Monday, January 24, 2022

Unpacking "I Can't": An Interview with K

1897 words
15 minute read

Our final installment in the "I Can't" series comes from my longtime friend K. Be sure to check out her last answer, too, for some practical tips on how to encourage children while still allowing and respecting "I can't." Without further ado, here's what she has to say:

***

Were you allowed to say “I can’t” when you were growing up?

K:  It was definitely discouraged. My parents sometimes called me “Can Do Girl” because I said “I can do it” so often when someone offered help. That was a nickname I remember being proud of (and I love that my parents encouraged me to persevere!), but I also remember feeling some pressure, too—because independence was such a strong part of my identity, I felt some sense of failure when I genuinely couldn’t do something and needed to ask for help.

***

What do you mean as a person with a disability when you say, “I can’t?” (Are there cultural nuances to the phrase that get misunderstood?)

K:  When I say “I can’t,” I am not trying to be stubborn, lazy, or difficult. Typically, I am expressing that something is either physically impossible for me or unsafe. And yes, I’ve found that this boundary is often lost on non-disabled people.

Here’s one example of many: I went on a trip with my friends that involved a sailboat ride we had reserved and paid for in advance. When it was time for the sail, the captain said, “Okay! Getting into the boat will be the hardest part: All you have to do is get over this chain and then jump from the dock to the boat.” (Cue my ominous feelings!) The chain was very high, and then there was a space we’d have to jump over to get into the boat. Not a huge space, mind you, but if I missed (AND I WOULD MISS), I’d end up in the harbor. My friends and I all knew this task wasn’t feasible for me, but when I said, “I can’t do that,” the captain’s immediate response was, “It’s the only way on, so you have to.” At first, I think he assumed I was being needlessly difficult and entitled, because it took repeated insistences from my friends (“She literally can’t get on the boat.”) before he acquiesced, thought about it for about thirty seconds, and found a way to move his boat closer to the dock so at least I wouldn’t have to jump.

I’m not excusing his initial resistance, but I think nondisabled people sometimes struggle to grasp the realities that people with disabilities face. If a nondisabled person told someone to jump thirty feet high and the reply was, “I can’t,” there would be a mutual understanding that the request was unreasonable. But when a nondisabled person asks a disabled person to do something that tends to be easy for nondisabled people—say, taking independent steps or jumping a small distance between a dock and a boat—a genuine “I can’t” is often perceived as obstinance.

The other nuance that people sometimes miss is that our abilities can change from year to year, day to day, or even moment to moment. Just because I could do something easily last week doesn’t necessarily mean that I can easily do it today. Likewise, maybe something that used to be impossible for me is now possible. Many factors can play a role here, including environmental factors (temperature, crowds, accessibility of an area), physical factors (injuries, surgeries, illnesses, fatigue, growth spurts, aging), and even emotional factors (nervousness, excitement).

***

K at about 5 years old. She is smiling and wearing a straw hat.
[K smiling for the camera at about five years old.]

***

What risks or vulnerabilities exist in saying “I can’t” as a disabled person?

K:  There’s often the risk that someone won’t believe us, as I illustrated with my earlier anecdote about the boat trip. Sometimes our attempts to say “I can’t” are deemed invalid by a nondisabled person, either because they assume we’re being stubborn or not trying hard enough or they think we just need to believe in ourselves more. Sometimes, a well-meaning person will say something like, “Yes you can! You’ve never been one to back away from a challenge!” Occasionally I really do just need a little encouragement and assistance to accomplish something, but more often than not, this reaction is counterproductive for me. By nature I’m a very determined person, and I don’t say “I can’t” lightly. I appreciate when people believe in me, but when I say that I can’t do something, I also need them to believe me.

***

Do you have any memories of saying or wanting to say, “I can’t?” How was this limit received?

K:  Yes. It has often been received negatively. Here’s one example: Once, I was on a walk with my mom and she kept asking me to stop walking with my knees knocking together. I kept trying to do as she asked, but my legs just wouldn’t cooperate. My mom is typically very understanding and patient, but this time she was getting increasingly frustrated every time I said, “I can’t.” She kept saying, “It’s EASY, just move your legs apart like THIS!” and demonstrating, and by the end of the walk I was nearly in tears. I truly was trying to do what she asked of me; my body just wouldn’t listen.

***

What message was conveyed to you because of moments like this?

K:  I felt incredibly helpless in that moment. I realized then that I was doing everything I could and it still wasn’t enough, and there was nothing I could do to convey to her what it was like to have CP. I felt alone.

But the morning after our walk, my mom and I were in the kitchen together and the TV was on, and a news segment came on about an actor and dancer with CP named Gregg Mozgala. He said something along the lines of, “It’s hard to understand what having CP is like if you don’t have CP. It’s like having a body that doesn’t always listen.”

I didn’t even realize that my mom was paying attention to that segment too, but right after it ended she came over to me and said, “He just said the same thing that you told me yesterday. I’m sorry I got upset with you. I didn’t understand.”

I wanted to cry all over again. It was so validating to hear someone else with CP put words to my experiences, and it meant a lot to me that my mom apologized and reflected on our situation. I think sometimes it’s hard for parents, too—my mom is amazing, and I knew she only wanted to help me, but my difficulties were getting lost in translation because her body doesn’t move like mine. Our bodies speak different languages.

***

Have your experiences contributed to the way you set or struggle to set boundaries?

K:  Absolutely. By nature I’m extremely tenacious and also a people pleaser, so I’m sure those qualities affected my ability to set boundaries as well. But I’m working on it. I spent so much of my life thinking that the phrase “I can’t” was a sign of failure and defeat, and I’m finding that this mindset is damaging. Sometimes “I can’t” is a sign of courage—a sign that I’m finally learning to listen to my body, to push myself when needed but also to set healthy boundaries.
I still struggle with expressing and maintaining boundaries, but connecting with the disability community has helped tremendously. I hope it helps parents, too, to hear from adults who have a disability like their child’s. Parents may never know exactly what it’s like to have their child’s disability, but they can start to build that empathy and understanding by truly listening to their child and by seeking out other firsthand perspectives.

***


Anything more you’d like to add?

K:  Some parents of children with disabilities might wonder how to foster resilience and perseverance in their children while still allowing and respecting “I can’t.”

First, I just want to acknowledge that productive struggle is important; sometimes we all get frustrated and feel like giving up, and at times we need to push through these feelings and keep trying. Many of my proudest accomplishments were only possible because I persevered even when I wanted to stop, even when I thought, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” And sometimes I did need a push from other people, including my parents. I’m NOT saying that parents should say, “Okay, never mind” whenever their child says, “I can’t.” In my opinion, they would be doing their child a disservice. My family believed in me and pressed me to be the best I could be, and that was a wonderful gift. Perseverance has taken me far in life, and that’s partly because I learned from a young age not to shy away from challenges.

But if your child says, “I can’t,” please don’t shut them down. Resist the urge to reply, “We don’t say those words.” In some situations, simply accept their response and move on.

Other situations might require more follow up. If they’re emotional, acknowledge the emotions they’re feeling (e.g., fear, frustration, sadness, anger), and help them name those emotions and identify why they might be feeling that way. It’s often incredibly difficult to admit that we can’t do something, especially when it’s a task we watch our peers do easily. And if they say “I can’t” in a defeated way, you can validate their feelings and then help them reframe their way of thinking with a qualifier: “I can’t do this yet,” or “I can’t do this right now,” or “I can’t do X, and that’s okay, but I’m really good at X, Y, and Z!” This reframing helps me sometimes when I feel down about something I’m not able to do because of my disability.

Then take steps to help them manage the situation. If your child is overwhelmed, they may just need a break, or they may need help breaking a large task into smaller, more manageable pieces. Depending on the situation and your child’s age and ability, you might also consider working together with them to find a way to adapt the activity so they can do it. If your child is able and willing to suggest adaptations, this can be an incredibly empowering process for them: It allows them to gain some control in a challenging situation, and it helps them develop creative coping skills that will serve them well throughout life. Also, a little bit of help (combined with patience and encouragement) can go a long way. Sometimes we just need more time and support to master a task, and it’s wonderful when others acknowledge that and give us the tools and space we need.

Encourage perseverance with positive reinforcement. Remind your child often that they are kind, smart, talented, and strong. Celebrate with them when they accomplish a goal they have been working toward. Make failure safe by encouraging them even when they struggle, and remind them that they learn and grow every time they try. When they persevere, lift them up with comments like, “I love how you kept trying and trying until you got it,” and “Wow! You worked so hard to do that. I know it wasn’t easy, but you did it! You are amazing,” and “You are such a hard worker!”

And encourage healthy boundary setting with positive reinforcement too. In some situations, that may even mean praising your child for saying “I can’t” and encouraging them to seek help when they need it. “I can’t” is not a universally negative statement. Boundary setting is essential for their physical and emotional safety and wellbeing, and it is a skill that will serve them well throughout their life.

Monday, January 17, 2022

Unpacking "I Can't": An Interview with Anonymous

799 words

6 minute read

This week's "I Can't" post comes with no name but lots and lots of wisdom! I found myself nodding along to every answer, and I especially loved the response to the last question.

Here's what this week's guest has to say:


***


Were you allowed to say “I can’t” when you were growing up?


ANON:  Generally, no. “I can’t” was treated as a swear word around me by doctors and physical therapists and other adults. From a young age, I was taught those words were not allowed to the point where I was reprimanded immediately or ignored for using them. 


***


What do you mean when you say, “I can’t?” (Are there cultural nuances to the phrase that get misunderstood?)

ANON:  Saying “I can’t” I was asking for help. I can’t do this alone. I need help. It was typically said from a place of anxiety and intense fear. But adults didn’t understand. They viewed my “I can’t” as defiance, a refusal to do the thing that was asked. I was often scolded for “not even trying” or given a flat “yes you can” in response. 


***


What risks or vulnerabilities exist in saying “I can’t” as a disabled person?


ANON:  Saying “I can’t” you are generally risking the person’s anger or possible punishment, even manipulation or other forms of emotional abuse. If you are expressing a need for help or accommodation, within that “I can’t” you are at their mercy hoping they will provide the assistance you need. 


***


[A self-portrait of Anonymous. She is smiling slightly and has brown hair and glasses.]
[A self-portrait of Anonymous. She is smiling slightly and has brown hair and glasses. She is holding a pencil.]


***


Do you have any memories of saying or wanting to say, “I can’t?” How was this limit received?

ANON:  I have several, but one stands out. 


I was in adaptive horseback riding. One day as I was mounting my horse, my foot got stuck behind the saddle as I went to swing my leg around the horse to get on. I tried for several moments to free myself, clinging to the reins and horn for balance, before desperately saying, “I can’t get up.”  to my helpers. Everything stopped. 


What did you just say? One of them shot back at me. 


I tried to explain that I couldn’t get my leg around. That my foot was wedged behind the saddle. That it was impossible for me to get it out on my own. That I’d already tried before saying “I can’t.” 


So what do you say instead? 


“Please help me!” I managed to beg. 


Once they had freed me and I was safely up on my horse I was praised for using the “correct words” and asking for help rather than saying “I can’t.” 


See you can do it! They praised me.


But the thing is? I didn’t do it. It was only because of them that I had gotten my foot free. I hadn’t done it myself. They’d forced me to plead and ask nicely for assistance, in a way that made them comfortable, rather than accept what I was already communicating by using “I can’t”  


Hearing this message from such a young age, it was easy to overgeneralize and feel like I was never allowed to say “I can’t” or disagree in any situation. If someone asked me to do something, I was supposed to do it, and do it with a smile. I was taught to people-please.  


***


What does it mean when disabled people grow up unable to express an inability to do something?


ANON:  Disabled people are taught in so many little ways that our bodies do not belong to us. That we are not allowed to have boundaries or to say no to the people that “know best for us.” 


Unfortunately, this is directly linked to compliance culture and more times than not leads to assault and abuse of disabled children and adults who were never taught boundaries or consent in the first place.


*** 


Have your experiences contributed to the way you set or struggle to set boundaries?


ANON:  I do struggle setting healthy boundaries still today. Not only because I was never taught how, but the internal messages I received as a child were that having limits was not allowed.


***


Anything more you’d like to add?


ANON:  Saying I can’t is more than just defiance or reluctance to try. “I can’t” is generally the first word - sometimes the only word - we have children to express a boundary or a limit, physical or otherwise. 


All children need to be able to say no, stop, or “I can’t” when they feel uncomfortable. It is the adult’s job to figure out why and not just assume.
This is especially true for disabled children who are much more likely to experience assault and abuse because of their disability. 


***


Want more? Here's Anon's blog post about this topic:


I Don’t Know How to Say No 


Monday, January 10, 2022

Unpacking "I Can't": An Interview with Kayla

721 words

5.5 minute read

It's time for yet another installment in the "I Can't" Series! This week, we're hearing from Kayla. I really loved her insights!

Here's what she has to say:


***


Were you allowed to say “I can’t” when you were growing up?

KAYLA:  Actually, yes, but my grandma definitely had to tell other adults in my life to respect when I said it. “She knows her limits” is something I remember her having to insist more than once when I was a kid.

***


What do you mean as a person with a disability when you say, “I can’t?” (Are there cultural nuances to the phrase that get misunderstood?)


KAYLA: For me, it’s definitely fluid. 


There are some things I objectively can’t do (like running, for example). 


There are other things that I can sometimes do and sometimes can’t. I can get into my sister’s truck, for example, but I can’t get into every single truck, because some of them are way too high off the ground. It’s also dependent on energy levels. If I’ve worn myself out that day, something I could do on a good energy day might become something I can’t do. 


Finally, there are some things that maybe I could do in theory that I will say I can’t do, because I don’t believe the possibility for injury is worth it. I can’t do this safely should be just as valid as something I can’t do at all.


***


What risks or vulnerabilities exist in saying “I can’t” as a disabled person?


KAYLA: Not being believed for SURE. 


On numerous occasions as an adult, it has been assumed that I don’t want to try when I say that I can’t, instead of my word being taken at face value. 


People want me to try it their way instead of just trusting that I know my own body, and what I can and can’t do. 


At worst, when it turns out that I’m right and I can’t do a particular physical task that’s been asked of me, it’s assumed that I’m not trying hard enough. 


This is very frustrating and invalidating.


***


Do you have any memories of saying or wanting to say, “I can’t?” How was this limit received? 


KAYLA:  Weirdly enough, my limits regarding “I can’t” seem to be received better by people who know me less well. Some people in life that I’m close with have actually told me that they’ll “forget I’m disabled” because there are a lot of tasks that I have managed to figure out creative solutions for. In my experience, friends hold space for the boundary that is “I can’t” in a way that certain family members do not.


[There was a time] when I was pushed too far recovering from surgery. My grandma wasn’t there to advocate for me. I KNEW I was gonna fall but the therapist made me do it anyway even after arguing with her. Sure as sh*t, I fell and she didn’t catch me. 


Adults think they know better than kids when it comes to their OWN LIMITS and that is so freaking awful.


***


What message was conveyed to you because of moments like this? 


KAYLA: In a way it’s like another form of infantilization. Like, “Actually, I know your abilities better than you”.


***

[Kayla (right) as a young child, posing with her mom (left). Kayla is smiling, and they're holding a stuffed animal between them.]
[Kayla (right) as a young child, posing with her grandma (left).
Kayla is smiling, and she and her grandma are holding a stuffed animal between them.]

***


Have your experiences contributed to the way you set or struggle to set boundaries?


KAYLA: For sure. Now that I’m older and have found more people that are also disabled, it is easier to recognize and call out a lack of respect for my boundaries regarding what I can and can’t do as what it is: ableism. 


Ableism looks like a lot of things, and recognizing it has been so helpful for my growth and development as a person. I’m disabled, and I’m allowed to have boundaries without being questioned or disbelieved. If people don’t respect that, they are being ableist. I am not being difficult, not trying, whatever negative nonsense is being suggested about me. Other people’s ableism isn’t my fault.

Monday, January 3, 2022

13 Reasons Why: Alex and Outbursts

2,252 words
17 minute read

TW: GIF warning
mention of emotional abuse

Spoilers for Seasons 2 through 4 of 13 Reasons Why


***

We’re back! 

Yes, we know that this was technically our Summer Blog Post Series, but we needed to take a break, to come back to the last few topics fresh! Thanks for your patience! (Shoutout to Heather for your recent feedback - it really helped!)

This week, we will be discussing the nuanced representation of outbursts and brain injury in 13 Reasons Why, and why this representation matters to us on a personal level. 

***

We had an interesting conversation while discussing ideas for this post where we remembered an interaction we had after Tara’s brain injury.  For context, this was the late 90s.  There was no media representation - no Alex Standalls to refer to - in order to get insight into this specific experience – what some might call an “outburst.”  What do we want to share about this time?

TONIA: In the months after your brain injury, I offered to help you with your homework.  At 16, my understanding of what happened to you was quite simplistic.  I knew you struggled in the areas I could see (reading and writing, to name a couple.)  So, I read questions for you and asked what you wanted the answer to be.  You kept saying: “I don’t know.”

TARA: And I think I kept getting more and more frustrated each time I said it, right?

TONIA: Probably! And I didn’t take those cues…

TARA: And at this point, I didn’t have a ton of mobility, so I spent the majority of my day in common rooms. I did PT in the family room, OT and schoolwork at the kitchen table. There was usually a TV on in the next room. Someone talking on the phone somewhere, and just the noise of six other people in the house - one being a toddler. Not a quiet place for cognitive work!

Needless to say, it’s a safe guess that I was struggling with filtering at this point as well as depression. You mentioned that I kept responding, “I don’t know” to your questions. You also said that I may have said, “It doesn’t matter.”

At that point, we didn’t know anything about aphasia. Now, I can say that “I don’t know” is a really common filler phrase when I’m overloaded. It’s something I can say in the moment that buys time. “It doesn’t matter” really feels like it’s depression-related to me. (As in, “School is insignificant because everything has changed, and I don’t know what to do.”)

Tonia, how did you interpret my responses to your questions as a 16-year-old with no context about communication disorders or brain injuries?  

TONIA: I was frustrated.  

Growing up disabled, I took your brain injury in stride and with the context I’d been given about my own CP: “Tonia’s just like everyone else, she just uses a walker,” (at the time.)  So, I thought, “Tara’s still the same.  She’s still herself.  She just has a brain injury.”  To me, this meant you struggled with headaches, with the trauma of surgery, and with various physical tasks, like I mentioned above.

I had no idea your communication had been impacted.  So, I thought you were just kind of over it?  Like, you didn’t want to do homework, and I was being a big pain in your butt by talking about it.

TARA: You interpreted my attempts at communication as noncompliance. As passive-aggression. Is that right?

TONIA: Yes.

TARA: What happened next?

TONIA: So, I’d read aloud from a textbook and then ask you what you wanted me to write down for your answer.  I kept asking, because I wasn’t getting an answer.  Eventually, I was like, “Just pick something.”  

And I believe you said: “You pick something.”  

And I was like: “...This isn’t my homework…” We had essentially ground to a halt, and I was exasperated.  I snapped: “I’m trying to help you!”

And what did you say?  

TARA: “YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING TO HELP ME!” 

TONIA: And then, I left.  Because my feelings were hurt.  

But do you want to say anything about how you may have felt in that moment? (I know you don’t necessarily remember this firsthand…)

TARA: I don’t remember anything about this night in particular aside from the last two sentences - what you said and how I responded.

I remember feeling, as a rule, completely deadened when it came to emotions. I suspect now that I was dissociating as a coping mechanism, so everything just felt far away and unreal, but it ached at the same time? Very few things were able to get through to me emotionally. But this moment was one of them.

TONIA: It got through to you? How so?

TARA: I think because you were being authentic with me, instead of masking your feelings? Your authenticity broke through to me and triggered my authenticity, I think.

TONIA:  Because, let’s be real, I wasn’t helping you by badgering you endlessly…

TARA: You’re referring to what I said?

TONIA: Yes.  You mentioned it triggered your authenticity.  Is that not what you meant?  Your response that I hadn’t done anything to help you?

TARA: I meant that you reached me on an emotional level, past dissociation and depression. In that moment, when I responded to your words, I felt such a strong rush of adrenaline. I think the term is “flooded,” when you are flooded by stress hormones? Prior to this, I had a very even keel. I may have felt overwhelmed, but I rarely reacted to it. However, due to my new injury, I was much more uninhibited in certain moments. 

So, that’s the memory I have of this exchange. A few words. And a huge rush of emotion.

TONIA: So, can I ask…  What did you mean when you said I hadn’t done anything to help you?  Is that what you meant to say?

TARA: I’m sure I felt like maybe you weren't being particularly helpful in that moment. But the overriding feeling that I’d meant to convey was, “I don’t think anyone can help me.” 

TONIA: So, you were feeling helpless?  Or hopeless, maybe?

TARA: Yes, and just sort of useless too.

TONIA: Oof.  I’m so sorry about that.  Thanks for trusting me.

While you were writing this response, I found a note you wrote me around that time.  Less than five months after your brain injury. I feel like it is, in part, a direct response to this interaction we’d had.  Is it okay to share an excerpt?

TARA: Sure.

TONIA:  So, you wrote:

...Accepting help is hard for me lately.  I feel like a huge dork cuz you know so much more than me!  I don’t know what else to do except act like the dork that I feel like.  It’s no excuse, I know.  …I love you with all my heart and soul – but I resent you, too.

TARA: I remember writing that. It felt cathartic to finally be able to express myself - to say what I meant to say.  

TONIA: Honestly, same.  I felt encouraged reading your note, because it felt like after months of isolation from each other, we were beginning to connect again.

TARA:  But how did our homework exchange that night affect you, Tonia?

TONIA:  I felt like…if I can be frank…  

TARA: Please.

TONIA: I was right there with you feeling helpless, hopeless and useless.  I felt like there was nothing I could do that would make things any easier or better for you.  

And honestly, that feeling persisted for about 15 years.  It really impacted our relationship, until we were able to have our first conversation about this exchange.

TARA: Because we didn’t know what we were dealing with, disability-wise. We didn’t have representation of any kind. 

TONIA: And more than that we didn’t have any adults in our world (the medical community or otherwise) who knew how brain injuries felt, or how they actually impacted people.  You had no idea all the ways it impacted you, so you couldn’t communicate that to me.

TARA:  And that really damaged our relationship for a long time, until we started investigating things for ourselves. Finding the words. Eventually, seeing some media representation…

TONIA: Yes, the media representation came about 20 years later…and it wasn’t good.  But the one good thing it did was that it got us talking.  For the first time, we really discussed aphasia.  And I realized your brain injury does impact your ability to communicate. And that you can’t always say what you mean.

TARA: I think that’s a huge reason why these posts and media representation means so much to us. I’d love to circle back to this exchange as we continue to discuss Alex and 13RW.

TONIA: Definitely.  I’d love that.

***


[Alex: I'm sorry I'm not fucking normal, Dad!  I know that's so hard for you!]


13RW does something interesting in that it normalizes the concept of teen boys having outbursts of emotion. Prior to Alex’s injury in episode 1x06, he has a loud confrontational outburst with another student. 

Post-injury, Alex’s outbursts are acknowledged and deescalated. Can we talk about the novel way people in Alex’s life react to his communication? 

TONIA:  Well, it is definitely novel!  Even in recent years, so-called outbursts by disabled characters in the media are responded to with nothing short of abuse.  Seeing calm responses is groundbreaking.

Are there any specific scenes you want to discuss, Tara?

TARA: There’s a scene at the end of the camping trip episode (4x04) that I found particularly interesting. In it, the seniors are passing a conch shell (deemed the “sharing shell”) around as they take turns talking around the campfire. When it’s Alex’s turn, his friends quietly worry that he is going to confess to Bryce’s murder. Instead, he confesses to really hating camping. He then throws the shell at a nearby tree, where it shatters. The seniors and chaperones laugh.

It’s a relatively small scene, but the framing of it feels like a big deal. I can easily envision an alternate version of this scene, where the reaction to Alex throwing the shell is disapproval - where he is shepherded away to calm down. Instead, the throwing of the shell was taken as a legitimate expression supporting the words Alex said. 

More than that, this moment was received with humor, which is rare cross-culturally. 

***
 
Something we say often between ourselves is “behavior is communication.”  We’ve also discussed the concept of “self advocacy” recently and how it’s quite restrictive.  But can we discuss how Alex’s outbursts are often actually advocacy?

TONIA: Yes, self-advocacy is often viewed through a narrow lens. Attempts at self-advocacy are often dismissed because of a disabled person’s loudness or intensity.  But often if we are soft and quiet, we aren’t believed or taken seriously.  Our advocacy has to be loud in order to “make a dent.”

TARA: There are many moments in the series which do portray Alex loudly and demonstratively self-advocating. (I’m recalling 2x01, where he asked his mother to see his note.) I love that 13RW shows that imperfect self-advocacy is still legitimate communication and can be taken as such.

TONIA: Yes, I agree!

***

We think it’s also very important to point out that not ALL of Alex’s outbursts are advocacy.  There are a couple of times when (because of steroid use) he is quite intimidating and emotionally abusive.  Can we talk more about this nuanced representation?

TONIA: No human being is one-dimensional.  Alex is no exception.  His drug use definitely contributes to him being confrontational in a way that is abusive.  I honestly really appreciate that these nuances are shown.  Because then we see that Alex is not just solely “good” or solely “bad”, he’s some of both, as everyone is.

TARA: In 3x07, Alex confronts Jessica. He towers over her as she sits, intimidates her and yells at her publicly. As Tonia said, we get to see nuance over the course of the series, with regard to brain injury representation, which remains a rare thing.

***

Alex having outbursts does not change throughout the series.  It’s people’s reactions to him that are noteworthy and which create novel disability representation.  What do we hope audiences take away from watching a show like “13” in terms of outbursts as communication.

TONIA: I hope it will help people widen their scope of what they deem “acceptable” communication and kind of get out of their own way a bit, in terms of preconceived notions and ideas.  (I say this as someone who regularly comes up against my own in our interactions.)  Not everyone’s communication looks the same.  And it’s a good reminder to listen to what the other person is saying and not how they’re saying it.

TARA: I hope that it helps people to see different ways to react to loud, blunt, and demonstrative communication. That it’s possible to deescalate these moments by taking the time to hear and respond to the message, as opposed to tone-policing its delivery. 

TONIA: Oof. Yes. Thanks for talking about this with me!

TARA: Of course! I love it!

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Have you seen 13 Reasons Why on Netflix?  

Did reading our conversation about Alex and outbursts help you realize anything or notice anything you hadn't registered before?  

We'd love to hear from you in the comments.

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