I was asked not too long ago to start documenting some of those casual remarks and informal barbs that I experience as a woman with a disability—things that happen far more often than I care to admit. I’ve always been torn about whether this is a good idea. On one hand, sharing these experiences can be educational and enlightening for others. On the other hand, isn’t there a danger of fixating on the negative? It reminds me of something my brother once said about how I tend to write blog posts only when I’m feeling stressed or frustrated.
Still, with a few days now having passed since the incident that inspired this post, I find myself unable to dismiss it. As much as I’d like to, it feels too representative of the kind of thing that happens to me on a near-weekly basis to ignore. These moments stick with me, not because they’re earth-shattering, but because they’re so indicative of a broader pattern.
The event in question involved a young, able-bodied man in his twenties who decided to grab my attention—or perhaps try to build some kind of rapport—by shouting at me that I needed to slow down or risk getting a ticket. My theory is that he would never have said this to a man, even if that man were also in a wheelchair. The comment carried a tone that felt uniquely targeted, almost as if my presence alone invited unsolicited commentary.
To give you some context, this happened about a week ago during a quick trip to grab a takeaway coffee mid-morning. The local shopping centre beneath my apartment complex has one of those pop-up charity subscription booths, the kind I usually try to avoid by limiting my exposure. Despite this, I’d given in a few days prior and signed up for one of their campaigns. As I passed the booth on my way to the café, I told one of the guys standing there that I’d already signed up. He responded with a friendly “great” as I continued on my way. Nothing unusual so far. But on my way back, coffee in hand, I passed the same booth again, and the other guy working there decided to make his cheeky comment. To paint the full picture: I was steering my wheelchair with one hand while holding my coffee cup in the same hand, moving slowly and carefully., trying not to burn myself by holding the cup. I wasn’t anywhere close to “speeding” or behaving recklessly.
I suspect his comment was meant to be humorous, more of an awkward attempt at light-hearted interaction rather than a deliberate insult. Perhaps it was his way of saying something when he didn’t know what else to say. But honestly, there’s nothing wrong with simply saying “hi” or, better yet, nothing at all if you have nothing meaningful to say. Just smile even. The effort to be funny or clever often misses the mark, especially in situations like this.
There are a few aspects of this interaction that I’ve been mulling over since it happened, and I feel compelled to unpack them here.
The constant need to be prepared to become the subject of social commentary is both exhausting and frustrating. Even in moments where I decide that the best course of action is to remain silent and not engage, it still demands mental preparation and the emotional equivalent of donning protective armor. This readiness isn’t optional—it’s a necessity in navigating the often intrusive nature of public interactions.
There’s an unsettling normalisation of commenting on strangers, a casual acceptance of passing judgment or making remarks without invitation. This goes beyond simple acknowledgments or polite gestures; it often crosses into unsolicited opinions or observations that feel more invasive than kind. It’s not just about a friendly nod in passing; it’s about an assumption of entitlement to comment on someone else’s life or presence.
This issue, however, stretches far beyond the bounds of ableism. It’s deeply intertwined with sexism as well. I frequently find myself on the receiving end of unsolicited comments from young men about my driving or how “cool” my car is. Beneath the surface of these remarks, there’s often a tone that feels condescending or patronising. It’s hard to shake the sense that these comments wouldn’t be directed at a man in a wheelchair—or even at me—if I were accompanied by a male companion. The dynamic shifts entirely based on gender perceptions, adding another layer of complexity to an already challenging situation.