I am not a wheelchair

This First Person article is the experience of Lisa Freeman, a person who splits her time between Ottawa and Montreal and uses a wheelchair. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

While it might seem obvious because, of course, I'm not an inanimate object or an artificial intelligence writing this column, people refer to me as a thing – "a wheelchair" – in myriad everyday situations from riding the bus to returning library books.

Perhaps if you use a mobility device, you might be nodding knowingly having heard this phrase directed your way. 

Or perhaps you're remembering a time when you wanted to help out and let a bus driver know "a wheelchair" needed to get off, and now you're feeling a bit uncomfortable.

It makes me uncomfortable — and sometimes frustrated, sometimes angry — when people refer to me as a wheelchair. It feels as if they are not seeing me as a person, but as a thing.

I visit the library frequently, and carry a few books on my lap. I also have a few in the back of the wheelchair when I go to return the books at the book drop.

It takes me a minute to get them out, and I've overheard people direct children to "wait for the wheelchair" to finish before approaching the slot. 

I've had people reach over me so that they can put their books in ahead of me. It's even more frustrating when some people silently try to push me out of their way as if I were merely an obstruction in their path that they could simply shift aside.

Although these people do not say "that wheelchair is in my way," their actions make me feel as though I'm not seen as a human, as a person, or as a fellow library patron, but rather as an object and obstacle. 

I've also felt this way while travelling by train when an attendant checking my ticket informed me that a baggage handler would arrive so I could embark. She could have said a staff member would be coming, but it seemed she saw me as an object and so she referred to me as if I were one. As if I were luggage. I am not baggage! My husband also raised an eyebrow at that; we didn't have any large luggage with us and we didn't need a baggage handler to help us.

As I navigate these situations of ableist microaggressions, I sometimes speak up — when I have the energy, when it feels safe, and when I feel like it might make a difference either to how I feel or to someone else who might learn something.

When a staff member in an airport security line tried to move me from behind without warning, I loudly said, "I can move myself! You just have to ask." His colleague doing the screening apologized, and I left to catch my flight.

It can be hard to balance speaking up for myself and being an advocate with the reality of my day to day, such as the need to get to my destination on time or complete my task. It is tiring to always have to educate people about respecting another's personal space, and remind them that people different from them are people, too.

For me, if I am able, it is worth it to put in this effort. It matters to me that people do not call me a wheelchair, because I think it leads to people treating me as if I am one, as if I am a thing and not a person.