We live in a culture of constant movement. A world that says you’re only worth something when you’re making money or churning out homework or out in the streets making a difference. And most of us don’t ever think about the unspoken rules we all follow about when it’s appropriate to sit or stand or move or be still or be productive or rest.
As I’ve become “more disabled” over the past few years and found myself fired up about disability justice and representation, the issue of sitting is one I’ve thought about a lot. Because if you don’t have cause to consider the issue, you’d never know what a big deal it is to sit when everyone else isn’t.
I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable listening to my body and my pain and doing what I need to do regardless of the discomfort of standing out, but it’s very hard to unlearn the ableism we all internalize from birth.
I sit in church when they say for everyone to stand. I sit wherever I can in a store if I’ve been there too long or am waiting on someone and I can’t make myself stand any more. I sit at social events. I sit when I need to look at something lower to the ground, rather than kneeling.
It might not sound so strange to you, but in spaces where there isn’t any expectation that anyone different might be existing there, it can be a big deal to single yourself out. And as someone who doesn’t always “look” like anything’s wrong with me, I’m aware at all times that people are likely to assume I’m just lazy or disrespectful. Because standing is the default; just like being abled, mind and body, is the default. Sitting is an issue in the same way that everything involving disabled bodies and people is an issue. It’s an issue that our very existence is seen as revolutionary wherever we go; that we are never expected or planned for, even when so many people do have disabilities.
I have wanted to write about this topic for years- this picture, the more specific inspiration of a general idea I’m passionate about, was taken two years ago in D.C. at a leadership conference with the ACLU. We dealt with accessibility nightmares and physical exhaustion from an over-packed schedule all week long. For the first time in my life, I used a wheelchair. It was a cheap, little one I shared with my new friend who also has serious health issues and who used it for most of the week. When we all went to capitol hill for an entire day, we both took our own chairs because we both needed them more than usual to get through that day. Since this trip, I’ve come a long way in my journey of being outwardly disabled. .
Now, I’ve been called attention seeking, overdramatic, or fake for posting photos of myself in this wheelchair, or in a power cart at the store, or showing off my cane. I’ve been told that I’m taking resources from older, sick adults because I use them or talk about them.
Why is this? I’ve questioned many times why it seems to offend and confuse people so much that someone like me might need to do “abnormal” things like use mobility aids or sit when everyone else is standing. Why do we get so hung up about these things?
The truth is, despite disabled people being the largest minority group, we’re terrified to talk about or even look at disability. We don’t like anything that reminds us that so many of us are different, because we think life is easier if we can fit everyone into the same box- or through the same door. Even the word disabled is still so taboo, so the idea of a young person being disabled? And doing it differently than our stereotyped ideas? It scares us.
But I don’t have time to pander to that fear and stigma. I will use my handicap tags and cane and power chairs when I need to; I will call myself a cripple and stare right back at those who give me strange looks in the store and I will sit whenever and wherever I am tired and need to, even if it means being the only one or sitting on the floor or drawing attention. I don’t like the attention. I hate it when people stare at me, whether they’re glaring or just confused. My instinct tells me that if everyone else is standing, I should too. But I am fighting to re-train those instincts, to listen to the quieter but more truthful voice telling me what I need.
For me, sitting is its own type of rebellion. Meeting those eyes unfazed is my way of challenging the ignorance most people carry around with them, unchecked. And yes, posting on instagram about my experiences using mobility aids and electric carts is my way of normalizing those things for people like me.
Disabled people in general are extremely invisible in society, which makes us easy to push to the side and “forget” or ignore. Especially those of us who don’t fit the few images of disability that are widespread- young disabled people, people with invisible illnesses, people who use different mobility aids some days and none on other days, those of us who have learning or mental disabilities, those who never see ourselves represented in the media. Trans, Black, Indigenous, female, Asian, fat, queer, and other stereotyped and marginalized disabled people even more so.
I’ve made it a point to lead by example to change up the way people look at things. I encourage everyone, disabled and non-disabled alike, to remember that #YouCanSit when you need to. Listening to your body and your needs is something we all need to learn and practice more- especially with the growing stress and exhaustion the pandemic and social unrest have piled onto us all- so we can get rid of the false feelings that you should feel guilty or wrong for doing exactly that. It may seem like a small thing, but small things can actually have a huge ripple effect as more and more people’s minds open up.