As I fidget with the elastic on my white cane, I’m often tentatively questioned about my “vision problem,” “situation” or “challenges.” I know what people are trying to hint at—they’re curious about my blindness and that’s totally okay. However, the way some people tiptoe around the “B word” as if it’s offensive to say, affects me sometimes. 

I’ve noticed that the friends and teachers I have who aren’t afraid to call me blind seem more comfortable with my circumstance than those who don’t. People who avoid the words “blind” or “disabled” tend to need more encouragement to become comfortable helping me when I need it. 

The words “differently abled” or “special needs” have become red flags of sorts for me, not only because I don’t enjoy being called those things, but also because it normally means there’s a long way to go before a blind joke will be well-received or I can be guided without near-constant reminders of how nervous the person is to have me on their arm.

Though their intentions are polite, avoiding the actual name of my disability feels demeaning. Calling me “differently abled” or “special needs” implies pity and can make me and most others with disabilities feel spoken down to. Words like these are embarrassing and sometimes inaccurately portray us.

“Differently abled” is a phrase which implies that though I don’t have the abilities most people do, I have others that make up for what I don’t have. Technically, yes, I do have different abilities to cope with my lack of vision, but so does everyone else. It implies that my ability to use passive echolocation or read braille makes up for my blindness, which is completely untrue. We all have our own set of skills but we aren’t all “differently abled.”