I usually don’t let people help me if they disrespect me in the way they offer it (please see my post Bare Naked Help in the ‘Spinning My Wheels’ category.) It isn’t worth it to me–I’d rather face the consequences of not getting the help than let myself get walked all over. I guess any kind of shortcoming, to me, is better than disrespecting myself enough to let someone else disrespect me. I deserve dignity. And although demanding respect tends to make people uncomfortable and often repels them, I do. I do it gently, but I do demand it.

I face scrutiny mostly when I need certain language. When people talk about “getting me in the car” or “standing me up,” I cringe! How can I let people talk about me like I’m a piece of luggage or a barbie? Even when I know it’s not meant this way, it’s really hard for me to overlook it. It is my problem, I know, but it doesn’t always have to do with me. One of my caregivers used to talk to me about having to “flip” some of her clients (she was referring to bed-bound people who, unable to move themselves, need to be helped with re-positioning), but referring to a human being the same way you refer to a pancake is not OK! It bothered me so much that I finally had to educate her about respectful language. Geez! Nowadays, a friend of mine talks about her ailing husband like a slab of meat, and one of these days, I’ll have to advocate for him too. I believe it’s not done out of disrespect or insensitivity, and I guess it’s simply fumbling through an unfamiliar situation. Still, repeated ignorance is too close to disrespect for my  comfort.