CN: Discussion of Statistics in relations to disability, other social issues, sexual assault, and abuse.
There are times when I am talking to someone about my life- about the fact that I’m scared of new proposed laws making it harder for me to survive in Ontario, or about how I’m one particularly unlucky day away from being homeless – when I get the feeling like the person I’m talking to thinks I’m exaggerating. They get this look on their faces that makes it clear they’re just humoring me by not pointing out how ridiculous I’m being. Meanwhile, I’m already minimizing how severe my situation is out of fear of being accused of exaggerating. Worse still, my circumstances are relatively minor compared to that of many of my friends and readers.
When they don’t automatically dismiss what I’m saying as being hyperbole, the people I speak with assume that my case is rare – an exception. A circumstance not worthy of planning against because it’s unlikely to happen again. And yet? Every day I meet someone new in the same type of situation I find myself in. It’s become so textbook, some people look at me as though I’m performing magic when I manage to guess the ridiculous circumstances they find themselves in or repeat almost verbatim what they’ve heard from doctors, therapists, or other people.
It’s a matter of framing, of perspective.
To someone in the mainstream, what is happening to me must be the result of either something I did wrong, or something extremely rare, or impossible. It seems like the probability of all the things going wrong that go wrong happening seem impossible.
What are the chances that every relationship you’ve been in is abusive?
What are the chances that so many of your doctors end up incompetent? That so many doctors end up holding biased opinions?
What are the chances that everyone around you is so terrible? Doesn’t it seem more likely that you are the problem? Statistically speaking that is?
A quick (for me) drawing dedicated to Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans, on the island and the Diaspora.
Continue reading “Resiste, Boricua”
By Kella Hanna-Wayne
CN: ableism, chronic pain
With every new person I meet, I have to gauge just how much to tell them about my disability. I try to be as open as possible about my health issues because I want to reinforce the idea that people who look like me- young, relatively fit, no noticeable limitations- can also be disabled. But being open about my disability means opening myself to potential scrutiny of my body, my diet, my medications, my exercise routine. Any decision I make about my physical health becomes fair game for intrusive questions. Until I get to know a person better, I have to assume they will default to treating me as if my health history is in the public domain.
Continue reading “GUEST POST: Why It’s Hard to Reveal My Disability to Strangers”
As I mentioned at the start of this adventure, the faction consists of 7 weeks of round robin competitions followed by a championship competition.
Over the course of the 7 weeks, 15 people competed against each other in round robin competitions. During that time our scores, our win totals, as well as our tie games, were all recorded and tracked till finally on the night of the Championship, our standings were revealed in our match ups for the championship game.
To begin with, it’s worth noting that all skill levels compete together. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve been throwing knives your whole life or if you’ve been throwing knives only for the last 7 weeks, we were all competing together. There is a certain logic to this since getting to play against more experienced people helps us hone our skills, and ultimately all you can do is practice. Continue reading “Faction Night: Season 2 Championships, and the week after”
Echar pa’lante is a saying which means ” keep moving forward”.
Just six months have passed since Maria devastated the Caribbean. I wrote about my hometown in Puerto Rico and about my grandma. I wrote in the hopes of educating people who may not be as familiar with Puerto Rico other than knowing about the capital, San Juan. I wrote it in the hopes of getting help for my grandma.
Six months later and the island is still recovering; still struggling.
Continue reading “Echar Pa’lante: 6 Months Later”