Internalized Ableism As Means For Unhoused Survival
We need to dissect the cultural context of homelessness as it relates to disability. I’ve spent most of my life unhoused, while also being a disabled person who didn’t have a clear understanding that I was disabled, and both of these experiences had huge impacts on my experiences of ableism, especially internalized.
It needs to be understood that it’s not always rooted in internalized ableism for someone to not identify as disabled, especially regarding physical disabilities. Including choosing to hide disability, pain, or weakness. It also includes choosing not to use mobility aids or other assistive devices that could, in theory, be helpful for their day-to-day life. Instead, they grit their teeth through the pain or find alternatives to manage. This is akin to (and may overlap with) autistic masking.
Being on the streets comes with a culture that allows for strength to often guarantee safety. The ability to physically defend yourself, carry your belongings, withstand harsh weather, use survival expertise, etc. are often necessary skills. Showing weakness is vulnerability. Vulnerability allows for situations where you are more likely to be targeted because attackers can recognize your difficulties and take advantage of them. This danger is amplified if you are a part of other marginalized groups.
When I was a young queer and trans person growing up on the streets, my homelessness was inextricably linked to those experiences. If I were to seem like I was disabled, I was putting myself in a more vulnerable position. Once I started using mobility aids on the streets, I experienced significantly more dangerous situations than I had before. I faced more direct physical violence and threats as a result of it. It wasn’t just me fearing that I might face judgment for being visibly disabled, it was that I was facing real-world repercussions, both within the unhoused and housed community. I was targeted by housed people frequently due to the inherent publicity of unhoused experiences.
Unhoused people spend significantly more time in public. As a currently unstably housed person, but housed nonetheless, I have the privilege of privacy for my pain. I can crawl in my apartment freely without anyone literally kicking me while I’m down. I can scream, I can sob, I can dissociate, I can do whatever I need to, with or without aids, and not face violence from the people around me.
I also have access to more supportive aids just by having housing. I now have in-home care attendants, something that was impossible without a home. I have a bed I can rest in at any time. I have a microwave for hot pads. I have a bathroom. I have electricity. I have food. These things were never guaranteed while unhoused and disabled. Unsurprisingly, I have significantly fewer emergency room trips, unmanageable flares, missed doctor appointments, etc. now that I have even unstable housing.
When you have more time in the public eye, there are more opportunities for facing ableism and houseism from the general populace. Those two experiences intertwined, and being chronically homeless, led to me having to navigate internalized ableism as a survival skill because there was a direct link to the ableism I faced daily.
Some disabled people on the streets, especially if they can’t hide their disability, feel more pressure to present themselves as inspiration porn. Inspiration porn panders to ableist narratives about disabled experiences, and can even give you an edge while panhandling. It also acts as a protective factor, there’s a mindset that if you’re not held back by disability, then you are not disabled. Thus, your disability cannot be exploited by others, and you are just as strong as a physically abled person. It’s something we do because we have to in order to survive, whether or not we’re conscious of the ableist narratives we’re feeding into.
There are times when I have to choose to do actions that are more harmful for me, such as presenting as more abled, for my immediate safety. I have to weigh the risks, and often, the risk of being attacked is far greater than the risk of falling, fainting, or being injured. This is not internalized ableism, it isn’t subconscious, it is for protection. Presenting as disabled is difficult enough, but when other marginalizations are added to it, it is exponentially more dangerous. Even more so than it is for me to not use aids or to not accept help at times.
If I wasn’t able to be recognized as disabled, I was granted more privileges akin to those my able-bodied peers automatically receive. If a bathroom wasn’t accessible for me, but I did my best with it instead of asking for accommodations (which is often seen as being picky, needy, or ungrateful) then I was more likely to be allowed to use that bathroom again. The same goes for couch surfing at a friend's house, needing to carry everything I own up three flights of stairs, if I didn’t mention that it was difficult for me or said no to help, then I was being a good guest by not making my hosts uncomfortable. Making concessions like this whenever I could gave me more access to safety.
When my disabilities became more serious, and I wasn't able to keep making concessions, I would fall in that bathroom, I would faint on the stairs, and I immediately was more unsafe. I couldn’t hide my disability anymore, the choice was taken from me. No amount of pandering to abled people would make me able to do those things anymore. For me, that felt like a personal failure. I had been told my whole life that I could and should push through my disabling symptoms and conditions, and I took that as fact. Not being able to do that was a heavy and horrifying feeling for me.
It’s taken years (and is an ongoing process) to find safe enough spaces where I can ask for help. Where I can freely use mobility aids, show my actual pain, wear braces, wear compression garments, cry, rest, and otherwise exist as my disabled self without being harmed. It’s taken equally as long (and is still ongoing) to find grace within myself and advocate for the accommodations I need and actually use them. I still struggle with the pressure to feed into inspiration porn, something that the cripple reclamation movement is focused on deconstructing. I struggle with accepting help, asking for help, or even looking like I might need help. But I also recognize that beautiful things can happen when I get what I need.
It heals internalized houseism to be dismantling my internalized ableism, and vice versa.
Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be weak. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to cry, to scream, to be in pain, to ask for help. Unhoused disabled people are allowed to be human, just like everyone else.
