As a matter of fact, I am.

I thought I understood disability. I really did. I gave folks the benefit of the doubt when they “looked fine” but had a handicap tag or said they felt badly. After all, I’m quite capable of looking fabulous on a bad day with fibromyalgia & anxiety. My husband got through his first round of cancer with nary a visible side effect (some extra grey, some thinned eyebrows) but I know what he was really going through.

Recently we went to a community aid event. You know the type, good Christian folk handing out food & shoes & first aid kits. From the word go I was horrified by the assumptions of people (mostly those putting on the event) about people’s needs & disabilities. We have handicap tags on our vehicle. Instead of the parking guide asking if we needed a handicap space (we do) he said “you aren’t handicapped, are you?” and immediately began ushering us towards regular parking. My husband corrected him & he begrudgingly obliged to give us proper parking arrangements.

There’s been entirely too much of that.

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