I’m Tired of Begging Strangers to Stop Touching Me Wherever I Go

I was stepping down from a train yesterday when I felt a hand grab my waist. I didn’t have time to think, my body instantaneously reacted, jerking away from whoever was touching me.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, my voice agitated.

In less than a second, my brain had gone into overdrive. There was a small part of my mind that knew I wasn’t in danger, that the person touching me probably worked for the train company, that perhaps they’d even told me so. But all I could feel were the physical manifestations of my panic. My skin began to get clammy, my lungs felt like they were being crushed, and I could feel the burn of tears behind my eyelids.

He didn’t remove his hands, and I yanked my body away again, “get off me, stop touching me, don’t touch me.!”

I knew, in that small, logical part of my brain, that my reaction was extreme. But it wasn’t something I had any control over.

Finally, I was off the train, and stepping away from him.

“I’m here to help you, there’s no need to be rude. I didn’t want you to fall.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because I was anxious and why couldn’t I just breathe and control my body temperature and stop shaking like a normal person. But I also wanted to cry because I’d probably hurt the feelings of a decent person who just wanted to help me and knew no better.

Needless to say, the next five minutes were awkward. I couldn’t bring myself to take his arm, even though I normally would to be guided. My skin felt overly sensitive and the thought of touching anyone made me want to be sick. He was irritated with me and most likely thought I was a complete bitch. It was a really crappy moment, one which I’ve had to endure time and time again. It never gets easier.

As I waited for an Uber outside of the train station, we did have a nice conversation. He apologised to me, recognising that touching me had freaked me out. He said he thought I was going to stumble while getting off the train, and he didn’t know what to do. I think that is the root of all of this. People see a blind person moving through space and they have absolutely no idea how to handle it. They don’t think about consent, or appropriate physical contact, or any of those other things. It’s not right, but it happens every single time I leave the house.

I don’t know how to have a nuanced conversation about this. I’ve tried being shouty and demanding online, telling people that it isn’t, under any circumstances, ok to touch a disabled person without their consent. And I do stand by that. But any number of Twitter threads hasn’t actually stopped it from happening. I still have to measure how much energy I have before I leave the house, trying to calculate the likelihood that a random stranger will invade my personal space, and whether my energy levels can cope with that. I often avoid doing things that I know I’d enjoy, like going to the theatre or to have coffee with a friend, because the interactions I’m likely to have along the way are too exhausting to even contemplate. We need to have a conversation that will result in change, but I don’t know how to make it happen. Telling people to stop just makes them defensive, and whilst I don’t particularly care if they feel put out, it doesn’t change their behaviour. But being passive and letting people grab me because they know no better makes me absolutely miserable.

The reality is, when sighted people see me and assume I’m going to hurt myself, I’m probably not going to. Yesterday, I was reaching out with my right arm so that I could use my cane to feel the height of the step down. I was holding my body awkwardly because of this, and because I was carrying a heavy bag in my left hand. Steps down from trains are big, and as someone who isn’t exactly tall, I probably look ridiculous. But I’m perfectly safe. I know my body, and more than that I know how to be blind. It is Afterall all I know.

These small interactions that take away my agency happen all the time, because sighted people don’t understand that as a blind person, I’m going to move through the world slightly differently. I might slide my hand across a door to find the handle, or along the wall to find the button for a lift, and a sighted person assumes I’m lost or don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m not. I’m using my hands to look around, as you would use your eyes.

We don’t tell sighted people to keep their eyes ahead at all times. Looking around to locate objects is perfectly accepted behaviour, and yet if I do the same with my hands or my cane, I must be lost, confused, or in need of saving. I feel a bitter sting of disappointment every time someone jumps in to help. I know they are trying to be nice, but it takes away even those tiny things from me. And when it happens every single day it gets to be overwhelming and exhausting. It can also be massively inconvenient. If I’m going to visit a building multiple times, I need to know where the door handles are. Someone jumping in to push me out of the way so they can get it for me (yes this actually happens) means I’m only going to have to search around for it next time. If people let me exist in the world as a blind person, I’d be able to find the things I need and build up a mental map of my surroundings. I don’t have information unless I’m allowed to locate things, usually with my hands. I don’t have the luxury of standing still, looking around and taking in my surroundings. So, I must navigate the world differently in order to access this information.

I could write thousands of words on the toll this takes on my mental health, but that’s a post for another day. Exhaustion is part of it, but so is anger. I won’t apologise for my anger, I try and find healthy outlets for it, but I won’t say sorry for feeling rage at injustice and the way I am not perceived as an adult who should have agency over my own body.

I don’t know what to tell you if you’re a sighted person who is reading this. Please don’t touch me, don’t touch anyone unless you know they are ok with it. I know the automatic response to this is “but what if they’re going to hurt themselves,” or the slightly nastier “fine, I’ll let you get ran over then.” It’s difficult because I’d obviously say we all have a responsibility to step in and help those in need. The difficulty lies in the fact that I am presumed to be in need all the time, when really, I’m going about my business like anybody else. Don’t grab me, don’t jump in, and push my hand away from lift buttons when I’m trying to read the braille on them, so you can press the number I want half a second faster than I could. Don’t grab me by the backpack and yank me backwards when I’m on the stairs, for the love of God, do NOT do this. Don’t pick me up and place me on the bus like you would a toddler. Don’t bar my path and stop me from walking somewhere alone because you assume I should have a “responsible adult” taking care of me. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t take the stairs or an escalator when really you have no business telling me what to do with my own legs. Don’t drag me across the road because you think I can’t cross it myself. Don’t wrap your arms around my waist and try and pull me into a chair like I’m a piece of luggage.

If you want to know if I need help, or if I’m lost, or if I want to cross the street, just ask. That is literally all I need people to do. Asking is totally fine. It respects my agency and gives me a choice to accept the help or not. Perhaps I need directions, or clarification, or maybe the lift buttons don’t have braille and instead of you pressing the button, I’d like to know the layout of them so I can find it again. I have many meaningful interactions with people, and I appreciate the ways that people who don’t know me will willingly step in to offer me assistance. I genuinely believe that human beings are wonderful, and we can all support one another.

But also understand that I have as much of a right to personal space as anyone else. You don’t know what kind of trauma a person lives with, or whether they have other disabilities, or if they’re just an introvert who doesn’t enjoy physical contact. If you wouldn’t like to be blindfolded and have people grab you out of nowhere, please don’t do it to me.