‘You need to do more squats,’ said my friend. ‘When your muscles are stronger, your knees won’t hurt as much.’
I stared at her. ‘Yeah, no,’ I snorted. ‘I can’t actually do squats at all.’
‘Well,’ she said, the cogs in her brain clearly struggling with the concept of someone being unable to do squats, ‘I guess you’ve got a problem.’
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
It’s hard for people to understand that I can’t do simple squats. They can’t comprehend the notion of arthritis in the knees being so painful that asking me to do a squat is like asking me to lift a building with one hand. They look at me like there’s something wrong with me.
Newsflash: there is. It’s called chronic illness.
When others tell me to do something I physically cannot do, and they assume that I can do it and that it will be beneficial to me, that’s ableism. Telling a person with arthritic knees to do squats is a textbook example. But I’ve come across a host of others in my time:
‘Why don’t you try some exercise?’ (Um…exercise makes me worse.)
‘Maybe you should pray for healing.’ (I already have, quite a few times. Yet here we are.)
‘Have you tried yoga?’ (No, I’m busy just trying to survive my part-time job.)
‘You need to do strengthening exercises.’ (I think you have me confused with some kind of able-bodied person who’s not in a whole lotta pain.)
‘You should see a physio.’ (Sure, I’ll just schedule him in around my fifty other medical appointments.)
‘Give this medication a go, it did wonders for me!’ (That medication is contraindicated by my current seven medications.)
‘Why don’t you work full-time/work late?’ (Ever heard of chronic fatigue?)
‘Why don’t you get out more?’ (Because the heat triggers massive flares for me.)
‘You need more faith [spiritual and health ableism combo].’ (It’s possible for faith and illness to coexist, you know.)
‘But you were fine yesterday!’ (Yes, I have a fluctuating chronic illness.)
‘But you look fine!’ (Did you know some illnesses are invisible?)
I’m sure you can think of more ableist statements too.
When others, being well, take that wellness for granted and assume everyone else is also well, that’s health privilege. When an able-bodied person projects their health privilege onto others, that’s ableism. It’s harmful because it applies pressure to those with disabilities to do more than they physically can, and sometimes threatens to punish them for it.
When an able-bodied person projects their health privilege onto others, that’s ableism.
An ableist manager could threaten my job security if I don’t pull up the slack. An ableist friend could walk away from our friendship if I can’t do the same activities I used to. An ableist church could sneer at me for attending online when I can’t attend in person. An ableist government could take money away from me and others with disabilities—often the members of our society who need it most. An ableist doctor could refuse to diagnose me, or to prescribe medication that could save my life.
Ableism can harm and even destroy lives. But there’s good news. Now that we know about it, we can upend it. We can talk about it with our friends, in our churches, on social media. We can raise the profile of these issues, calling on those in power to make changes. We can pray for our society, our governments and our nations, that God will grant them wisdom and compassion in caring for those with health disadvantage. I am protesting in my own way by writing about it. Words are powerful, and they can make a difference. I may not be able to raise a squat, but I can raise my voice.
Chronic illness affects a large proportion of the population, and we deserve to be heard. Let’s raise our voices together, pointing out ableism when we see it and calling for change. I hope you will join me. Your voice matters, and you deserve a chance to raise it.
Have you encountered ableism before? How would you like to upend ableism—or how have you already begun? How might you encourage others to do the same? Share your story. Let’s have a countercultural conversation.