Overlapping Conversations

Every time I discuss mental health with her, the struggle seems to start from chapter one.

Photo by Daniel Lonn on Unsplash

And I don't know how long I can keep this going. In all honesty, I already feel defeated, and I couldn't explain to you, for the world of me how I wake up each day and pick up this fight all over again. 

I'm talking about the ableism that is rampant and deep-rooted in our societies. I guess for centuries, being able-bodied was a necessity for survival, which is where a lot of the internalized ableism comes from. 

But those times are over. We're not running from big cats, we're caging them. We're not climbing trees for safety, we're cutting them down. If we can make those shifts, then we can make wheelchair ramps available, goddamnit. 

But this is about more than wheelchair ramps or adding alt text to your images online (something which I still struggle to do because creating any content is a g*damn process that I mostly just don't have the spoons for.) 

This is about how we are socialized to recoil instinctively from physical and mental health issues. I don't know that anyone is in such perfect health that they have absolutely no issues whatsoever. But still, we persist with the ridiculous mythology of perfect health. 

How do you explain ableism to someone who spent the last 30 years lording the fact that her kids have no learning disabilities over other parents? How do you talk to someone who is thankful she didn't have autistic kids? How do you tell them it's wrong to talk about any health issues or disabilities as though it's a great, grand tragedy?

I guess you start by telling them the truth about their kids. About themselves. Over and over. 

I guess you have to look them in the face and watch them flinch every single time. 

And I guess, sometimes, you have to accept that understanding is just beyond them, because they're kind of dealing with the same issues, without any of the introspection, self-awareness or therapy that you are.