“If you’re disabled, then why are you dancing?” This was a real comment I received on TikTok after I uploaded a video of myself dancing.
People make many assumptions about disabled people and the lives we live. As I mentioned in a 2018 TEDx talk,1 the truth is that many people are uncomfortable around disability because they don’t understand it. But instead of engaging with us directly to learn more, most people find it easier to fall back on assumptions because they’re so afraid of saying the “wrong” thing or something offensive to our faces. Because of this fear—and the subsequent lack of conversation and communication—people rely on stereotypes in the media to inform their understanding of disability. Unfortunately, these stereotypes often portray disability as a medical diagnosis, a tragedy, or a charity case that is very much rooted in pity.
The problem with these mindsets is that they’re rooted in assumptions. They perpetuate the myth that our disabilities prevent us from dreaming or achieving our goals and we are not given the chance to succeed. As someone who acquired my disability as a child, I even started to internalize these myths. I made a lot of assumptions about what living in a disabled body would be like, such as never being able to participate in physical activities again or never being in a relationship because no one would be attracted to me romantically. Fortunately, since then I have challenged my own assumptions about my disability and overcome these ableist myths to live my life the way I want to.
Biking was something I loved as a kid. It’s one of the few memories I have of my dad, who was an avid bike collector. So it felt especially meaningful when I decided to embark on relearning how to ride a bike in 2016. I had won a scholarship to learn how to code in Amsterdam, and I didn’t know much about it except that it was a big biking city. At first I thought I would rely on public transit, walking, or rideshare when I arrived, but then I decided to buy a bike. With every bike ride, I gained a little more confidence, from riding only on carless streets to using my bike as my main method of transportation. I biked to class, to the grocery store, and even in the pouring rain. Since then, I’ve biked in Chicago, Ireland, and Cambodia, and even at Burning Man. I have an entire series on TikTok about my adventures biking in San Francisco through the adaptive biking program for people with physical disabilities, and I even completed a twenty mile bike ride in February 2024. I learned how to adapt to riding a bike one-handed.
When people hear that I’m going to bike, they often respond with “How are you even going to do that? That sounds dangerous.” Buried in that statement is something even more dangerous: an assumption about what I can or can’t do because of my disability. In this case, they assume that I cannot bike safely—or even bike in general—with just one hand. Have you ever seen a biker going down the street while holding their phone to look up directions? They’re biking with one hand. I also like to remind people that I’m not the first person who can’t use both arms who has ridden a bike. If you search “one-handed biker” or any similar term online, you’ll find a variety of stories featuring different disabled people riding not just road bikes but also dirt bikes and motorcycles. And even if I didn’t feel comfortable riding a two-wheeled bike, there are adaptive bikes, such as seated trikes, that work well if someone has difficulty balancing on a two-wheeled bike.
Today, not only have I relearned how to ride a bike, but I’m also relearning how to swim; I’ve gone rock climbing; and in 2020, I hiked to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro.
The first thing you can do to combat these stereotypes is to stop making assumptions and start making connections, as I discuss in a 2023 TED talk.3 Engage directly with disabled people. Take the time to get to know us. Invite us to your gatherings. Ask us the same kinds of questions you would any colleague or friend. Don’t treat us like we don’t exist—we want to be seen and heard and accepted like anyone else. Then, listen to our answers and respect our boundaries. Sometimes we may not feel comfortable discussing something, and if so, we’ll let you know. And if you’re ever unsure about what to say, you can start with “I’m still learning how to get better at talking about disability.”
The second important thing you can do is to presume competence. When people first learn about our disabilities, they often jump immediately to judging our capabilities and what they assume we can or cannot do, oftentimes without even asking. For example, some people still assume I can’t type because I can’t use one of my arms, even though I was at the top of my class as an investment banking analyst and could work on financial models just fine with one hand. Additionally, playwright and blogger Allie Funk encourages us to take this a step further and “assume personhood” rather than merely competence, because presuming competence contributes to the tendency that all of us—non-disabled and disabled people alike—have to infantilize people with intellectual disabilities.4
Once you’ve assumed personhood, you can always get additional clarification, since everyone’s situation and experience are different. Proudly deaf since birth, Meryl K. Evans is a disability inclusion and accessibility advocate. As a deaf person who isn’t fluent in ASL, she’s had people enthusiastically sign for her, and she has had to let them know that it’s not her preferred method of communication. She reminds us, “The best thing to do is to ask the person their communication preference. Don’t assume.… A better way is to ask, ‘Do you know sign language?’”5
It’s possible that a disabled person may need, want, and appreciate your help, but it’s also possible that a disabled person is independent or simply does not wish for help in a particular moment. The important issue here is that you should not assume that disabled people need your help all the time, especially without asking for our consent first.
Mike Luckett, who goes by @MikeTheQuad on Instagram, says, “If you want to be a better ally, especially with those who are wheelchair users, ask before pushing.” Even if you see someone who appears to be struggling, Luckett clarifies that the person may still wish to do things independently—and if they do need help, then they will usually ask for it directly.6 Evans acknowledges that most people wish to help others and that they mean well. However, “imagine a stranger coming up to you, putting their hands on your jacket, and invading your space. This is uncomfortable. And that’s what it feels like when someone suddenly tries to push a person’s wheelchair without asking.”7 Disabled people have boundaries, too, and we need to be able to consider the request and give our consent.
A few years ago, I boarded a train in Switzerland. The luggage storage area was nestled in between and under the seats. As I tilted my luggage over on its side and prepared to slide it under, a fellow passenger pushed me aside and shoved my luggage in. Then he turned to me and said, “You should really ask for help.”
I was shocked, confused, and hurt. I had been doing just fine with my luggage, even if it might not have looked that way to an observer. What ticked me off about this encounter was that the man had not only not asked whether I needed assistance or listened to my answer but also assumed what type of help I needed, done it without my consent—even pushing me out of the way—and topped it off by lecturing me on what I should have done. There’s a reason I call myself an “expert lifehacker”—I’ve learned how to adapt in ways that work for me. I felt disempowered in the moment after a long travel day and chose not to engage with this interaction.
While some disabled people are proactive about asking for assistance, as Luckett mentioned earlier, there will be instances where you might want to be proactive as an ally.
The truth is that people with apparent disabilities sometimes feel offended if someone approaches us to ask if we need help—simply because we’ve already learned how to do these things over the course of our lives. The implicit assumptions and unsolicited offers of help further serve to patronize and infantilize us. They take away our autonomy and end up becoming microaggressions for some.
As I’ve mentioned, disabled people are not a monolith. Even in these anecdotes I’ve shared, we have different perspectives and preferences on what is the right way to offer assistance, especially in various situations with their own nuances. I remember attending an all-day conference a few years ago, and lunch was served in a large ballroom for a sit-down meal. We were seated at round tables while servers brought out the food. When my chicken dish was served, I experienced a moment of anxiety because I could not cut the entrée myself. This is something I’ve had to navigate throughout my career, from networking to client dinners during my investment banking days. However, this time was different. When the server brought out my chicken dish, he noticed my wrist splint and offered to help me cut the chicken. When I nodded, he went to the back, grabbed some cutting tools, and cut my dish. What I appreciated about this particular encounter was his proactiveness so that I didn’t feel shamed by asking someone for assistance in public in a business environment.
When I shared the story about the conference lunch on my Instagram, I received a range of comments.8 Some people responded that I should have just asked directly for assistance, as Luckett advises, while other disabled people chimed in to share their own experiences of navigating public meals and how refreshing it was that someone offered support proactively.
The diversity of comments made me think about the nuance of asking for help as a disabled person. For far too long, we’ve been made to feel like asking for help makes us a burden. Negotiating my access on my own can sometimes feel exhausting, as if I have to ask for permission just to show up. But I’m starting to learn to embrace interdependence, which acknowledges that our survival is connected. And what we can all do, as disabled people and non-disabled allies, is provide support and offer access to all—with the consultation and consent of the people we’re trying to assist. If you’re ever unsure about the nuances of a situation, a simple way to signal that you’re willing to help without making assumptions about the disabled person’s needs or desires is to say, “Let me know if you need anything” or “I’m here if you need support.”9