Transcript for the Piece Audio version of Show Me The Way

Show Me The Way

I didn’t know the girl in the wheelchair, but I felt myself standing up for what I believe in, crossing an invisible social barrier as I walked toward her. Our eyes met and she smiled as I reached for her hands. We danced as I gave her momentum to roll toward me, away from me, and then spin in circles.

A few years earlier, on a different dance floor, I’d watched a stylish woman wearing a short skirt and stiletto heals spinning a man in his chair. It was that memory, that image that showed me the way. I knew I could dance with a wheelchair bound person, and it didn’t require six weeks of complicated lessons. Lessons, where despite my best effort, I can never get my hips, shoulders, hands and feet coordinated in rhythm with the music and my partner.

There is a field of nebulous unknowns that can keep a person from crossing invisible social barriers.
Everybody’s watching me.

I don’t know if I should.

What will I do when I get there?

What if she doesn’t want to dance with me?

What if I make a fool of myself?

What if I embarrass someone?

What if they think I’m crazy?

What if they think I’m lesbian?

As I walked toward the girl in the wheelchair I felt myself rising up against ghosts in my past, children on the playground laughing and poking fun at weakness, teasing me with unkind words.

The social barriers I crossed were invisible but the physical barrier, the wheelchair, called me into action. I reached out because I saw the barrier.
I also knew that by dancing with the girl, I could show others the way.

Psychiatric disabilities are different. Mental disabilities caused by trauma, debilitating guilt, depression, anxiety, thought or mood disorders don’t always show. Good social skills can mask haunting demons of the mind.

I can’t cross a barrier if I don’t know that one exists.

I can’t tell you that I understand because I too have an invisible disability.

I won’t offer to open the door and show you the way if it appears that you have no need and might be insulted by the gesture.

Fear, mistrust, and negative stereotypes are a few of the invisible barriers that people with psychiatric disabilities experience on a regular basis. You don’t know who we are. You can’t see us because we have learned to hide our disability by accommodating ourselves to your idea of normality. We don’t allow you to see our inner demons.

For thirty years I kept my psychiatric disability hidden. No one could see it; no one had to know. It was only after I experienced job discrimination, based on my bipolar disorder, that I began giving voice to these silent barriers.

The laws intended to protect people with psychiatric disabilities from discrimination are complicated. Despite months of inquiry and investigation, I found no protection from the Americans With Disabilities Act.

I may not be able to change the law within my lifetime but I have discovered the power of my voice. When I speak about the need for social change, like a stone tossed into a lake, ideas ripple out showing others that they too have power. They too have a voice. Others have shown me, and now I can show others the way.

I’m Mary Van Pelt, psychiatric survivor and human rights activist.

To learn more about my work go to www.maryvanpelt.com

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