Calling In: A Positive First Interaction

I recently heard someone say it’s better to call in than call out. She distinguished between calling in – speaking up when someone does the right thing – as opposed to calling out – speaking up when someone does the wrong thing. As a psychologist-in-training, I am in full support of relying on reinforcement as opposed to punishment to shape behavior. And so, I wish to share an encounter last week that I believe deserves calling in.

Thursday was my first day starting a new clinical practicum position. I was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. And, I was in a hospital. For me, hospitals are among the hardest places to navigate. There are multiple buildings with different wings. The lighting is harsh, the hallways look identical, and most signage is small and lacks Braille. Knowing I would be traveling alone, I planned ahead, budgeted extra time, and used my cane. Despite these precautions, I could regale you with my often-humorous and frequent missteps along the way. Instead, I wish to share a brief yet powerful interaction with one of my future colleagues.

I was awkwardly hovering in a hallway before a meeting. One of the staff psychologists approached me. We hadn’t spoken to each other directly, though we had been in an orientation meetings together. We began chitchatting, and she stated, “I noticed you have a cane, and I wanted to ask if you have any needs I should be sensitive to?” I explained the ways in which I imagine my disability impacting our interactions.

“I have low vision, which means I may not recognize you in the hallways, but please do not see that as my disinterest in socializing. It’d help me if you greet me, telling me who you are.” She thanked me for the explanation and invited me to let her know if other needs arise.

She saw me, observed I may have differences in physical ability, and sought guidance about what I needed. She exercised tact, waiting to ask me in a private interaction. She did not act as though I am able-bodied; she did not presume my ability or my needs. Instead, she asked open-mindedly and non-judgmentally. She did not express pity or place me on a pedestal. She did not denounce me or question my qualifications.  While I cannot know what she was thinking or feeling, I can only imagine that this was uncomfortable for her. She may have questioned whether she was “doing the right thing” - using the right language, striking the right tone, asking for the right level of detail. And still she asked, which communicated strength, humility, and acceptance.

I hate reality TV, but I have to share this.

First, here's a stripped version without all of the sentimental backstory.

Here's a version with backstory, for the benign masochists out there who adore reality TV. 

Ok, you may have gathered that I find the majority of reality TV painfully annoying: it’s redundant, distasteful, objectifying, essentializing, exploitative, and frankly not my style of entertainment. But to me, this woman is fierce for voicing vulnerability. She shares earnestly about experiences of challenge and triumph, failure and success.  She discovered a way to do things differently. Her incredible performance, and even the additional storytelling (which usually tortures me), makes me hope that this is reality after all.

PS: I have an embarrassing number of half-written posts that have been sidelined by travel and a desire to catch-up on work. Stay tuned, more soon.

A Reminder that Anger is Justified

The exciting buzz in my home academic department is that we’ve moved to a shiny new building. We’ve ditched the dungeon for a swanky open-space layout equipped with standing desks and abundant natural light. Walking with a couple of my friends, the topic of the building’s accessibility came up. We took turns pointing out design elements that limit access.

“None of these signs have Braille.”

One of my able-bodied friends commented, “I worry every time I walk down these stairs because there aren’t any depth cues. And they’re so slippery.”

“There aren’t automatic doors to many spaces. How could someone with a mobility impairment get around?”

“With an open layout, sound carries. Ambient noise will make it impossible for those with hearing loss.”

“Everything looks the same! It’s so easy to get lost!”

As we wandered through the stunning spaces, we found ourselves nitpicking the many ways the building has its shortcomings. My immediate affective reaction was a tinge of gratitude and pride at how woke my friends have become to access needs.

But my friends felt very differently. “This is infuriating! How do they design a fancy new building and not consider accessibility?” They were outraged, declaring this unacceptable.

I found myself defending the well-intentioned faculty behind the building plans. “I understand it’s hard to accommodate every form of disability. There are a lot of considerations to take into account.”

My friend retaliated, “okay sure, but mobility, vision, and hearing. Those big three deserve attention.”

Another friend added, “and now is the time, rather than retrospectively updating the building!”

They are completely right. Their sense of injustice and fury highlighted how easily those of us with differences in ability become complacent. Our complacency stems from a lifetime of being unable to access the same spaces, material, and opportunities. Despite my outspoken nature, I too have succumbed to learned helplessness as a result of living in an able-bodied world as a person with a disability.

I found myself reflecting on a building planning meeting months ago. The facilitator asked about additional concerns that may not be on the forefront of people’s minds. I instantly thought about inclusion and accessibility. But, I said nothing. I didn’t want to sound needy or dissatisfied. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I didn’t want to be the voice representing all people with disabilities. At the time, I silenced my voice as to not inconvenience the majority. Looking back, I regret my silence. Now, for the umpteenth time, future generations of students will be plagued with the challenge of navigating yet another space with limited accessibility.

Scrutinizing the new building, discovering missed opportunities for greater access, and hearing my dear friends’ reaction reminded me to reinvigorate and mobilize my anger in an effort to promote social justice.  All new buildings, especially on a college campus, should be fully accessible to those with differences in physical ability. My resulting embarrassingly cheesy mantra: when access is denied, anger is justified.