BY: Sarah Cameron
We rely on outward appearances to communicate whenever possible. Taking surface-level truths with first impressions, then we fill in the blanks based on our own level of understanding. Call it discernment, judging, social profiling, or whatever you’re comfortable with.
Roughly 1 out of every 6 people has some type of disability, and it’s estimated that 96% of those are considered invisible illnesses. How can the already invisible percentage of society have their truth seen and heard in a world that’s not paying attention to begin with?
That’s the million-dollar question.
It’s human nature to notice the familiar, relatable, and pleasant things. The unknown and the absurd. If it falls somewhere in between, it can be missed entirely.
The lady on the train caught your attention because she was carrying the exact same purse as you.
I happened to notice the look of discomfort in her face as she shifted her weight. Her legs were swollen, and she was having trouble standing.
It is quite possible the man who offered his seat initially noticed her beauty, or perhaps he was simply being a gentleman.
None of these perspectives are wrong, they’re personal. It’s what we know.
We hold doors for one another, share sidewalks, and sit in waiting rooms together. But unless something memorable or impactful occurred during these moments, chances are we didn’t really notice each other.
So tell me, what do you see?
You drive past me during your morning commute to work, and you’ve stood behind me in the checkout line. Maybe I looked pretty, or my wiggle caught your attention as I walked by.
Hell, maybe I’m sporting a dirty hoodie and pajama pants, strolling down the aisles pushing a squeaky shopping cart. My hair is pulled up into some mangled mess of a bun, and you’re wondering if I need help finding the body wash.
Sound familiar?
Here’s what you don’t see…
You don’t see how difficult it is for me to leave the house to begin with. How many days I might spend attempting to go out. Or that I can easily use up all of my energy just from showering and getting dressed, leaving me too sore or exhausted for anything else.
The longer I go without running my errands, the more I’ll need to do, which consequently requires more energy.
So I’m forced to reallocate the strength I hope to have (because I can’t say for sure), then prioritize what gets accomplished in order of urgency and capability.
If I skip the shower, pretty clothes, and makeup, I have a better chance of getting through the day. Always keeping in mind that I’ll still need energy to be able to make it back home again.
So, whether you caught me on a good day or not, the end result will be the same. The very fact that you saw me speaks volumes of consequences that will reverberate throughout my existence for the coming days.
~
When half a dozen strangers unknowingly witnessed an act of humility and kindness.
The man who stood next to me had simply asked if I knew how to get to the mall, and it was blatantly obvious to you that I was ignoring him. Luckily for him, you were paying attention and offered directions.
You made quite the example out of me when you pointed out how easy it was for you to help a fellow pedestrian. In fact, if it wasn’t for your obnoxious reaction, I would never have been aware of your good deed that day.
You, along with everyone else at the intersection, happened to be standing on the right side of me. A side that showed no visible headphone cord, earbud, or anything that would indicate a potential communication barrier.
It only makes sense as to why you assumed I was ignoring the entire ordeal. You couldn’t possibly have known that I’m almost completely deaf in my right ear.
Now I’ll admit I was listening to some pretty loud music with my left ear, which certainly affected my level of situational awareness (Don’t tell my Audiologist). But overall, I simply was not paying attention.
I felt bad once I realized what happened, knowing firsthand how awful it can be when someone treats you like you don’t exist. I also know what it’s like to be intentionally publicly humiliated…
Unfortunately, this was not the first time I’ve experienced such a scene, and it will not be the last.
When the light changed to signal it was safe to walk, I chose to let it go without adding insult to injury. I knew had I spoken my truth, it would’ve deeply embarrassed you.
In that moment, the opportunity to clear the air had passed, and we all silently stepped forward to go our separate ways.
To read Strangers: Part Two, click here!
Strangers is excerpted from a book Sarah Cameron is writing titled On Perspectives: What You Don’t See. A collection of stories highlighting situations that someone living with an invisible illness or disability will encounter throughout their day-to-day lives. A point of view that would otherwise remain unknown to others. Keep an eye out here for the continuation of Strangers, as well as other Perspectives from Sarah’s upcoming book. You can also follow Sarah on her new Instagram page for updates on future projects.
Sarah Cameron has been an avid writer at heart since early childhood and has recently rediscovered her voice. This resulted in writing a multitude of essays and memoirs she hopes to one day publish. These works intend to shine a light below the surface of the proverbial iceberg of everyday life. Such topics as surviving abuse and finding healing through truth, to living with invisible illnesses and the stigma attached to them. Sarah helps shift the perspective to raise awareness using relatable analogies and light humor while focusing on unspoken truth. Her hope is to amplify the voices of those who aren’t heard with her writing and public speaking. Learn more about her on Our Contributors page!