My superpowers:
- A healthy sense of entitlement.
I am as entitled to reasonable accommodation as any other person with a
disability. Having survived 14 years as an out, activist lesbian in
Alabama, I have had plenty of practice not being intimidated by others
feeling they are inconvenienced by my existence. They always have the
option of getting over it.
- A healthy sense of justice. I’ll
do my part; you do yours. As with any other disability, I’ll supply my
own equipment, but you have to make it possible for me to integrate
into the system. The employee brings the wheelchair; you put in the
ramp. I bring an air cleaner; you take the air freshener out, and clean
with low-tox cleaners. I work from home part of the time even though
it’s isolating, because not all toxins can be avoided; you don’t wax
the floors on days I’m at the office. We work it out.
- A belief in the goodness of people,
if given a chance. I begin all interactions from the assumption that I
am good and reasonable and you are good and reasonable, and we just
have to figure out how to meet everyone’s needs, to the extent
possible. I don’t come in all bluster and fury about the stupidity of
modern society: I know that I am fighting years of brainwashing by
industry, making people believe that scents are good and necessary, and
that “new” is always “improved.” I am kind, optimistic, and gentle, but
persistent. We’re not done talking until you understand. I don’t
demonize you; I don’t let you demonize me. I’m always ready to give you
a chance to redeem yourself, even if you have said or done insensitive
things in the past.
- Annoyingly likeable. I often
get accommodations because I’m hard to write off as crazy, because I’m
annoyingly pleasant and reasonable, despite all obstacles and
provocations. I make it hard for you to write me off because I’m hard
not to like.
- Willing to make sacrifices. I
give up a lot to stay healthy. Many jobs, hobbies, parties, vacations,
etc. are off-limits to me because I will not risk my health to attend
them. I wear a mask in public despite the stares of impolite people,
and despite its being hot and uncomfortable. I’ll never own a new car
or new house or, probably, new furniture again. But the payoff is that
I’m healthy as a result. I make some sacrifices, but the payoff in
health is huge. In 1989 I had a weeping rash over 80% of my body, and
could do nothing but survive. But for the past 15 years I have worked
full-time (much of it from home) as a professor, and I only struggle
with periodic bouts with rashes and other symptoms. The sacrifices are
well worth the health.
- Healthy perspective. I am aware
that although I am unlucky to have been chemically injured, I am
ludicrously lucky to have been born in the United States to
middle-class, decent parents, and to now live in Canada. Being
chemically injured is annoying, sure. But it doesn’t compare to having
children I can’t feed, or being an abused child, or being imprisoned
for having the wrong political beliefs. It’s not all about chemical
injury, and it’s not all about me. I also spend some of my energy being
an ally to other oppressed groups to which I don’t happen to belong
(e.g., confronting racism; educating people about child abuse)—it’s not
all about my oppression, after all. There’s plenty of work to be done.