it is the struggle, the satisfaction of doing what someone says I can't do, but personally I have come to relish the challenge. Sure, I occasionally still feel that old urge to go hide. Sometimes I even give into it. That's life.
William G. Stothers is editor of MAINSTREAM.
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