Everyone’s a little bit ableist (a self-incriminating post)

Whenever I think about all the shitty ablest stuff chucked my way  

ahem quick list:

1) The time my bitchy boss told me I shouldn’t identify with my illness (to justify refusing accommodations)  

2) All the times that one ex boyfriend tried to convince me it was in my head and got me to eat a steak (hork)

3) Hardly ever just getting the INFO that would make accessibility easier (ingredients on menus, clearly marked public restrooms, maps of where disabled parking is)

I then remember all the times I’ve been a complete boob about chronic illness.

Not just to myself (that’s a whole nuther book) but to my own FRIENDS.

Like, in my less sick days, going on a hike with my chronic pain friend, so we could compare notes on our illness, and then NOT UNDERSTANDING why she was slower than me. I kept getting frustrated and trying to sneakily set a faster pace because I was in pain and could go a certain pace, so she should too! Right? No. Wrong. Also: rude.

Or when I went to a chronic pain retreat and had a tough time believing my fellow pain friends were REALLY in as much pain as I was in. I mean, they looked healthy enough. Many of them could walk further than I could. So how much could they really be hurting? Um, a lot.

Or when I went to a friend’s 40th birthday party and saw her chugging margs and swinging at pinatas and laughing and goofing off. I thought, she must be doing so much better! I was at that party with a massive migraine and felt like death. It took me DAYS to recover. Turns out, it took her WEEKS. But she wanted to push it for the day 30 of her friends showed up big for her. Duh.

I also have an unhelpful tendency of thinking I’m the only sick one if I’m not with people who are explicitly living an obviously disabled or severely ill life. It surprised me when my otherwise healthy friend got a massive migraine on a trip to see me, or when another friend developed severe hives out of the blue. Again, not smart, guys.

My own little sister has a rotating list of health complaints—some actually visible rashes—but in some sibling-weird part of my brain I just think…she’s exaggerating to copy me. She seems like such a tough little tank. But that is ridiculous. On our last trip, she told me pressure changes made her hands swell up, which I rolled my eyes at.

Then we drove out of elevation, and…her hands TOTALLY swelled up. Worst sister ever award goes to meeeeeeee.

Where does this come from?

I have no desire to be a special sick person, but I also don’t want my condition trivialized by people who are not that sick—you know, how celiacs feel about people who ditch gluten for shits and giggles.

I’m not a sociopath.  

I think it just takes a massive effort to really ever inhabit someone else’s reality. It’s a constant attempt, for me. I’m often surprised when my pretty girlfriends have struggles with their mothers, or when my baddest bitch ladypals admit struggles with their partners. I’m like, you’re too pretty to feel unloved! Or, you’re too cool to deal with guy drama.

But nope, the bullshit comes for us all.

I think my tank-ass swelling-hands invisible sickie babe sister got it right.

She once told me I had brains, looks, friends, and a sense of humor, so I had to get sick. I had to have one downside.  

And I actually think that’s a way better way to look at it. Yes, some problems are bigger than others, but we all face them. We attune to what other people have that we want—health or looks or kids or no kids or the perfect relationship or the pretty house or two undivorced parents or whatever it is.

But what’s way more interesting than that? Dig up some struggle.

That’s what makes a person, anyway.