Jun 112018
 

So many yays and thank-yous to Kirsten Schultz for working so hard on this and reporting their progress every step of the way. Kirsten isn’t the only person to speak up about this, but they were one of the most vocal. Kirsten’s involvement is also notable because they’re not a guide dog (or any service dog) user, and, as far as I know, they aren’t visually impaired. Yay for cross-disability solidarity!

Here’s what Stonewall has apparently promised:

They’ve apologized and will be offering an ADA training for bars and clubs in the area. They are going to have the disability rights lawyer they’re working with go over a variety of accessibility issues with them.

They’re also going to make donations via their charity to a disability org.

Wonder if they’ll follow through.

Here’s Kirsten’s whole post about the apology.

Feb 202018
 

Sexual healthcare is vital for anyone and everyone who’s sexually active, but, between inadequate research, inaccesible buildings and equipment, inexperienced and insensitive healthcare providers, and a whole bunch of other factors, most people with disabilities aren’t getting their sexual healthcare needs met. Before I read this article from the Disability Visibility Project, I knew that logically. It’s my job to know it.

Still, after reading, I’m left without words at the level of trauma and incompetence the writer’s doctors subjected her to. She wound up having major surgery that she might not have needed had she had the same level of access to preventive gynecological care that most nondisabled folks do. I’ll let you read the rest of her story yourself. I salute this woman’s bravery! She’s been through way too much!

And, she’s not the only one. Folks of all genders face these kinds of barriers to healthcare everyday. Biases against LGBQ or transgender folks, or racist attitudes or behaviours, or stigmas against folks who are homeless or unemployed – it all happens within the healthcare system (as well as everywhere else), and can mean the difference between getting quality or lackluster care, or even getting care at all.

Every day, people with disabilities aren’t getting the healthcare they need because the healthcare system isn’t set up to serve everyone’s physical needs, and providers aren’t being trained to recognize their own unconscious biases against disability so they can treat disabled patients with proficiency, and respect.

Ad our culture’s shame around anything sex-related, and prevailing beliefs that disabled people aren’t (or shouldn’t be) sexual, into the mix, and we have a sexual and reproductive healthcare system that is basically broken for people with disabilities.

We need to change this, to ensure that researchers and clinicians know about currently available resources, to inspire researchers to investigate best gynecological practices for all bodies, to make sure healthcare providers have training and experience before they leave school, again with all minds and bodies.

May 202016
 

In thirty-five states (and the District of Columbia), children can’t trust that their healthy, happy family will be able to stay together if one or both of their parents is disabled. That means that in almost three quarters of the U.S. the law allows for children to be removed from their parents based on parental disability alone, no evidence of abuse or neglect necessary.

How is this fair to children, let alone their parents?

There are at least 4.1 million disabled parents in the United States. Most sources for this statistic are clear that it’s likely an underestimation; there are probably many more disabled parents who just aren’t being counted.

But, they do count – and many of their voices spoke at the White House Forum on the Civil Rights of Parents With Disabilities earlier this month.

I wasn’t at this event, but the White House’s live streaming technology is fantastic so I got to follow along. Here’s some of what I learned:

  • Most people are not aware that disabled parents’ civil rights are violated frequently.
  • A parent with a disability is simply that – a parent. every person enters parenthood equally unsure of what the future will bring or how to fully care for their children.
  • Disabled people are used to figuring out how they can make something happen – while the rest of the world is telling us we can’t do that thing. (Moral of the story? Disabled people are going to keep creating families.)
  • The ADA (Americans With Disabilities Act) does a lot to protect parents with disabilities, since it requires systems like social services and family court to provide accomodations for equl access. It’s these systems, governed by individual states, that are violating the civil rights of parents with disabilities by not upholding the federal laws.
  • People with disabilities sometimes stay in bad or dangerous relationships because they know they could lose custody of their children if they leave or divorce their partner. Disability can be used as a weapon in a custody hearing; in states where a parent’s disability can be used as the only reason for removing their children, a nondisabled parent can simply point out the disability of the other parent and win custody of the children. Ignorance about disability means that child welfare workers and family court personnel don’t make a routine out of investigating whether the disabled parent is abusing or neglecting the children in any way before deciding they shouldn’t get custody.
  • Disabled parents often learn the most from each other. Frequently disabled people will turn to professionals – therapists, doctors, social workers – when looking for information on starting a family; these professionals usually don’t have the knowledge to help or advise them.
  • Disabled parents and caregivers need: More education for healthcare, social service, and legal professionals to prevent cases like this one, and more respect and acceptance from the general public to get people to think twice about staring at a blind mother walking her child to school and taking pictures of mother and child without permission.

For more comments about the forum, see the #PWDParents hashtag on Twitter.

There’s only been one panel archived so far. I’m really, really hoping the other panels were recorded and that they’ll be posted some time soon. There was a lot of important material that people need access to, a lot of voices getting a public platform for the first time.

Many people shared stories about ignorance and discrimination towards disabled parents. The fact that disabled parents were at the White House talking about their livs, and insisting on better treatment is exciting and amazing. It’s inspiring – as in inspiring to watch change being created, to hear voices of disabled people being given authority.

But, (and there’s usually a but, isn’t there?) I kept wondering about the voices we weren’t hearing.

Where were the voices of teen parents with disabilities, who will usually face double discrimination, assumed to be incompetent as parents based on their disability and their age?

Where were the voices of disabled parents living in poverty, who couldn’t have afforded to get to the forum, even if they’d wanted to? The unemployment rate for disabled people in the United States is twice that for nondisabled folks.

Where were the voices of disabled parents of colour, including First Nations folks?

According to Rocking the Cradle: “13.9 percent of American Indian/Alaska Native parents and 8.8 percent of African American parents have a disability.” Six percent of white parents are disabled.

The disabled parenting awareness and advocacy movement doesn’t reflect these statistics at all. The movement, as a whole, is very, very white.

As a white woman, and as a non-parent (that’s a word, yes?), I don’t have the authority to say if, or how, the needs and experiences of disabled parents of colour differ from those of disabled white parents. I know, from a personal conversation, that at least one black disabled mom thinks that important issues and stories from people of colour are being left out of these conversations. I also know that parenting and family, in general, can be complicated for many First Nations folks, because of the all-too-recent history of residential schooling. I know that “racism in the form of slavery and Jim Crow forms fully 83 percent” United States history and that this racism has huge and harsh effects on black children an their families. I know that being a member of more than one minority often makes people more vulnerable, which is why we need to actively make sure that people are given the opportunities to represent themselves, and why we need to remember that the stories we hear aren’t usually the only stories that need to be told.

What do we need to do to bring more voices, more perspectives, more experiences to the disability and parenting table? What do we need to do to give those folks’ experiences and voices equal weight once at that table?

The other missing voices at the White House forum were those of disabled parents’ children.

After all, this conversation is as much about children’s rights as it is about the right of disabled people to start and keep their families. As one panelist (and I wish I knew who it was, because she deserves to be publicly credited) said:

Children deserve to know that their families aren’t going to be ripped apart.

Further Reading

children of Disable parents Speak

Feb 052016
 

Of the five sex toy stores I’ve personally visited over the past 15 years, only one had a flat entrance.

Of those five, only three had employees who didn’t respond to me as a visibly disabled person with obvious anxiety, and, in one case, hostility.

Sex toys – It’s one of the first things people think about when they think sex and disability – if, of course, they’ve managed to get past the “OMG disabled people? Sex? I think I have the vapours!”

For people who follow online media, anyway, the idea of people with disabbilities being sexual creatures is getting more familiar, and sex toys tend to feature in those narratives.

For example:

There’s a great reason for this. Toys can make sex play more physically pleasurable for people who have spinal cord injuries or other reasons for genital nerve damage. Or, they can help a person who has chronic pain, or limited mobility (or both) reach their butt. Or, they can help partners do the sexual thinggs they desire but that their bodies won’t allow. Or…the list has no end.

How do folks with disabilities get their hands on sex toys in the first place? Generally, the way anyone else does: stores, online, or cobbling something together from the kitchen drawer or bathroom cabinet. ON the surface, it’s easy-peasy. Another But, a lot of stores still aren’t physically accessible to folks with mobility impairments, with steps at the entrance or inside, no automatic doors, narrow aisles, and more. Some stores don’t keep sample versions of each product on the shelf for people to handle. At the stores where they do have all sample products out for customers, you can literally glance at, or hold, or sniff dozens of dildos (or anything else you’re looking at) to get an up-close-and-personal sense for which one is most likely to work for you.

As with anything, you’ll really need to try the thing before you know for sure if you’ll like it, and you’re not allowed to do that until you pay up!

Having this large display of products right there can improve everyone’s shopping experience, but it’s virtually vital for folks who can’t see to get a sense of the depth and breadth (no puns intended here) of what’s out there. It’s also pretty crucial for folks who need to be able to tell if their hands, let alone any other body parts, can use the toys.

Shopping at sex toy stores is unlike most other shopping experiences.

It’s fun. It’s sexy. It can be scary as hell or as normal as going to the drugstore to buy toothpaste. A trip to a sex toy store, for some, is the ultimate “OMG that changed my life” experience,; for others it can be a “Bletch! never again!” story their best friends tease them about forever.

But shopping for anything can be a big deal for people with disabilities – whether it’s being able to get to the store (or use the store’s Web site without cursing technology and punching the computer), or physically accessing all aisles and shelves, or receiving customer service that’s respectful and helpful, receiving customer service at all (I.E. not being passed over in favour of the person in line behind you), or even being able, with a significantly lower likelihood of being employed and having disposable income, to afford what’s being offered.

The rest of this post will look at how beliefs about and attitudes towards disability can make or break a shopping experience, and why that’s even more of a big deal when we’re talking sex toy shopping.

My own first sex toy shopping experience went something like this:

Me: “I’m looking for a G-spot vibrator.”

Shop Owner: Opens clear plastic box and places toy in my hands. “here’s one. It’s only $34.99. Here’s the button to turn it on. How are you going to be able to put the batteries in?”

Me: Touching the slender hard-plastic cyllinder with a curved end that looked better for fishing (minus the sharp edges) than for rubbing delicate tissue: “Does this actually feel good?” (What I wanted to say: It feels too hard.)

Store-Owner: “Here, let me show you how to put the batteries in. You unscrew this part–”

Me: “I’m not sure it’ll feel…?” (Silently: “Yes, I think I can figure out how to put the batteries in. Not really worried about that right now.”)

Store-owner: “Oh. You just have to experiment and find what feels good for your body.”

Me:”Umm, sure. I’ll guess I’ll try it… That’s all you have for G-spotting?”

store-Owner: “This one will be the easiest for you to put the batteries in.”

Me: “Okay, I guess I’ll try it.”

A minute later I’d payed my money and left, plastic bag full of toy in hand.

Was this just one of those store-owners who wasn’t interested in spending time with customers?

No. When we weren’t talking about batteries, she mentioned that she’d just spent an hour helping a guy pick out a toy for his wife. I’m guessing the guy didn’t have a physical disability. He sure didn’t use a wheelchair; that was one of the stores with steps.

My experience hardly counts as discrimination, but there’s a reason it’s stuck with me.

I walked into that store expecting to be treated like a customer, shown options, given space and time and information to make my decision. I wouldn’t particularly have minded being shown how the battery compartment worked, but in a more “oh, by the way” manner as part of giving me information about the toy. The store-owner expected that I was a blind person. Whatever a blind person meant to her, it wasn’t someone who comes to buy toys.

My needs as a sex toy customer weren’t any different from any other customer’s needs. The store-owner needed me to not be different from any of the other people she expected to walk into her store and buy stuff so she could pay her bills.

My needs were to have a sex toy shop employee or owner stay calm and professional at a time when, no matter how enlightened I was about sex toys, I needed their help and was feeling nervous, anxious, and like I wasn’t quite supposed to be doing what I was doing or spending my money on “frivolous” things. The store-owner’s needs were – well – to deal with this anxiety-producing situation of being faced with a blind customer as quickly as possible.

I’ve learned from friends and acquaintances who’ve run or worked in sex toy stores that how to support customers is a big part of their work. They want customers to feel welcome, but not crowded, supported, but not intruded on, cared for, but not too much.

They know that people who come into their store could be having any number of sexual insecurities, relationship problems, body image issues, and more. They know that sometimes their potential customers come in looking for answers without even knowing what the questions are.

Your standard retail experience, where you usually expect that a salesperson will greet you, cheerily ask if you need help, and check in with you every 4 minutes, might feel downright terrifying to some folks trying to buy a sex toy, or porn, or a bondage kit, or a bottle of lube. Most of us have been taught to feel such shame around sex in general, and especially our own sexualities, that too much input or friendly chit-chat could feel really invasive or scary. (Note: This doesn’t apply to everyone. For some people, that kind of friendly connection puts them at ease, but they need to be the ones who initiate it.)

but, for a blind person, who may or will need help – depending on how much usable vision they have, E.G. Can they read lube bottles, see the pictures on DvD covers, or see where the rainbow-coloured dildos are kept? – how does a sex toy salesperson maintain as much physical or emotional distance as the customer wants while still giving practical help finding items and reading packaging? Or, what if a person in a wheelchair wants to look at a dildo they can’t reach? Asking a sales associate to reach it and hand it to them isn’t necessarily an invitation to talk.

I think what makes customers with disabilities’ experiences in sex toy shops unique is that many sex toy store customers, regardless of ability, bring their own nervousness, fear, anger, or whatever to their shopping experience. Let’s face it — sex and sexuality carry huge emotions attached to them. Most of us have internalized shame around sex and sexuality in one way or another.

Going into a toy shop, especially in a small town, especially if you look different or distinctive, can carry a whole lot of emotions and fearful thoughts with it.

So, the average toy shop customer could be walking through the store with any one of these emotions, or all of them and more all at once! They’re counting on people working their not to judge them.

Disabled customers, in addition to potentially coming in with this emotional bagage, will also often be carrying around the anxiety of “How will I get treated by these strangers, today?” and for some “Will I even be able to get into the store?” That’s a lot of inner chatter and anxiety to be carrying around all the time.

Based on what we know about general attitudes around and knowledge about disability, it’s pretty reasonable to say that When a visibly disabled customer enters a store, some people working their are going to have big, complicated emotions of their own come up. People have huge fears and uncertainties around disability. Folks will often explain their awkward behaviours around visibly disabled people as “not knowing what to do,” or “not wanting to do the wrong thing.” Disability is, I think, still this really unfamiliar thing, at least when it comes to disabled people being out and about, earning and spending money, making sexual choices, window shopping, and just generally not being off in some special space. I’m still working out ways to help nondisabled folks, or folks with limited experiences around a variety of disabilities, understand some of the basics of giving assistance, without turning it into a list of “do”s and “don’t”s that ends up looking a lot like this guide.

A lot of the negative and nervous responses to disability from nondisabled folks come from a place of “OMG, what if that (being disabled) was me” and also from a place of “This person isn’t anything like me; I can’t relate.” The fear most people have around disability is deep and it’s unlikely that that fear isn’t going to afect the interactions of people who feel it with visibly disabled folks.

So, you’ve got a person looking for sex toys or sexually explicit materials, or condoms, or maybe they don’t even know what they’re looking for, and you’ve got a person feeling undone by the physical reminder of disability in front of them. Remember what I said above about hostility? Yes, that happened. No, it wasn’t fun, but that’s a story for another time.

I think the reason that being greeted with hostility in a sex toy store surprised me so much was that, by and large, people who work in sexuality-related fields have been some of the warmest, most respectful, most creative and disability-aware people I’ve ever met. But these have alsso been the people who recognize that both disability and sexuality are mega-giant issues that can undo people’s sense of security. More happily, these are also the people who realize that sex and sexuality can be fun, creative, and playful, and is something everyone has, and can access, if they want.

Oh, and in case you wanted to know: My instincts were spot-on (pun intended, maybe?) about that toy. It didn’t work for my body.

And, the toy store with no steps? Come As You Are, though, sadly, they had to close their doors in 2016.

Jul 062015
 

I wrote the following post in March 2014, after attending Mara Levy‘s talk, Problem-Solving Sex with Disability at the Catalyst Conference.

Mara Levy is an Occupational Therapist (OT) in Washington DC. Occupational therapists help people who’ve experienced injury or illness to return to activities that are meaningful to them—activities like walking, driving, working, crafting, and the like.
Mara includes sexual expression and sex in her definition of meaningful activities. This may be a “well duh!” idea to many readers here, but there’s this belief out there that people with disabilities have more important things to worry about than being sexual, and that sex just isn’t relevant once someone becomes disabled. (Not true!) it doesn’t help that many medical and rehabilitation providers don’t address sexual issues, concerns, or changes with their clients, and you can have people really not sure where to go with meeting the sex and sexuality needs that don’t go away after illness or injury.

There are a lot of negative, or just plain silly, responses to disabled people and sexuality.

Here’s what Mara says nondisabled people need to do about that:

  • listen
  • rid themselves of paternalistic attitudes (thinking of disabled people as childlike or helpless)
  • Avoid jumping in to help or change something unless they are asked to
  • remember what is and isn’t their business (hint from me: If you wouldn’t ask an apparently nondisabled person on the street about their sex life, don’t ask a disabled person)
  • respect boundaries

And, Mara added, nondisabled people need to do this processing and awareness building on their own time.
A disabled person’s sexuality is no one’s business unless they ask you for help working on sexual issues, or unless they want to have sex with you (and you want to have sex with them).

People also need to question the all-too-common assumption that a visibly nondisabled person seen with a visibly disabled person must be the caregiver or helper. This gets old—really fast—especially if the people in question are actually lovers.

Speaking of partners, Mara made what I thought was a really important point about consent. It’s not just the person with disability who needs to consent, but their partner. For some disabled folks, most physical activities have some level of pain or discomfort attached to them. A partner may not be able to consent to something they know hurts their partner, no matter how much they’re told that it’s okay, and that this sexual activity is wanted. For people with chronic or episodic (occasional, brought on by specific factors like weather, certain activities, etc) pain, this may well be part of the sexual negotiation.

Because people are often sent the message that talking about sex and sexuality isn’t okay—and this is doubly true for people with disabilities—Mara emphasizes that it’s important for medical and rehabilitation providers to give their clients or patients explicit permission to talk about sex and sexuality. Even if that’s not their area of interest or specialty, even if they don’t have all the answers (people who do specialize in sex and sexuality rarely have all the answers), just listening can be powerful, and starting the problem-solving process can lead to patients and clients getting what they need and want from their sexual lives.

There are a lot of barriers to people with disabilities experiencing their sexualities, such as:

  • Physical and psychological pain or discomfort.
  • Societal attitudes about what “real” sex is, about who is sexy and attractive, even about who is allowed to live. (Hint from me: Disabled people are often told, by strangers and friends alike, that a nondisabled person would “just die” if they had such-and-such a disability.)
  • Paternalistic or inspirational attitudes. It’s a strange either-or in which people with disabilities are either seen as childlike—in need of help or guidance—or are seen as amazing, imbued with super powers. Sometimes, disabled people are subjects of inspiration porn, which isn’t at all sexy!

Mara proposes using the same model she uses to work with clients around their activities of daily living—I just had to throw some rehab speak in there—to helping people solve sexual problems or simply to reach their sexual goals.

This model has us looking at the person, at the environment, and at the situation. For each one, we figure out what needs to and can be fixed, what can be compensated for, and even what may traditionally be seen as a problem but which can actually be an asset.

What does the person bring? Not just their disability, but their hopes, their desires, their beliefs about sex (and what they know about sex). The environment may or may not be accessible to this particular person. What’s the situation? What’s the person trying to do? Does the available environment make the situation possible? (If the person wants to have intercourse with someone, but needs (maybe for pain or mobility reasons) to be able to lie down on a firm surface, and the only room that’s available has a fluffy feather bed, the needs of the person, the requirements of the situation, and the reality of the environment, aren’t going to go together.

That’s just a simple example of course. The kinds of questions that will be asked, and the kinds of fixing, compensating, or adapting that will be done will depend on the activity—and when it comes to sex and sexual expression, the activity list is endless. So here’s just a sampling of the kinds of questions one might ask:

Person

  • What are the physical issues (E.G. pain, reduced sensation, mobility impairment)?
  • What are the psychological issues (E.G. anxiety, stress, grief around acquired disability)
  • What values and knowledge does the person have around sex?
  • Does the person have a solid understanding of their medical condition? Is the prognosis and treatment known? Are there limitations on sex recommended by healthcare providers? If medication interferes with sexual functioning in a way that doesn’t work for the person, can that be changed?

Environment

  • Is the place where the person wants to express their sexuality accessible (E.G. dance club, bedroom)?
  • If the person needs a caregiver to help with some tasks before, during, or after the time of sexual expression, is there someone close by who can give nonjudgmental assistance?
  • Cultural environment: What attitudes are held about sex and disability, both separately and together? Are they negative or limiting? Has the person internalized them? Are they having to spend time and energy resisting spoken and unspoken messages they’re getting about their disability, their sexuality, or both?

Activity

  • What’s the activity in question? What movement or amount of physical and emotional energy is required? What props are required?
  • Are there things that would help, such as pillows to support the body or grab bars to help with movement?
  • What are the goals the person has for the activity—orgasm, connecting with their own body, laughing and sharing playful, intimate touch with someone else?

The questions you’ll ask will be very different if you want to go dancing and flirting at a local bar or if you want to find a romantic partner.

It occurs to me that this kind of problem-solving process can be applied to anyone’s life, whether you have a disability or not.

It seems to me particularly useful though in breaking down barriers that say that sexual expression for someone who has disabilities is just too complicated to warrant attention.

Jun 172015
 

This was originally written and published in late August, 2014 after I attended Jessica Naslund’s workshop, Healthy Relationships and Sexuality: A Systemic Approach to Supporting People with Cognitive Disabilities, at The Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit.

Workshop description:

As practitioners and educators we are guiding individuals through their unique sexual journeys. People with cognitive disabilities have a challenging journey ahead of them because of barriers to education that are perpetuated by myths about how these individuals relate in society. It is our job as advocates to understand the barriers and work to push through them so that everyone has access to the same pertinent information and resources. People with cognitive disabilities require more multi-dimensional approaches to capture and retain comprehensive sexuality education material. These approaches may include visual or auditory media, hands on activities, developing a support system for the individual, and a more team approach to teaching with caregivers and support providers.

Words can’t quite describe how awesome this workshop was.

Jessica Naslund is brilliant—enthusiastic, passionate, and best of all she doesn’t just talk the talk, but walks the walk every single day of her working life.

As a social worker, Jessica works with, as she puts it, a population no one wants to talk about—intellectually and developmentally disabled people—around an issue no one wants to talk about—sexuality.

Jessica started by asking workshop participants what words and phrases come to mind when we think about sex and sexuality. We then shared words describing thoughts and feelings around sex and sexuality and people with intellectual disabilities. The two lists didn’t look at all alike. The first one included a variety of feelings and experiences, most of them positive; the second, full of limits and lack of possibilities, was positively dreary!

We should not be ignoring the lives of people with intellectual disabilities, or the reality that sex and sexuality can be, and usually are, just as much a part of these folks’ lives as they are for anyone else.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but…

People with developmental or intellectual disabilities do have sexualities – sexual feelings, experiences, desires, vulnerabilities. people with developmental or intellectual disabilities are also at alarmingly increased risk (relative to the general population) of experiencing many kinds of abuse, including sexual abuse.
This is, to put it mildly, not okay.

Jessica’s work focuses on teaching people with developmental or intellectual disabilities the positive as well as risky parts of sexuality. For example, a person can and should be taught about dating and sexual harassment, or happy feelings and bad feelings when someone touches them and they don’t want that touch. It’s really hard, if not impossible, for people to know something is bad, if they don’t also learn about the good things, and that it’s okay to have those feel-good feelings in their bodies when they touch themselves or when they think about someone they have a crush on.

Dave Hingsburger’s Ring of Safety takes this sexuality-affirming and humanity-affirming approach to preventing abuse. I had a momentary “squee!” moment when Jessica mentioned Dave’s work, as reading his article A Witness to Courage was pivotal in catalyzing my commitment to giving a voice to disabled people and our sexualities.

The Ring of Safety incorporates several components, including individualized sex and relationship education, awareness of privacy, and the ability to non-comply—to say no. People often don’t know how to teach people with intellectual or developmental disabilities about sex and relationships, or don’t think it’s important to do so. But, if someone doesn’t know what their body parts are called, how can they convey whether those parts are feeling good or bad. If someone doesn’t know what privacy is, or what it feels like, they can’t tell if that privacy is being invaded. Things many of us take for granted, such as getting to spend time alone, or being able to use the toilet and shower by ourselves, are luxuries virtually unknown to many. Jessica shared a story of one person who was considered such a threat to himself and others that he was never, ever allowed to be alone. His behavior changed markedly when he was given the chance to be alone in a familiar room for fifteen minutes at a time.

People with developmental or intellectual disabilities are often in very regimented treatment and care systems (with tight schedules and strict rules) where they aren’t given privacy, even to just be alone in a room listening to music or watching TV for a while, and where they aren’t allowed to say “no!” even to simple things. Too often staff in these environments are rushed or overworked, and don’t feel like they have the time for the negotiation process of someone saying “no” to something the staff member thinks needs to be done, such as taking a shower or finishing a snack.

Jessica quoted Hingsburger as saying: “If you can’t say no to peas, you can’t say no to penis.”

When someone indicates they don’t want to eat peas, no matter what their disabilities are, that needs to be respected. We can’t expect someone to be able to protect themselves from being hurt, or tell a trusted person that they were hurt, if their preferences around what they do, and what happens to their bodies, have never been listened to or respected before.

It’s important that intellectually disabled people be given the opportunity to make choices. Even when something needs to happen or the person with an intellectual disability isn’t able to indicate what their choice is, talking to them, asking permission before something is done (for example: “Can I dress you now? Instead of “Okay, time to dress you.”) goes a long way towards restoring someone’s humanity, and, ultimately, helping to keep them safe.

If people with intellectual disabilities don’t know what healthy is, they won’t know what unhealthy is. This includes both speaking up if they’re being abused, and learning how to not be abusive. The incidence of abuse among developmentally and intellectually disabled people isn’t just from caregivers, but from intellectually and developmentally disabled people themselves. Very often, this is rooted in people not understanding boundaries. Even when boundaries – such as good touch/bad touch – are taught, time isn’t usually taken to teach about emotions in a way folks with different intellectual disabilities can understand. For example, educators can teach not only “don’t hit” but “this is what someone looks like when they’re uncomfortable, or scared, or have just been hit and don’t like it at all.”

Many people with intellectual or developmental disabilities need new concepts spelled out really concretely.
This is why it’s important to teach about body parts, about feelings, and about relationships. Many people with developmental disabilities have trouble reading social cues, so when they learn about bodies and relationships, they need their educators to talk very specifically about what people are feeling when they look or act a certain way. They don’t know they’re making people uncomfortable, or that they’re about to get in trouble for assault or harassment. Or, they don’t know how to convey amorous feelings without overwhelming the person they have those feelings for (E.G. Learning how many voice mails it’s acceptable to leave for a girlfriend or crush object). But, using the right learning tools for each individual, folks can learn what cues from other people mean – how to use the skills they have to judge if what they’re doing is okay.

*

The reality that’s shown itself over and over again is that when people know what their body parts are, and understand privacy, they start to disclose abuse. Residential and day programs where this kind of education is done have a higher reporting rate, but that doesn’t mean they have a higher incidence rate. It means people have been given some of their power back, and the tools to communicate what’s happening to them or what’s happened to them in the past.

Jessica advocates using multiple systems approaches- for example, recognizing that there are multiple ways people learn, and hence multiple ways people teach, and also that teaching and supporting people means working with everyone, from healthcare providers, to group home staff, to educators, to families.

She offered this example of what this collaboration reveals: People who are not verbal, or who have a limited vocabulary, often express their feelings through their body language and behavior. How frequently or intensely someone stims can indicate how that person is feeling. People who see them every day, support staff and family, are the best people to ask about which behaviours or expressions mean excitement, nervousness, happiness, stress, etc. I particularly like this approach because it validates family members, not the professionals who come in for “sessions” to work with them, as experts. Family members often end up doing the majority of caregiving, and the work of this caregiving, plus the constant interaction with professionals who are often telling them what to do or not do after spending relatively little time with them, can take their power and sense of confidence (both personal, and in the care they’re providing) away.

Another part of this approach is finding a teaching method that works for each individual. Including using pictures to tell a story or diagram the steps for something, like a visit to the doctor or what it takes to ask someone out and go on a date.

Jessica gave this example. People with Down Syndrome aren’t any more affectionate than the general population—which is to say that some might be very affectionate, based on their personality, but it’s not a feature of the syndrome. They’re encouraged—taught—to express affection to everyone, probably because people are drawn to their open manner and frequently happy disposition. Hugging everyone isn’t culturally appropriate behaviour, though, and not teaching people boundaries deprives them of knowing when their boundaries have been violated or when they’re crossing someone else’s boundaries. There’s a need to teach all people which forms of interaction are okay In which situations. Jessica says she will often use pictures to diagram different interaction circles—e.g. the mail carrier is in the wave circle (we just wave if we see her), doctor is in the handshake circle, aunt is in the hug circle, etc.

As I write this, I think about how important it is to maintain consistency. A doctor who has known a developmentally disabled patient for a long time, may feel very fond of this patient, and may interact with them in ways they don’t interact with other patients. I think it’s important for them, in this case, to express fondness in other ways, such as through voice, body language, level of interest in their lives, and so on, to reinforce the message that while it’s a friendly relationship, it’s still a doctor-patient relationship.

Relatedly, we need to remember to treat people according to their chronological age, not their presumed mental age. If someone is thirty-three, they should not be treated as if they’re ten. This includes how we talk to them, what activities they’re encouraged to get involved in, and what information (about anything, but especially about sex and relationships) we think they’re supposed to have. I’ve often thought that judging what someone understands, or even how they perceive the world, on their verbal skills is misguided. Jessica agrees, saying that we really can never know exactly how people perceive or understand things because we’re not in their heads.

This presentation taught me a lot of useful information I hadn’t known —as well as gave me new language for things I already knew—but it also made me reevaluate the way I understand people with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Jessica presented several scenarios for us to talk through, both to puzzle out what might be happening and to brainstorm solutions. In working through the following scenario, I discovered a flaw in my thinking:

A young woman attending a day program spends a lot of time in the bathroom, to the point where she’d rather be in the bathroom than participating in the activities. Her support staff have also noticed redness around her vulva, and that she’s been rubbing her vulva a lot.

We might presume that the redness, and the self-isolating behavior, indicates that she’s being sexually abused. Or, she could be masturbating to the point of irritation. Redness could mean that she needs lube, or that she’s not reaching orgasm and is rubbing herself more vigorously to try to get to the ultimate feel-good part—which could be why she’s wanting to hide away in the bathroom. Or, redness could mean an infection, yeast or bacterial, and she’s staying in the bathroom because she doesn’t feel good. Or… It could be for any number of emotional or physical reasons.

So, my first step towards a solution was to have this young woman visit a doctor. But no, there should be a step before that, a step that could help us narrow down the possibilities – a step that will center the young woman, not our beliefs about her. As with any situation, the young woman is the expert on what is going on with her own body; the only thing that differs is the way we access her own expertise.

That was the flaw in my thinking, not questioning whether and how we could get information from the young woman herself.

The operative question here, and one that only she can answer, is “how does your vagina feel? Happy, sad, itchy, mad, etc.” depending on her cognitive needs, the discussion might involve looking at or drawing pictures, or speaking words, or pointing at words, or illustrating with dolls, or any other communication system that works for that individual. Sure, a doctor’s visit is probably in order too, but how much better it would be if that appointment was arranged with the input of the woman herself.

Sometimes, the hardest part to reinforce is that people with developmental disabilities do have sexualities, and those sexualities should be respected.

Even when everything else is in place, the sex ed, the education about privacy, the understanding of a person’s communication style, the permission to noncomply and leave those pesky peas on their plate – people still don’t have the opportunity to express healthy sexuality.

Many group homes still frown on, and even forbid, their residents dating, pursuing relationships, and engaging in sexual activity with others. Sometimes, the response when a resident is found masturbating is anger, rather than withdrawing and giving privacy, or politely and firmly explaining that you need to do that in your room, not in the TV room.”

If we want to recognize people with developmental and intellectual disabilities as human beings, we need to recognize all the things that make them human.