I feel the confines of ableism whenever I take the three steps from the driver’s seat to the gas pump and forget to breathe in my concentration to make those three steps look as normal and steady as possible, even though it’s much easier for me to drag my feet and swing my hips across the same distance. Ableism recommends I put myself through pain and expend extra energy to make sure those strangers walking out of 7-Eleven with a Slurpee don’t stare at me, pity me, mock me for the way I move my body.
