OK, so I'm hosting the June Disability Blog Carnival, as you may know already. And the theme is community. I WOULD REALLY LIKE SUBMISSIONS BY THE 25TH, BUT I WILL EXTEND THE DUE DATE IF NECESSARY. So far only one person has submitted a post. So.....get writing! Please?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Redefining Inclusion
I think we need to redefine inclusion.
Many people seem to have this inaccurate, and frankly, kind of bizarre, notion of what inclusion actually is. Case in point: this wonderful post about an ignorant teacher from Robert Rummel-Hudson, whose daughter, Schuyler, has a rare disability called Bilateral Perisylvian Polymicrogyria.
As a physically disabled student in high school, I faced this attitude on a regular basis. I frequently sat in the classroom feeling like an island as other students swarmed around me doing one project or another that was inaccessible to me. I had very few social interactions - no one ever asked me to join their group, and even when groups were assigned, the projects were usually motor-skill oriented, such as a poster. Once again, I'd be the island, sitting feeling lonely while everyone else was having fun. No one - teachers or students - ever asked me how the classroom environment could be more accessible to me. No one ever asked what my needs were and tried to meet them. No one knew what to do with me, so instead of asking, they simply did nothing. And yet, I'm sure if you asked any one of the administrators at my school, they would tell you that I was fully included for all six years I was at that school. I blame it on ignorance and lack of training.
Inclusion isn't about parking a kid with a disability in a classroom with no support whatsoever, and expecting them to succeed; or worse, expecting nothing from them so the kid becomes some sort of human wall decoration. It's about making the classroom environment accessible to everyone. It's about making sure that every kid who's in that classroom can and will learn, even if it's only one thing. It's about helping every child, regardless of ability/disability, succeed. I don't expect teachers to know right off the bat every single adaptation that they will have to make for every single student. Hopefully, as general education teachers get more special ed training, many of those adaptations will already be in place. But I do expect teachers to question themselves and their students so that the classroom is the most accessible that it can be. We must not simply include students with disabilities, but we must accept them, integrate them into our classroom, and embrace their potential, just like we should do with every student.
So yes, I think we need to redefine inclusion. Shout it loud, from the hilltops, from schools all across the globe, with all our unique voices, that inclusion is not a place. Inclusion is a practice. Inclusion is a right. And a weak, half-assed facsimile of inclusion is worse than no inclusion at all.
Many people seem to have this inaccurate, and frankly, kind of bizarre, notion of what inclusion actually is. Case in point: this wonderful post about an ignorant teacher from Robert Rummel-Hudson, whose daughter, Schuyler, has a rare disability called Bilateral Perisylvian Polymicrogyria.
"...it was as if the concept of inclusion meant that Schuyler had a right to be parked in her class and to watch the other students, the REAL students, learn. Inclusion appeared to mean being a face in the class photo."
As a physically disabled student in high school, I faced this attitude on a regular basis. I frequently sat in the classroom feeling like an island as other students swarmed around me doing one project or another that was inaccessible to me. I had very few social interactions - no one ever asked me to join their group, and even when groups were assigned, the projects were usually motor-skill oriented, such as a poster. Once again, I'd be the island, sitting feeling lonely while everyone else was having fun. No one - teachers or students - ever asked me how the classroom environment could be more accessible to me. No one ever asked what my needs were and tried to meet them. No one knew what to do with me, so instead of asking, they simply did nothing. And yet, I'm sure if you asked any one of the administrators at my school, they would tell you that I was fully included for all six years I was at that school. I blame it on ignorance and lack of training.
Inclusion isn't about parking a kid with a disability in a classroom with no support whatsoever, and expecting them to succeed; or worse, expecting nothing from them so the kid becomes some sort of human wall decoration. It's about making the classroom environment accessible to everyone. It's about making sure that every kid who's in that classroom can and will learn, even if it's only one thing. It's about helping every child, regardless of ability/disability, succeed. I don't expect teachers to know right off the bat every single adaptation that they will have to make for every single student. Hopefully, as general education teachers get more special ed training, many of those adaptations will already be in place. But I do expect teachers to question themselves and their students so that the classroom is the most accessible that it can be. We must not simply include students with disabilities, but we must accept them, integrate them into our classroom, and embrace their potential, just like we should do with every student.
So yes, I think we need to redefine inclusion. Shout it loud, from the hilltops, from schools all across the globe, with all our unique voices, that inclusion is not a place. Inclusion is a practice. Inclusion is a right. And a weak, half-assed facsimile of inclusion is worse than no inclusion at all.
Monday, May 30, 2011
(Blog) Carnival Ride
Well, after hosting the Disability Blog Carnival back in February, I'm back for another round. I'm hosting the June Disability Blog Carnival and the theme, I've decided, is going to be community. How does a disability community, or the lack of, affect you? How do you define a disability community? I'm excited to read all your posts! I'm a bit late in getting the announcement up this time around, so I'll give you plenty of time to write all your posts - I know how writer's block can get in the way. Try and have your posts to me by the 25th, but if you submit a late post, I'll add it in later. Comment on this post (I've disabled word verification for those of you who may have trouble interpreting it) or email me with your post at caraliebowitz@gmail.com. Or, if you have me on Facebook, you can also submit it to me that way. Any way you can get it to me is fine. Happy blogging everyone!
"God put us here on this carnival ride
We close our eyes
Never knowing where it will take us next
Babies are born and at the same time, someone's taking their last breath
It's the wheel of the world
It's the wheel of the world turning around."
We close our eyes
Never knowing where it will take us next
Babies are born and at the same time, someone's taking their last breath
It's the wheel of the world
It's the wheel of the world turning around."
-Wheel of the World by Carrie Underwood
Friday, May 20, 2011
Self-Care is a B*tch
I never thought too much about self care before I went to college. Sure, some aspects of self care were more difficult for me, but I had been completely independent in all my self-care activities since my mid teens. Surely self care wouldn't be difficult for me in college, after all, I took care of myself every day. I didn't need a personal assistant like some of my friends, I could do everything on my own. Taking care of myself in college would be a breeze; in fact, I barely thought about it before I left.
Oh how wrong I was. Sure, at home, I did everything major myself - showering, dressing, etc., sometimes with the help of some adaptive equipment, like a shower chair or my awesome three headed toothbrush. But I completely didn't take into account the little things, or how the college environment differs from the home environment.
At home, the farthest I had to carry a plate was about five feet to the kitchen, and it was usually an empty plate at the end of a meal, and not a full plate at the beginning of a meal. In college, I had to navigate a crowded dining hall while carrying a full plate of food and usually a drink. If the dining hall was particularly packed, it could take me up to fifteen, twenty minutes to find a seat, and that's after my wrists started screaming in pain. The back dining room was often open for students on crowded days, but I had to navigate a long hallway while carrying my food in order to get there. That's not to mention that's after I usually stood in a long line for food, while my back, knees, feet, and ankles all ached in tandem.
.....And people wonder why I like to take my scooter to the dining hall a lot.
It's the little things that really get me. My first semester, I got sick. Nothing serious, just a bad cold. I went to the health center and they gave me a bottle of cough syrup. Stupid me didn't think to check if it was a child proof cap or not til I got back to my room. I spent over a half hour trying to open the damn cap before I had to go somewhere. I spent the next two hours hacking my lungs out during a play performance because I couldn't open the cough syrup! I eventually got it open only for a majority of it to spray all over. It literally looked like a massacre had occurred in my bathroom.
I didn't think taking care of myself would be hard in college. It turns out it kind of was. I didn't realize how accustomed I was to having my parents do things for me. I have now finished my freshman year and have learned a lot about taking care of myself. I am definitely a more independent person now. I look forward to carrying that knowledge into the rest of my college career as well as the rest of my life.
Please note that this post is for the May disability blog carnival. Happy blogging everyone!
Oh how wrong I was. Sure, at home, I did everything major myself - showering, dressing, etc., sometimes with the help of some adaptive equipment, like a shower chair or my awesome three headed toothbrush. But I completely didn't take into account the little things, or how the college environment differs from the home environment.
At home, the farthest I had to carry a plate was about five feet to the kitchen, and it was usually an empty plate at the end of a meal, and not a full plate at the beginning of a meal. In college, I had to navigate a crowded dining hall while carrying a full plate of food and usually a drink. If the dining hall was particularly packed, it could take me up to fifteen, twenty minutes to find a seat, and that's after my wrists started screaming in pain. The back dining room was often open for students on crowded days, but I had to navigate a long hallway while carrying my food in order to get there. That's not to mention that's after I usually stood in a long line for food, while my back, knees, feet, and ankles all ached in tandem.
.....And people wonder why I like to take my scooter to the dining hall a lot.
It's the little things that really get me. My first semester, I got sick. Nothing serious, just a bad cold. I went to the health center and they gave me a bottle of cough syrup. Stupid me didn't think to check if it was a child proof cap or not til I got back to my room. I spent over a half hour trying to open the damn cap before I had to go somewhere. I spent the next two hours hacking my lungs out during a play performance because I couldn't open the cough syrup! I eventually got it open only for a majority of it to spray all over. It literally looked like a massacre had occurred in my bathroom.
I didn't think taking care of myself would be hard in college. It turns out it kind of was. I didn't realize how accustomed I was to having my parents do things for me. I have now finished my freshman year and have learned a lot about taking care of myself. I am definitely a more independent person now. I look forward to carrying that knowledge into the rest of my college career as well as the rest of my life.
Please note that this post is for the May disability blog carnival. Happy blogging everyone!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
New bloggy things!
Hey all,
I would like to direct your attention to a brand new blog project cooked up by me and my friend Kyle. No worries, I'll still be posting on Butterfly Dreams, but I'll ALSO be posting over there on Palsy Snark. It's similar to this blog, except each post deals with a specific issue and has both of us awesome palsy people commenting on it. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don't, but it's always interesting. So go over to http://www.palsysnark.com and follow us! We have a lot to say.
Also, I'm going to insert a shameless plug for a friend here. My friend Dani has been the best friend I've made in college, and she has a collection of diagnoses that even took ME aback for a bit. She recently started a blog at my urging and so far she's doing great! So go on over to Defying Disabilities and check her out! Follow her! She has a lot of opinions, some of which clash with mine, but hey, debate makes life interesting!
Watch this space for the theme for the June Disability Blog Carnival, hosted by yours truly!
I would like to direct your attention to a brand new blog project cooked up by me and my friend Kyle. No worries, I'll still be posting on Butterfly Dreams, but I'll ALSO be posting over there on Palsy Snark. It's similar to this blog, except each post deals with a specific issue and has both of us awesome palsy people commenting on it. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don't, but it's always interesting. So go over to http://www.palsysnark.com and follow us! We have a lot to say.
Also, I'm going to insert a shameless plug for a friend here. My friend Dani has been the best friend I've made in college, and she has a collection of diagnoses that even took ME aback for a bit. She recently started a blog at my urging and so far she's doing great! So go on over to Defying Disabilities and check her out! Follow her! She has a lot of opinions, some of which clash with mine, but hey, debate makes life interesting!
Watch this space for the theme for the June Disability Blog Carnival, hosted by yours truly!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
My Little Ableist Friend
Please note that this is my post for Blogging Against Disablism Day 2011 :) Happy BADD, everyone!
I have a confession to make.
I am an ableist.
Yeah, that's right, Spaz Girl, Miss Out-and-Proud-Disabled, Miss Cripple Power, is an ableist.
It's a dirty little secret of mine. It's a little voice in the back of my head that I carry around with me all day, and can't get rid of, no matter how hard I try. A voice that says things like "You're not really disabled.", "You're just making excuses.", "You don't need those crutches/that scooter/this accommodation/that accommodation.", "You're exaggerating your disability.", "Who knows? Maybe the doctor's diagnosis was wrong all these years and you've just been faking for the last 18 years.". It's a little devil on my shoulder telling me that I'm not worthy to be a crip.
My little ableist friend makes me feel inadequate, shamed, and embarrassed almost everywhere we go. I try to keep him gagged, but every once in awhile, he spits out the gag and starts struggling against his bonds, demanding to be free. He reared his ugly head just a few days ago, when I failed a math project that involved measuring, drawing, folding, and visualizing 3D images - all things that I have trouble doing because of my CP. When I approached the professor about it, she mentioned that I should've come to her before about it. I stood there wishing I could sink into the floor while my little ableist friend laughed maniacally on my shoulder. How could I explain to her that I didn't want to come off as making excuses on the basis of my disability? How could I explain that I had already talked to her about another project (this one involving using a drawing compass), and didn't want to be demeaned for "seeking special treatment" in the class? How could I possibly explain that my little ableist friend had convinced me that I could do it, that it really wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be?
It sounded absurd, even in my head. But that's what my little ableist friend does - he takes the absurd, fuses it with some self-doubt and shame, and twists it around so it almost kind of sort of makes sense. And if I listen to him too long, I start to believe him. He takes all my insecurities about being "mildly" disabled that have been hard-wired in me since I was little and exploits them. He makes me feel like a fraud.
It's because of my little ableist friend that I grew up alone, never knowing other people like me, never having any disabled role models, never knowing that there was a whole other world out there. My parents were duped into thinking that I was "too mild" for activities designed for disabled kids. Even when I started attending a camp for kids with physical disabilities when I was 13, I was one of the only ones with my level of mobility and independence, and I could hear my little ableist friend in the back of my head, telling me I didn't belong. I eventually silenced him enough to discover I really did belong, and the six summers I spent at camp were absolutely amazing to a level I can't describe. But every once in awhile, even at camp, my little ableist friend would return. People make assumptions based on the fact that I don't "look" that disabled, and that's my little ableist friend's ideal breeding ground. Every time someone makes an assumption about how far I can walk, how much I can stand, what (if any) mobility aids I should be using, he pops up to accuse me of being lazy and taking advantage of my disability to get special treatment.
My little ableist friend is a chorus of all the voices that have shamed me over the years for being who I am. He is a reflection of a society that worships physical strength and beauty, a society that puts labels like "brave" and "inspirational" on anyone who pushes themselves through pain and/or fatigue to walk that extra step, run that extra mile, climb that extra mountain. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't want to spend my whole life in pain, trying not to complain, knowing people will see me as weak. It's a constant battle against my little ableist friend, a battle I fight every hour of every day. It's bad enough when I have to face other people's judgments and opinions, but when I start to internalize them....that's the scary part.
I am an ableist. That is not easy for me to admit. So here I am, exposing my little ableist friend to the public, hoping that in the harsh glare of the Internet, he will wither and die. It's a far-fetched hope, I know, but hey, I can dream. Maybe you know exactly what I'm talking about. Maybe you have a little ableist friend of your own. If you do, my heart goes out to you. Please know that you are not alone in this internal fight, you are not the only one fighting it. Perhaps if we band together, we can defeat our little ablelist friends together.
I have a confession to make.
I am an ableist.
Yeah, that's right, Spaz Girl, Miss Out-and-Proud-Disabled, Miss Cripple Power, is an ableist.
It's a dirty little secret of mine. It's a little voice in the back of my head that I carry around with me all day, and can't get rid of, no matter how hard I try. A voice that says things like "You're not really disabled.", "You're just making excuses.", "You don't need those crutches/that scooter/this accommodation/that accommodation.", "You're exaggerating your disability.", "Who knows? Maybe the doctor's diagnosis was wrong all these years and you've just been faking for the last 18 years.". It's a little devil on my shoulder telling me that I'm not worthy to be a crip.
My little ableist friend makes me feel inadequate, shamed, and embarrassed almost everywhere we go. I try to keep him gagged, but every once in awhile, he spits out the gag and starts struggling against his bonds, demanding to be free. He reared his ugly head just a few days ago, when I failed a math project that involved measuring, drawing, folding, and visualizing 3D images - all things that I have trouble doing because of my CP. When I approached the professor about it, she mentioned that I should've come to her before about it. I stood there wishing I could sink into the floor while my little ableist friend laughed maniacally on my shoulder. How could I explain to her that I didn't want to come off as making excuses on the basis of my disability? How could I explain that I had already talked to her about another project (this one involving using a drawing compass), and didn't want to be demeaned for "seeking special treatment" in the class? How could I possibly explain that my little ableist friend had convinced me that I could do it, that it really wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be?
It sounded absurd, even in my head. But that's what my little ableist friend does - he takes the absurd, fuses it with some self-doubt and shame, and twists it around so it almost kind of sort of makes sense. And if I listen to him too long, I start to believe him. He takes all my insecurities about being "mildly" disabled that have been hard-wired in me since I was little and exploits them. He makes me feel like a fraud.
It's because of my little ableist friend that I grew up alone, never knowing other people like me, never having any disabled role models, never knowing that there was a whole other world out there. My parents were duped into thinking that I was "too mild" for activities designed for disabled kids. Even when I started attending a camp for kids with physical disabilities when I was 13, I was one of the only ones with my level of mobility and independence, and I could hear my little ableist friend in the back of my head, telling me I didn't belong. I eventually silenced him enough to discover I really did belong, and the six summers I spent at camp were absolutely amazing to a level I can't describe. But every once in awhile, even at camp, my little ableist friend would return. People make assumptions based on the fact that I don't "look" that disabled, and that's my little ableist friend's ideal breeding ground. Every time someone makes an assumption about how far I can walk, how much I can stand, what (if any) mobility aids I should be using, he pops up to accuse me of being lazy and taking advantage of my disability to get special treatment.
My little ableist friend is a chorus of all the voices that have shamed me over the years for being who I am. He is a reflection of a society that worships physical strength and beauty, a society that puts labels like "brave" and "inspirational" on anyone who pushes themselves through pain and/or fatigue to walk that extra step, run that extra mile, climb that extra mountain. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't want to spend my whole life in pain, trying not to complain, knowing people will see me as weak. It's a constant battle against my little ableist friend, a battle I fight every hour of every day. It's bad enough when I have to face other people's judgments and opinions, but when I start to internalize them....that's the scary part.
I am an ableist. That is not easy for me to admit. So here I am, exposing my little ableist friend to the public, hoping that in the harsh glare of the Internet, he will wither and die. It's a far-fetched hope, I know, but hey, I can dream. Maybe you know exactly what I'm talking about. Maybe you have a little ableist friend of your own. If you do, my heart goes out to you. Please know that you are not alone in this internal fight, you are not the only one fighting it. Perhaps if we band together, we can defeat our little ablelist friends together.
Monday, April 18, 2011
BADD to the Bone!!!!!!!!
It's that time of year again, folks! Springtime, flowers, finals......and of course, BADD!!!
What is BADD? BADD stands for Blogging Against Disablism Day. Every May 1st, the awesome Goldfish hosts BADD, a collection of posts all relating to disablism/ableism in one form or another. For those of you who don't know, disablism, also called ableism, is basically discrimination on the basis of disability/ability/whatever the hell you want to call it. It's similar to racism/sexism/etc. This will be......I think my fourth year participating? Yes, four years of being BADD to the bone! Below are the links to my last three BADD posts:
2010 - Harry Potter and the Disability Invisibility Cloak
2009 - Special People, Normal World
2008 - Blogging Against Disablism Day - A Day Late!
Anyway, I'll be tweeting on Twitter (is that redundant?) all about BADD with the hashtag #badd2011 (all credit for anything BADD related goes to the Goldfish!) Follow me and share with me YOUR BADD posts! I can't wait! Hope to see you all there on May 1st!
What is BADD? BADD stands for Blogging Against Disablism Day. Every May 1st, the awesome Goldfish hosts BADD, a collection of posts all relating to disablism/ableism in one form or another. For those of you who don't know, disablism, also called ableism, is basically discrimination on the basis of disability/ability/whatever the hell you want to call it. It's similar to racism/sexism/etc. This will be......I think my fourth year participating? Yes, four years of being BADD to the bone! Below are the links to my last three BADD posts:
2010 - Harry Potter and the Disability Invisibility Cloak
2009 - Special People, Normal World
2008 - Blogging Against Disablism Day - A Day Late!
Anyway, I'll be tweeting on Twitter (is that redundant?) all about BADD with the hashtag #badd2011 (all credit for anything BADD related goes to the Goldfish!) Follow me and share with me YOUR BADD posts! I can't wait! Hope to see you all there on May 1st!
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