My Shield: A Look of Fierce Determination

“You just passed me on the street. I would have stopped you but you were on a mission!” I chuckled to myself reading my text message. I had just commuted from my clinical externship in San Francisco to a meeting Berkeley’s campus. I was pressed for time, and in typical fashion, was walking quickly with cane in hand and AirPods in ears.

When my friend and I met up later that day, she shared her impression that I looked fierce. I responded by saying “that’s what I was going for. I’ve had several unfortunate encounters lately that have prompted me to put my guard up, especially when traveling with my cane.”

I regaled her in tales from the most recent couple weeks.

I was walking in San Francisco talking on the phone and waiting at a stoplight. Three large men wearing construction uniforms stood in front of me, facing me, with their arms blocking off the street. Two of them simultaneously shouted some version of “miss, lady, wait, you can’t cross, it’s a red light. We'll help you.”  I calmly explained that I was fine and could cross the street on my own. They proceeded to make snarky remarks to each other about how I was “pissy” and they were “just trying to keep me safe.” When I was well out of earshot, I ranted to my friend on the phone. It does not make me feel safe to have three men stand around me shouting orders with arms outstretched blocking my ability to move.

I was walking from my train stop to my office. After passing two men smoking a blunt, one of the two turned to me. He complimented my shades. I thanked him. He turned to walk with me, and proceeded to remark on my appearance, “you’re really beautiful, you know that? You can’t know that. So you gotta believe me. Fucking beautiful.” Again, I thanked him. He became agitated, turning to me with arms outstretched, raising his voice to shout close to my face, “I said you’re fucking beautiful.” As his cursing and anger increased, I walked faster. There were people all around us, no one seemed to notice the scene. I was desperately trying to walk away. He followed me for nearly5 blocks. At the end of the chase, before I walked into my office building, he grabbed my arm and scolded me for not appreciating his affection. I did not appreciate his so-called affection, but I verbally thanked him for the unwanted treatment. Despite arriving to safety at my desk, I was rattled, thinking about how helpless I felt amidst a street of busy people, desperately trying to escape.  

I could carry on with story after story of disrespect, presumption, and harassment. The intersection of sexism and ableism often encourages unwanted attention. To protect myself, I walk quickly with sunglasses on, headphones in, cane outstretched, and a look of fierce determination. As much as I hate looking so unapproachable, I want to send the message that you, random passerby, should not pick on me, try to help me, or tell me how to live my life.  

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.