Sexual education & disability: Why this should matter to social work practitioners

Image from Stand up! A feminist youth-led project in Scotland that addresses sexual violence (https://www.standuprasash.com/blog/where-has-all-the-sexual-education-gone)

What do you get when you mix the taboo nature of discussing sexual intimacy with the social stigma surrounding intellectual and developmental disabilities? The answer: a heck of a lot more problems than you might think.

I would like to start this piece with a brief exercise one of the health teachers at my high school conducted at the beginning of sex ed. Repeat after me: PENIS. VAGINA. PENIS. VAGINA. Why do you think she would make a room of teenagers yell these words in school? Isn’t that inappropriate? If you think it is, you proved my point from earlier. Sexual intimacy and anything loosely related to sex are currently incredibly taboo topics. To help break down the air of discomfort surrounding such topics, that health teacher did something many are afraid to do: she spoke openly and encouraged others to follow suit.

One could argue these topics are not to be spoken about simply because we are taught to not speak about them. A child can ask why their anatomy is different from their siblings, but they will often be met with shushes or roundabout answers. In many cases, there is no reason for this reaction other than traditional values. Those same values are often times what causes conflict in regard to sexual education in public schools.

My sex ed experience at a public school was mediocre at best. I can recall learning about male and female genitalia as well as the common sexually transmitted infections. Contraceptive tools were discussed but the take-home message was always “abstinence is the best form of birth control.” Consent was not taught nor were the proper ways to actually engage in sex, just that if we did it we should do it safely. This is the public school sex education experience I received as a non-disabled teenager. Seems quite lacking. And if this is what I received, what is the experience of children and adolescents with intellectual and developmental disabilities?

Working in a behavioral school for boys with emotional, developmental, and intellectual disabilities gives me an interesting perspective. The school serves boys aged, in my experience, between seven and eighteen years old. They age out of the school at eighteen despite the progress they have made and still need to make. These students come from any district in Massachusetts and can be of any race and ethnicity. Typically, the school serves a diverse population. They are taught the same subjects most other students in the country are taught just with more academic and therapeutic support. However, these students are not always provided with a health class.

I worry greatly about this institutional deficit, partly due to my own ableism. These students are receiving very little, if any, sexual education during the school year from our faculty and who knows what they see on the Internet and what their families and friends are telling them. As they get older and begin to develop their curiosity, I am worried that they might not always have a reliable source of sexual education. With that, the concept of consent is often discussed but not in relation to intimacy. I don’t know if the connection between consent and sexual activities has been made or if it ever will be in this school setting. I don’t know if some of these students would understand the magnitude of these topics. I’d like to think these kids can do anything, but from what I’ve seen I don’t know if I would feel confident in their understanding. I wish I could feel otherwise.

Confronting my personal ableism has been difficult, but I know it will benefit myself and others in the social work field who do the same. It’s important and necessary to challenge our own ideas. Gaining experience in areas which we hold biases towards educates us more accurately. Critically examining our personal ableist ideas pushes us to gain a different perspective. Through this difficult process, I feel empowered to advocate for a stronger sexual education program for these students and others in similar settings. I would not have developed this drive without looking inwards and confronting my ableism. I encourage all to do the same. Who knows what the next revelation might be?

Editor’s note: This reflection comes at a time when it is recognized that only three U.S. states explicitly include special education students in their sexual education requirements despite high rates of sexual abuse in this community. Specifically, the disability community experiences sexual abuse at seven times the rate of the non-disabled community according to the Department of Justice. Read more about this in a recent Op Ed by Cammie McGovern.

Max Goldberg is an MSW student at Salem State University. He completed his undergraduate degree at Roger Williams University, studying Psychology with a focus in Clinical Psychology as well as a minor in Professional and Public Writing. Previously, Max has held a range of roles in multiple educational settings. Upon completing his graduate studies, Max aspires to work with the Deaf community as an advocate and educate the hearing world on the various issues d/Deaf people face. 

On the inherent ableism in thinking you’re a good teacher

We need to be reflective practitioners, always, as we look out for our own ableism. Image from Widener University: https://www.widener.edu/academics/graduate-studies/special-education-med

There’s a point in a lesson, when you’re looking out at a group of tiny faces (or not so tiny faces, depending who you teach) and it becomes obvious that they’re just not getting it. But, you think, I wrote a good plan. I broke everything down three times over. I had all my materials prepped. We’ve covered all of the necessary background information in class. 

They should be getting it, you think. You did everything right. You’re a good teacher. 

I taught special education in a sub-separate classroom for students with intellectual and developmental disabilities. I’ve also worked as a paraprofessional in inclusion classrooms with students with learning disabilities, health disabilities, and mental health disabilities. I’ve planned lessons and units and activities. While I’m far from the most experienced teacher in the world (and far from the best, as well), I think I’ve gained a few insights along the way that I hope will shape how I see the world and how I approach practice as a social worker in the years to come. 

So. You’re in the middle of the lesson and the kids aren’t getting it, or a few kids aren’t getting it, or one kid isn’t getting it, and maybe you decide I’m a good teacher, and if I follow my carefully thought-out plan, they will get it. This is ableism. 

Ableism is the systemic devaluation, marginalization, and oppression of people with disabilities (Mackleprang & Salsgiver, 2015). The sort of ableism that I’m talking about here is cagey. It’s not explicit. If you asked me, when I was in the previously described scenario, whether I thought I was being ableist in deciding to continue with a lesson when I knew my students weren’t getting it, I would have been outraged. I would have argued that I loved my students, that I embraced their differences, and that I would never engage in any form of ableism. 

But in the scenario above, I am deciding that I am superior in two ways. 

First, I am assuming that the way I understand, conceive and learn things is the ‘correct’ way to do so. My plan for a lesson is always, at least in part, based on my understanding of how learning progresses and on ‘best practice’ for a generalized population. Often my students learn in very different ways than I do, though. Some of them need music. Some of them need to see it all written down. Some of them need pictures. These ways of learning are not more or less ‘correct’ than the way I learn, or the way ‘best practice’ assumes that students learn. When my lesson isn’t reaching them, it’s because there’s a mismatch between how I am teaching and how they learn. It’s my job to teach, and therefore it is my responsibility to address this mismatch. 

The second way that I am deciding I am superior is that I am choosing to believe that my ability to understand what the students need is better than their ability to understand what they need. This sort of paternalism, of thinking I know best is a hallmark of ableism (Mackleprang & Salsgiver, 2015). 

Maybe you’re thinking but it’s a teacher’s job to know better, to instruct. It’s not, though. A teacher doesn’t know a child better than they know themselves, and when it comes to working with students with disabilities, the students are the experts, regardless of their age. My students typically had challenges with communication — they couldn’t always tell me, hey, you’re explaining this wrong or I don’t get it. They couldn’t always tell me what they specifically needed in order to do well, or what would help them understand better, so it was my job to pay attention to what they were communicating in non-standard ways. 

If I assume I know how to teach, then I am inevitably going to fail to teach well. But, if I approach each student and lesson with flexibility and the willingness to say I messed up or this isn’t working then all of us will learn more. Teaching isn’t a set path and plan that I should always follow, rather it’s a tool box. It’s my job to invite the student to rummage around the tool box with me until we find the tools that work for them. Not to push this metaphor too far, but my specialized training doesn’t give me permission to build anything I want, it just teaches me to use a wide variety of tools. Some of those tools have the capability to do harm, especially in my hands. 

I’m not a social worker yet. I haven’t even had my first field placement, and I don’t have very much experience of the social work field at all. But I think there’s a lesson here for anyone who works in a ‘helping profession’ that places them in a position of authority in other people’s lives. This lesson is: it doesn’t matter how many letters you have after your name, or what you have studied, read, or experienced. You’re an expert only until you meet the next student, client, patient, and then you have to start from scratch. The worst teaching I have ever done is when I assume I know how to teach something. The best moments of teaching I have ever done have been guided by the students in my class — once they have shown me how they learn, then I can teach meaningfully. Each student is different. Each client is different. Each person is different.

When I start seeing clients, I think this will also hold: the best help I will ever offer will be guided by a person showing or telling me how they can be helped. I am not the expert, I will never be the expert — I’m just a person with a box of tools and a willingness to help. 

References

Mackelprang, R. W., & Salsgiver, R. O. (2015). Disability: A Diversity Model Approach in   Human Service Practice (3rd Revised edition). Lyceum Books.

Sarah Rose Goldfinch is a MSW student at Salem State University in Salem, Massachusetts. She received her undergraduate degree at Boston University, where she student special education with a concentration in severe disabilities. She worked as a teacher in a large urban district, in a classroom serving students with moderate-severe intellectual disabilities. She is pursuing social work in the hopes of providing intersectional mental health care to children who struggle to access traditional systems because of their disability status. 

Unlearning ableism, a social worker’s duty

Ableism shouldn’t be a dirty word – we all need to confront the ways in which it sits within us so that we can do better! Image from: https://rehabpub.com/industry-news/research/study-sheds-light-ableism-biases-toward-people-disabilities/

I have been intertwined with the disabled community for my entire life. My older cousin was diagnosed with an intellectual disability at the age of 4 and I grew up very closely with her. My parents never told me she had a disability. To me she was who she was, my cousin Sara. Although Sara was significantly older than me, I didn’t think it was that strange that she played games with me, watched cartoons with me, or that she couldn’t drive. Sara is 10 years my senior, so she should have been getting her license instead of watching Power PuffGirls with me on Sunday afternoon. I never minded though. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood what an intellectual disability was.My parents always were, and my mother still is, a great educator. They had extensive experience explaining some pretty difficult things to me from a young age, such as being adopted, the concept of being transgender (my grandmother’s friend was a pretty famous trans photographer where I grew up), why my uncle had a husband, and a lot of other topics that many parents have trouble with explaining to their young children. And my parents did a great job.

I entered school with an open mind and I remember myself being overall judgment-free. If only it was that easy. I grew up in a wealthy, upper-middle-class town with a majority White population. I don’t remember being in school with many disabled students, and I am realizing now this is because they were segregated from the rest of the classrooms or their parents had transferred them to other schools that fit their needs better than my public elementary school. Here comes the ableism. Reflecting back on my time in the public school system, I contributed to a fair share of ableism. Knowing what I know now, I would like to go back in time and yell at myself for participating in these things.

My largest memory of being ableist was participating as a teacher’s assistant in the downstairs, special education room. I was 15 and had good intentions of helping. I worked in a classroom with about 7 different children with a range of disabilities. One student, in particular that I worked with was non-verbal and communicated through either note-cards with phrases or via a series of grunts for yes and no. I remember feeling a lot of pity for him. To not be able to communicate at 15 was terrible to me. I also remember them having few expectations for him. The entire day was mostly lifeskills teaching. I remember cooking alot with him, teaching him how to do laundry and other skills that the teacher thought would improve his chances of being more independent. I remember him not doing much academic work, and to this day, I’m not sure if he ever learned things like math or spelling when I was working with him.

I also remember how low the teacher’s and my expectationswere for him. When he would do the most basic of tasks, like throw away his trash, we would give him such high praise. I know now that my expectations should have been higher, and my praise emphasized his internalized ableism of having few skills. The expectations were so low that no one ever thought to put him in speech therapy.No expectations were placed on him to try and communicate other than the flashcards he carried around. But even those just said basic things like “bathroom”, “snack”, etc. No one thought he was capable of using a communication device or even typing on a computer, including me. I just followed what the adults did.They didn’t push him, so I didn’t push him.It never even crossed my mind that he was capableof doing more had he been taught these skills.

My participation in this classroom was harmful, and it changed the way I thought about the disability community in a negative way. I left the classroom thinking that many disabled individuals could not live independently.That they were incapable of being unsupervised. It made me believe it was ok to infantilize these students. That they shouldhave been praised for every small task they completed,even though many of them werefully capable of doing much more. Why did I have such high expectations for my cousin Sara, but not for these students at my school? Why did I shift my attitude to pity? To this day, I still catch myself participating in ableism, but I catch myself a lot faster and try to correct myself. When working with disabled students now, as an adult, I make sure to push them to participate, practice dignity of risk, and encourage them to push themselves to see what they are capable of. I speak openly about their disabilities and practice educating them on what they need to know.I try to send messages of positivity and correct the internalized ableism they feel about themselves.I have come a long way from that girl in the classroom in the basement, but I still have a long way to go. It’s awful having thoughts that you know are wrong but somehow cannot stop yourself fast enough from thinking. It brings me a lot of shame to admit them out loud. But I know that it is important that I do so that others can do the same. Admitting fault is the first step to overcoming the issue, and I have to keep reminding myself, no one is perfect.academic work, and to this day, I’m not sure if he ever learned things like math or spelling when I was working with him.I also remember how low the teacher’s and my expectations were for him. When he would do the most basic of tasks, like throw away his trash, we would give him such high praise. I know now that my expectations should have been higher, and my praise emphasized his internalized ableism of having few skills.The expectations were so low that no one ever thought to put him in speech therapy.No expectations were placed on him to try and communicate other than the flashcards he carried around. But even those just said basic things like “bathroom,” “snack,” etc. No onethought he was capable of using a communication deviceor even typing on a computer,including me. I just followed what the adults did.They didn’t push him, so I didn’t push him.It never even crossed my mind that he was capable of doing more had he been taught the skills. My participation in this classroom was harmful, and it changed the way I thought about the disabled community in a negative way. I left the classroom thinking that many disabled individuals could not live independently.That they were incapable of being unsupervised. It made me believe it was ok to infantilize these students. That they should have been praised for every small task they completed, even though many of them were fully capable of doing much more. Why did I have such high expectations for my cousin Sara, but not for these students at my school? Why did I shift my attitude to pity? To this day, I still catch myself participating in ableism, but I catch myself a lot faster and try to correct myself. When working with disabled students now, as an adult, I make sure to push them to participate, practice dignity of risk, and encourage them to push themselves to see what they are capable of. I speak openly about their disabilities and practice educating them on what they need to know. I try to send messages of positivity andcorrect the internalized ableism they feel about themselves.I have come a long way fromthat girl in the classroom in the basement, but Istill have a long way to go. It’s awful havingthoughts that you know are wrong but somehow cannotstop yourself fast enough fromthinking. It brings me a lot of shame to admit themout loud. But I know that it is importantthat I do so that others can do the same. Admittingfault is the first step to overcoming theissue, and I have to keep reminding myself, no oneis perfect.

Author bio: Mia Hayden is a MSW student at Salem State University in Salem, Massachusetts. She received her undergraduate education at Roger Williams University with double majors in Anthropology & Sociology, and double minors in Psychology and Educational Studies. She is pursuing a masters in social work to  help young children on their journey through the school system and on their way to adulthood. Being an Asian-American adoptee has driven her to become passionate about anti-oppressive practice and social justice.

Social work and structural ableism: Thinking about disability and police violence

BLACK DISABLED LIVES MATTER!
BLACK DISABLED LIVES MATTER!

Conversations about police violence are happening all over the world since the killing of Mr. George Floyd – among so many other Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPoC). Needless to say, it is a travesty that so many before him died and many didn’t have these conversations in the ways that people are having them now, but at least more people are having them now. And I want to add a disability thread to that conversation, but first…

Several years prior to 2020, Professor Kimberlé Crenshaw added a different thread to the conversation about BIPoC deaths at the hands of police by talking about gender and all of the women who have died due to police violence, but whose names are not known. We got to know the #sayhername movement. People began to think intersectionally about race and gender even if the mainstream news media didn’t report much about the deaths of BIPoC women killed by police.

But there only recently have we learned that 30-50% of the BIPoC people who have died at the hands of police in this country over a three year period had something else in common, they had a disability. This fact was unearthed by the Ruderman Family Foundation in a white paper that examined media coverage of such cases (PDF file here). It was necessary to study this phenomenon this way as there is no legal requirement for police to track disability data related to arrests or deaths. Did you know that Sandra Bland had a disability? Freddie Gray? Elijah McClain?

In studying media reporting, the Foundation noted that disability was either not mentioned, listed as a non-contextualized attribute, used to evoke sympathy for the victim OR to blame the victim and in rare cases allowed for discussion of the intersecting forces that led to lethal use of force situations. The report concludes that “When disabled Americans get killed and their stories are lost or segregated from each other in the media, we miss an opportunity to learn from tragedies, identify patterns, and push for necessary reforms.”

Although disabled people make up 1/3 of all households in the United States, that’s 61 million people or about 25% of the U.S. population, I feel as though we are so often *unseen* and *unremembered* in social work circles, our identity is an afterthought. Social worker need to begin to see with a disability lens, to remember disability as an identity. And in working with disabled people, social workers need to think about the ways that they can prevent the deaths of disabled people at the hands of police – and especially BIPoC disabled people. Disability justice advocate Haben Girma, especially, has been out front on this with respect to individual interactions with the police, but let’s think about this more structurally.

Here are a few questions that can guide your work – notice that they move beyond the usual band-aid “train the police to work with disabled folks” response that we usually get and move towards the goal of structural reform! Just as we need to think about structural racism in confronting police violence, so too do we need to think about structural ableism.

  • How can we raise disability culture awareness *throughout* our local police precincts?
  • Are there ways we can rid those precincts of structural ableism such as through the identification and elimination of ableist thinking, tendencies and practices?
  • Are there strategic partnerships we can facilitate that can bridge disability justice advocates with law enforcement and social service partners toward this effort?
  • Are there alternative conflict and dispute resolution systems that we can fund in order to avoid police involvement in “hot situations?”

Are you willing to fight for disability justice in your social work world?

 

Why social workers shouldn’t be “servicing” the people they work with

hands-of-respect-pin
Let’s reconsider how we refer to the people we work with in our social work practice, it’s a question of respect. (Image credit: http://www.handsofrespect.com)

Debates about how to refer to the people social workers support through the provision of care and service referrals ebbs and flows. We have moved on from the medicalized “patient” to the more neutral “client.”  Some critique the “client” moniker, and have embraced a more business-like approach in the use of the term “consumer.” Some critique that approach as well given our society’s shift into a heavily consumer-oriented culture. While we may all just want to consider talking about the “people” we work with, one thing we should all give a second thought to is the use of the term “servicing” when referring to what it is we do as social workers.

Let me give you an example from an interaction I had with a student in class. She is my best student, but when she spoke about the people she worked with, she said “I worked as an Early Head Start Home Visitor and serviced prenatal clients as well as children under 3 years old.” In and around my classrooms, I can’t seem to escape social workers in training who are “servicing” their clients, especially those in the child welfare sector. Yes, we provide services, and we are service providers, but we should not be “servicing” people.

Inanimate objects, such as automobiles are serviced, or perhaps computer networks, but not the people we work with. By referring to the people we work with as being “serviceable,” I argue that we are inhibiting their agency – or their capacity to acting or exert power. Social workers are tasked – very clearly – with working towards social justice both for and with the people they work with. This is made clear in the profession’s Code of Ethics, which encourages us to partner with the people we work with. Given this, there is no room for drive-through “servicing,” a term that is way too provider-centric.

Finally, not only is the term “servicing” disempowering, it is also disrespectful. Many social workers that support people working in the sex industry report that the term “servicing” is used to refer to the provision of sexual services to a paying client in that industry. Political correctness should not factor in here, because words do matter in building rapport with people – and in respecting them. Please consider taking the time to reflect on how it is you refer to the people you work with!

Why I love Gimpgirl.com: How Disability culture can inform mentoring girls with disabilities

BSAGB_full_logo_color_NEWI am a social work intern at the Big Sister Association of Boston. This is a unique organization, as it is the only gender-specific branch of Big Brother Big Sister in the United States. This is an important fact as research suggests that girls experience mentoring relationships differently than boys do. Additionally, research suggests that girls have gender-specific needs that can best be addressed by gender-sensitive support. One of the values of the Big Sister Association of Boston is cultural responsiveness, as the agency finds it important to learn about and embrace cultural differences – and this is where Disability culture comes in.

Disability social workers Romel Mackelprang and Richard Salsgiver discuss the emergence of Disability culture and assert that it is not only an identity but a ‘way of life,’ similar to race or ethnicity. I feel that it is critical that when conceptualizing how to be cultural responsive that Big Sister mentors keep Disability in mind as a type of culture. Recognizing Disability culture is important because we work with Little Sisters ages seven through twenty, as well as volunteer Big Sisters over the age of eighteen, and any of these girls and women may have a disability.

In addition to being aware of the language and history of Disability culture in order to show respect, we must also understand that there is a community aspect of Disability culture that can have great social benefits for the people we work with. The goal of our mentoring program is to strategically match girls with mentors who have similar interests and experiences as them. Therefore, making an effort to match girls and mentors with disabilities can have the added benefit of sharing an understanding of a common experience and culture, therefore making the match relationship even more impactful.

In their book, Romel Mackelprang and Richard Salsgiver share the story of Carolyn and Marnie, two women who met and “developed a sisterhood formed from shared circumstances….their self-concepts and meanings they ascribed to their disabilities were similar.” Further, the authors note that Carloyn and Marnie had “few or no role models with disabilities, their disabilities were defined as negative, shameful…were isolated from others like themselves.”

The concepts of sisterhood and community are two more of the Big Sister Association of Boston’s values, and increased confidence is an outcome goal held by the program. As the relationship between women can be so powerful, it is important that Big Sister staff recognize this potential and thoughtfully seek to make matches between women and girls who share experiences as people with disabilities. Big Sister Association of Boston values gender-specific programming, and it is important that this specificity carries over when thinking even further about what it means to not only be a girl, but to the intersection of being a girl with a disability in our society.

One way that Big Sister staff can work on developing knowledge about Disability culture as it relates to girls could be perusing the Gimp Girl website. As a refresher, the Georgetown Health Policy Institute defines cultural competence as “the ability of providers and organizations to effectively deliver health care services that meet the social, cultural, and linguistic needs of patients.” The Gimp Girl website can be used as a resource for Big Sister staff to assist them in the task of continuously working on their cultural competence by becoming fully informed about the views and needs of girls with disabilities in particular. As a non-disabled person, I have permission to access articles and presentations on the site and join their online public forums. The website also includes links to many blogs written by and for girls with disabilities, which can raise awareness of the most current issues and interests of this particular community.

Tuning in to Gimp Girl can help me practice cultural responsiveness by making me aware of the issues and concerns of interest to this population in order to most effectively meet the needs of girls with disabilities in a respectful and accessible way. Realizing that some people might prefer the term ‘gimp’ to the term ‘disabled’ might be important for Big Sister staff to realize vis-à-vis the debate between whether to use person first or disability first language. The website will also help staff to practice cultural humility by reminding them that girls with disabilities have distinct and individual needs, as they describe what it means to experience the intersection of gender identity and disability. Reading about girls’ varying experiences will encourage Big Sister staff to consistently check their own biases and assumptions as well as maintain their position as learners when interacting with girls.

In addition to increasing any given Big Sister staffmembers’ knowledge and awareness about Disability culture, staff will also be able to share this website with Little Sisters if they are not familiar with it. Our agency constantly provides Big Sisters with information, resources, and activities they can use when spending time with their ‘Littles,’ and this website could be a great resource. Big Sisters could explore the website with their Littles to find blogs that their Littles can relate to, or even help Littles join a Support Meeting in the online chat room. I think this resource is something that can benefit all of our staff and the girls and women we serve – and perhaps this will be true for you as well!

Erica Chepulis is a candidate for the degree of Masters in Social Work at Salem State University’s School of Social Work. She holds a B.A. in Social Work from Wheelock College. She hopes to continue her career in working with youth in programs that support their educational, social, and emotional growth and encourage them to reach their full potential. Ms. Chepulis chose to study social work practice with people with disabilities to learn how to most effectively and respectfully advocate for youth with disabilities and their families. Ms. Chepulis can be reached at e_chepulis@salemstate.edu. This article reflects the opinions of Ms. Chepulis, and not the Big Sister Association of Greater Boston.

 

Taking out the trash: How my client with a disability got me to recognize my own ableism

Cartoon image of a trash can with a variety of trash and garbage in and around it
It took her noticing that her client was capable of doing everyday tasks (like taking out the trash) for her to recognized her own ableism,

While studying how to be a social worker in practice with people with disabilities, I have learned that it is important to consider my own ableism. When I sat down and thought about it, I have engaged in ableism by practicing what Mackleprang and Salsgiver (2015) call compartmentalization. When I worked at a local organization for people with disabilities, I worked with a female diagnosed with Rett Syndrome. She was unable to walk or talk and was not expected to live a long or fulfilling life. At the time, I pitied this woman because she was such a sweet and caring person. As a result, I wanted her to be able to have a life where she could walk and talk. As Mackleprang and Salsgiver (2015) describe, I incorporated the medical model of disability into my work and started treating her like a child. I did not allow her to be independent even though she was capable of doing so. She had learned to function with her disability and I was ignoring this and not allowing her to live as normal of a life as she could have. She had learned to use her own form of sign language and was learning independent skills and yet I was doing everything for her.

Luckily, I was working with someone who had worked with this woman for over one year and she was able to point out my mistakes. For example, my coworker showed me that this woman could load and unload the dishwasher, set the table and take out the trash. Over time, I also learned how to interpret my client’s form of sign language. Admittedly, I was not perfect and I engaged in ableism with this woman from time to time. There was one time where I actually put this woman in a childlike state again and spoke for her, as I assumed the parental role and thought I knew what was best. At that point we had a formed a relationship so she was able to sign to me to allow her to speak. Learning to truly listen to our clients through our own ableism is an important skill to master.

In retrospect, I am thankful for the process of learning that allowed me to not engage in ableism with this woman. I am also thankful that she did not allow the stereotype that I placed on her to control how she was already functioning. She was patient with me and continued asserting her independence. This woman was strong enough to not allow me or any other person to determine how she was going to be labeled. By working with this woman, I was able to learn how to recognize when I am engaging in ableism. She has made me a better social worker.

As a social worker practitioner, it is important to consider one’s own ableism so one does not stereotype against the clients they are working with. When you are able to recognize your ableism, you will be able to actively work on not exerting your ableism on others. This also helps form a positive worker-client relationship. If you are open and honest about your ableism it will help the client be more comfortable with you and help them teach you about their disability.

Kasey A Soucy
This is Kasey A Soucy, an MSW candidate at Salem State University’s School of Social Work. (Image shows a confident White woman in a beige sweater who is smiling and standing in front of a forest)

Kasey Soucy is a candidate for the degree of Masters in Social Work at Salem State University’s School of Social Work. She holds a B.A. in Psychology from Salem State University. She hopes to continue her career with the Department of Children and Families. Ms. Soucy chose to study social work practice with people with disabilities so she can have a better understanding with the clients she works with. She also wants to work with her agency in providing a more inclusive solution for working with people with disabilities. Ms. Soucy can be reached at k_soucy@salemstate.edu or on Twitter at @disabilitysw.

My sons, my ableism, my social work practice: Lessons learned

Social workers are deeply influenced by their home life. In order to be a reflective practitioner, I feel it is vital to take a look at myself and how my home life influences my social work practice. As part of my course on social work practice with people with disabilities, I was asked to consider my own ableism. I am sad to admit that within my own personal life, I have engaged in ableism. Ableism is defined by Mackelprang and Salsgiver (2015) as “the belief that because persons with disabilities are not typical of the non-disabled majority, they are inferior” (Mackelprang & Salsgiver, 2015, p.105).  Upon reflection, I realize that I tend to engage in ableism when I protect my children from the harsh realities of the world, even though I am not. For example, I tend to think that because my son has Autism, or that my other son has an intellectual disability, that they may not be able to handle life’s challenges.  Actually, they are quite competent in handling many situations without my added help or support.

I realize that I tend to view my children and other people with disabilities with a ‘containment’ lens.  Namely, I always feel that I am limiting the choices of those with a disability be it about going to a party, or getting part time employment.  I tend to not let my child with intellectual disabilities go to the mall with his friends, fearing that he might not pay for an item, or might get treated unfairly by a store employee if he doesn’t understand a price.  I also view my son with Autism as a child for whom college is not an option.  Honestly, I don’t know why I make these assumptions.  I now understand that they are wrong, and I am actively working on ending my ‘containment’ mothering approach. I’m now striving to provide equal opportunities to each of my children, and hoping to push them towards their highest potential.

Ableism is closely linked to the lens of the medical model of disability in which the impairment is seen as the problem, versus the social environment. Sometimes, for example, I see my children through this lens, and that is unfair to their development and self-esteem.  Specifically, when any family member hears that there is something ‘wrong’ with my child, the first thought that comes into my head relates to how I am going to ‘fix’ the problem.  In these moments, I am reacting in fear – of the unknown and of the future. Lately, I have gotten farther away from the medical model and ableist views. Realizing my children, and that other people living with disabilities are great the way they are, and don’t need to be fixed, is a very freeing feeling. I no longer feel as if I am on a race to the finish, but rather on a journey of discovery.

Learning about the social model of disability has also helped me to reflect on my own ableism. I love the work of disability studies scholar Tom Shakespeare, who describes the challenges of an overly-medicalized view of people with disabilities. He defines disability as “the disadvantage or restriction of activity caused by a contemporary social organization which takes little or no account of people who have physical impairments and thus excludes them from participation in the mainstream social activities” (Shakespeare, 2002, p. 124).  This social model thinking can also be applied to how I view my children.  I am quick to blame the schools, for not helping my sons gain their skills, and educational needs fast enough.  I am quick to point out that they do not have the best equipment or the resources to help my children be fully integrated into regular classes.

This social model of thinking about disability has its downside, though.  Shakespeare notes that the world cannot be a barrier free environment and that it isn’t possible to have a barrier free world for everyone.  In this vein, I engaged in ableism with my children when I do not let them explore and challenge environments that I cannot fix for them.  School is hard for my son with intellectual disabilities.  Sometimes life is just hard.  If I continue to blame society, blame the system, or even blame my children for their struggles, then I am doing them a disservice and wasting valuable time not enjoying the uniqueness and abilities of the people around me. All of this has implications for how I practice as a social worker!

Mackelprang, R. & Salsgiver, R.  (2015). Disability: A diversity model approach in human service practice, 3rd edition.  New York: Lyceum Books.

Shakespeare, T. (2013). The social model of disability. In Ed., Davis, L. (2013). The Disability Studies Reader, Fourth Edition. New York: Routledge.

Erica Sarro
Erica Sarro, MSW Candidate at Salem State University (Note for Screenreaders: Photo depicts a young white woman with dark hair, sitting in a car)

Erica Sarro is a candidate for the degree of Masters in Social Work at Salem State University’s School of Social Work. She holds a B.A. in Social Work from Salem State University. She hopes to continue her career in policy-related macro social work. Mrs. Sarro chose to study social work practice with people with disabilities in order to become a better advocate for equal rights for people with disabilities. Mrs. Sarro can be reached at e_sarro@salemstate.edu. Her blog posts are published at www.disabilitysocialwork and you can Tweet her at @disabilitysw.

 

Containing schizophrenia: Confronting my ableism towards family members

In trying to understand my own ableism, I realize that I have not done a great deal of professional work with individuals with disabilities. Therefore, I’ll write a bit about the ableism I have engaged in with both my mom and brother as they both have a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia. My mom has had a disability since before I was born, and my brother’s disability was triggered 7 years ago. While I have made a great deal of improvement in terms of trying to keep ableism out of our family dynamics, I am still not perfect, but I am certainly trying.

As both the daughter and sister of people with paranoid schizophrenia, I have definitely engaged in, and still unconsciously engage in, ableism, that is, the “belief that because persons with disabilities are not typical of the non-disabled majority” (Mackelprang & Salsgiver, 2015, p. 105).

One type of ableism is containment, or “the practice of limiting the choices, exposure, and life experience of disabled persons, as well as opportunities for disabled persons to fully participate in society.” Looking back, I have discouraged my family members from trying to attain jobs, so they would not have to deal with the sadness or embarrassment that had accompanied the loss of previous jobs. I have also done this in order to prevent any disturbances with social assistance services that were in place.

The notion of expendability is also a form of ableism. Expendability is “the belief that persons with disabilities are expendable” (Mackelprang & Salsgiver, 2015, p. 106). I have considered avoiding childbirth out of fear that I would pass the genes for paranoid schizophrenia on to my offspring.

I have also engaged in the form of ableism known as ‘compartmentalization,’ and have, “imposed on them the sick role that prevents persons with disabilities from learning the skills necessary for economic survival and advancement”, when I tried to create a budget for their incomes to avoid an end-of-the-month lapse in funds (Mackelprang & Salsgiver, 2015, p. 115).

And I also admit that I have blamed the victim, which can be described as “the process in which those in authority or positions of respect fault injured parties for externally imposed problems” (Mackelprang & Salsgiver, 2015, p. 116). This has manifested when I have taken out my frustration on the recreational drug use that triggered both of their illnesses, but certainly did not cause their paranoid schizophrenia.

These are just a few of examples of my ableist behaviors that took place before I gained much-needed insight on ableism and disempowerment in my social work practice with people with disabilities course. I think these examples of ableism also provide another justification for the importance of seeing things through an intersectionality lens as well as the connection between poverty and disability. Much of the oppressive ableism that I have engaged in was perpetuated by the need for my family to stay afloat financially, and much of my oppressive anger was coming from a lack of needed resources. As an older and (hopefully) more mature person I can see that my anger was being geared in the wrong the direction.

Throughout my time in this social work course, my professor has worked to normalize the difficulty we face in confronting our own ableism. This is an essential task when you are taking such a critical stance on how your good intentions might have been more oppressive than helpful in social work practice. We, as social workers, know that using confrontation skills before a client is ready can cause the client to shut down. I argue that the same is true for beginning to recognize our own ableism with our clients and with our families. Constant reflection, both as family members and a practitioners, is a tool that pushes us learn from our experiences and generate the self-compassion needed to best confront the oppressions that society has built for our family, friends, and clients.

Mackelprang, R. & Salsgiver, R. (1999). Disability: A diversity model approach in human

service practice, 3rd edition. New York: Lyceum Books.

 

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This anonymous author is an M.S.W. candidate at Salem State University’s School of Social Work in Salem, MA.

This essay was written by an anonymous M.S.W. Candidate at Salem State University’s School of Social Work in Salem, Massachusetts.  The author may be reached on Twitter at @disabilitysw or via email at disabilitysocialwork@gmail.com.  This author’s blog posts are published at http://www.disabilitysocialwork.blog.

How wearing high heels during my commute helped me to be a better social worker

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A pair of red high-heeled shoes sitting on a white surface

Ableism is “the belief that because persons with disabilities are not typical of the non-disabled majority, they are inferior” (Mackelprang and Salsgiver, p. 105). Upon reflection, I have engaged in ableism against people with physical disabilities while on public transportation. Typically, I take public transportation during the peak hours of commuting to work between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. and leaving work between 4p.m. and 6p.m. There are signs on the bus indicating that when a person with a disability enters the bus they are to be given seats in the front. Typically, people with wheelchairs or motorized chairs, walkers, canes and women with baby strollers occupy those seats; however when the bus is crowded during those peak times there is somewhat of a ‘all bets are off approach’ to seating and people tend to disregard those signs.

My example of demonstrating ableism involves a woman with a motorized chair who entered the bus one day. When she boarded the bus, everyone sitting in the front had to move towards the back to make space for her to enter and turn her chair towards the front. On this particular day, I had had a very bad interaction with a client at work. Mentally, I was not in a good state of mind as a result. I also had on heels which made my feet hurt from standing. Seats on either the left or the right could be used for a person with a disability, however the woman entered the bus and immediately looked towards the right where I was sitting. I knew this meant that I, along with another woman, should stand up and make room for her. The bus was very crowded and therefore moving towards the back felt like a nearly impossible task in order to make space for the woman in the motorized chair.

Without realizing it at the time, I was perpetuating a system of oppression onto the woman with a disability. Tom Shakespeare (2013) writes that the “social model (of disability) demonstrates that the problems disabled people face are the result of social oppression and exclusion, not their individual deficits”(p. 217). Looking back, I recall that I was upset that the woman with the motorized chair had turned to my side of the bus and I had had to get up. This response perpetuates a cycle of oppression because I used her disability as a source of rationalizing why she should be excluded from the bus.

Although I did not say anything verbally to the woman in the motorized chair, my face and body language gave a very descriptive picture of how angry I was that I had to move. The other women that were sitting next to me were verbal with their anger and made comments such as “she should have waited for the next bus, as there’s no space” and “why do we have to move for her?” In the moment I agreed with those women, and their outbursts. I was upset, tired, and in pain because of my heels. My only thoughts were selfish thoughts about wanting to get home so that I could get comfortable.

In retrospect, our attitudes were ableist because we were ostracizing the woman with a disability and trying to exclude her from riding the bus as everyone else was doing. I likened these feelings to feelings of the ‘survival of the fittest’; mentality that was prevalent during Darwin’s lifetime. People with disabilities were viewed as ‘undesirable’ and every effort was made to treat them as outsiders in society rather than practice inclusivity (Kevles, 1995, para. 2). At that time, people with disabilities were not viewed as fit to be amongst abled-bodied people. But back to the bus, the signs clearly acknowledged that the seats were for persons with disabilities or the elderly but due to our own selfish reasoning and justification we did not feel that that was satisfactory enough to warrant giving a seat to the woman in the motorized chair.

It is important for people to recognize their ableist nature so that when situations similar to the one discussed arise they can approach it with respect and empathy rather than disdain for the person with a disability.

Kelves, D. (1995). Essay: In the Name of Darwin. Retrieved August 14, 2017, from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/evolution/darwin/nameof/page02.html

Mackelprang, R. & Salsgiver, R. (1999). Disability: A diversity model approach in human service practice, 3rd edition. New York: Lyceum Books.

Shakespeare, T. (2013). The social model of disability. In Ed., Davis, L. (2013). The Disability Studies Reader, Fourth Edition. New York: Routledge.

This essay was written by an anonymous M.S.W. Candidate at Salem State University’s School of Social Work in Salem, Massachusetts.  The author may be reached on Twitter at @disabilitysw or via email at disabilitysocialwork@gmail.com.