Friend, Let’s talk about it. Nondisabled people can be so awkward around disabled people. And you know what? I get it, not because it makes sense, but because society taught you to see disability as something to fix, fear, or feel sorry for. That discomfort? That’s not about us; that’s ableism doing its thing. When we show up, some of y’all act like your internal GPS just crashed. Do you make eye contact? Offer help? Pretend we’re invisible? People overthink it so much that they forget how to be decent humans. Y'all, we’re just people. You don’t need a script, just basic respect. And honestly? Nondisabled people make me nervous, too. Walking around on two feet like it’s no big deal, just tempting gravity every step of the way. Half of y’all look like one uneven sidewalk away from disaster. It makes me nervous! But somehow that’s considered “normal”, and we’re the ones who get treated like brave little side quests. I was recently in DC with a colleague who uses a power wheelchair and a communication device. We were there doing real advocacy work. A staffer from a South Carolina congresswoman’s office walked in and shook everyone’s hand, except hers. Just skipped her like she wasn’t even in the room. That’s not just awkward. That’s dehumanizing. That’s ableism. This stuff happens all the time. People either stare like we’re zoo exhibits or try so hard not to stare that they look like they’re solving a complex math equation on the ceiling. And don’t even get me started on the folks who grab our mobility aids like we’re an end table that needs rearranging. We aren't furniture! Disability is not contagious. You will not catch it by saying hi, asking a question, or standing next to us. Also, we don’t need you to say “aww” when we buy milk on our own. We’re not special for doing that. That’s not bravery. That’s a grocery run. We also get some truly bizarre religious gestures. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve been told someone is praying for my leg to grow back. I’m not a gecko. I don’t need to be fixed; I need access, respect, and equity. But seriously, if my leg did grow back, I wouldn’t even know what to do. That’s just strange. Instead of centering your discomfort, try focusing on dismantling the systems that make it harder for us to simply exist. Ableism taught you that disability is a tragedy, an inconvenience, or an inspiration, but never just normal. But we are. We’re parents, students, employees, lovers, rebels, and yes, grocery shoppers. We’re not here to be pitied or saved. We’re here to be respected and included. So next time you feel awkward? That’s okay. Just don’t let it turn into condescension, pity, or erasure. Say hi. Ask before helping. Unpack your biases. Listen to us. We’ve been navigating your world every single day. It’s not too much to ask you to meet us halfway, minus the pity, the prayers, and the weird energy. Challenge Time: To my disabled people: Keep showing up unapologetically. Take up space, call out ableism, and know you don’t owe anyone inspiration just for existing. Your presence is powerful. To our allies: Being kind is great, but it’s not enough. Speak up when you see ableism. Make room at the table, or better yet, hand over the mic. Your discomfort is not an excuse for inaction. Also, breathe when you see us. Talk to us like we are human (because we are). And to lawmakers: Stop designing systems that exclude us and calling them “services.” Start passing policies that actually center disabled people, led by us, and built with dignity and justice in mind. Accessibility isn’t a perk, it’s a right. Let’s all do better, because awkward isn’t the enemy. Apathy is. - Kimberly Tissot, President and CEO, Able South Carolina | 
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