To The Man Who Tried to Wrestle My rucksack off my back...

​When I'm out and about, people often ask if they can help me with my bag. I really appreciate the offer, and if I'm having a high-pain day, I may even take you up on it. But, even though it's quite heavy (I totally suck at travelling light) most of the time, I say no because I've already calculated the logistics and I know what works for me. Typically, putting it on in a quiet space is far easier than trying to manage it in the middle of a busy station.

​The point is that the choice is mine.
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Danielle with her favourite backpack

The Pressure to do Something

Most people understand this. Sometimes they tell me they feel a bit guilty, as if stepping back is the wrong thing to do. It's an interesting reaction because it reveals how strongly society links disability with dependence.

Many people have been taught, consciously or not, that offering help is always the right thing and that declining it creates a kind of moral tension. They worry that walking away is unkind, even when the help is unnecessary, unhelpful or intrusive. 

This guilt usually comes from a deeper belief that disabled people need fixing or rescuing and that support should be automatic rather than responsive. It is a heavy expectation for both sides. For disabled people, it means constantly managing other people’s emotions on top of managing the practicalities of daily life. For non-disabled people, it creates pressure to act even when they do not know what is useful.
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The reality is much simpler. Support works best when it starts with respect, not assumption. Asking is good. Listening is better. Letting someone lead on what they need is an act of inclusion in itself. There is no guilt in stepping back once someone has given you a clear answer.
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WHEN HELP STops being helpful

Every now and again, though, someone decides they know better. One man refused to accept my answer and tried to lift my bag off my back whilst I was wearing it anyway. 

The feeling that my response doesn't matter, that the decision is not mine to make and that my disability has been seen before me as a person, left me caught in that horrible space between frustration, disbelief and utter diminishment.

This is just one example because these situations don't just happen around bags. I've come across many well-intentioned people who override my answer when it doesn't match their expectations of disability.  

What inclusion actually looks like

I don't think offering help is the problem. This matters and it can make someone’s day easier.

But, what matters more is listening to the response.

Disabled people know what works for them and how they manage their environment. We know when support is useful and when it will create more difficulty than it solves.

And this is where I want to take the pressure off people. None of us invented the assumptions we are all navigating. We are unravelling centuries of ideas about disability that have shaped how people think they should respond. That kind of history does not disappear overnight, and feeling unsure or guilty about “getting it right” is more common than people admit. 
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Respecting someone's choice is one of the simplest, most powerful ways to build a more inclusive world. It sends a message that disabled people are trusted to understand their own needs. It also reminds us that inclusion is not created through grand gestures, but starts with something as small as listening when someone tells you what they need.