Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
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domestic life (w/rafe)
about: this series is gonna be super, short and cute! just a bunch of compilation of your life with rafe + super super domestic fluff <3 send requests if you would like !
the days were sweltering hot, and you could barely take it, feeling so overstimulated you felt like you could cry.
all it would take would be a slight comment for your eyes to start watering, so you knew it was a good decision to carefully walk down to rafe's truck. good thing your boyfriend was always willing to turn on the ac as much as you wanted.
the minute you jumped into the car, rafe leaned in closer to give you a kiss with puckered lips, an easy grin on his face, "there's my pretty girl," he murmured fixing your seat before grazing your face with his fingers.
you grimaced looking away pushing a hand to move him away, pink skirt fluttering as you redid your lipgloss. rafe looked at you with a raised eyebrow, gruffly muttering something under his breath after your rejection.
"i'm all gross, rafe. can't deal with it," you groaned, rubbing your hands in your hair to make it look better, "shit, this heat is really getting to me."
"c'mere, what the hell does it matter?" he groaned ignoring your meek protests before grabbing your face to give you a proper kiss, "i've seen you worse," then he gave you a suggestive smile as you smiled shyly, rubbing your face on his shoulder as he muttered in approval.
"that wasn't so hard, was it?"
you hide your smile now, humming softly. giving him a slight look you adjust the toggle of the air conditioning, feeling the chilly breeze cool you. rafe looked at you bewildered as you turned it up the whole way, a cheeky smile on your face. you knew he couldn't stop you. you knew he didn't have it in him.
"y'know i turned it on before you came in? spent five minutes fermenting in this fuckin' cold"
now you rolled your eyes, fixing your necklace to make sure it was on display. sometimes that was how you won arguments, you just flashed your little necklace that had a 'r,' on it, and you swore rafe's eyes went glossy before he coughed to stop himself to kissing you. it worked every single time, but this time he was scowling, shaking his head as he continued to drive.
you nudged him gently with your manicured finger, "rafe? rafe...rafe?" you whispered in his ear, before he let out a small groan slowly pulling over the car.
"what is it?"
you bit your lip, fidgeting before you looked up.
"spit it out."
you sighed, "i can't deal with the weather rafe. it makes me feel super ichy, and disgusting. i need this. i really do." now you're practically whispering, looking up at him with wide doe eyes. you watch him close his eyes, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
finally he let out a soft sigh, as he ran a hand through his hair as if it made sense to him. sometimes he talked to you about his sensory issues as well, in that soft offhanded way, telling you how it irritated him the way that the tv was loud enough to make his head burn, or the way the tags on his t-shirts had to cut off properly, and now you wished that he would understand.
you shivered now, like a frail leaf on an autumn day, hoping that you wouldn't be met with his cruel words, hoping that he'll understand and somehow, somehow he places a warm hand on your waist, a gentle frown on his face.
and in true rafe fashion, he gives you a small pat on your head, pulling the car back into drive, and he's practically cooing now but there's a sweet edge to his words as if he's pulling you apart like cotton candy.
"yea', jesus, i should have known better," and then he tosses a cd into your lap, and you know he's trying to apologise through his actions as he gives you a soft kiss the on the forehead
"c'mon put on one of those cheesy songs."
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"chilchuck isn't a twink, he's a DILF!" now i get why you're saying that but i feel like you've maybe forgotten what chilchuck tims canonically looks like
i'm sorry but this man is a twink. also DILF isn't a body type it's a status (and technically, an opinion) so he can be both
"but he's middle-aged!" look at him. look with your eyeballs. his age has nothing to do with the fact that he Looks Like That. he's a twink. the sooner you accept this the less angry his fandom will make you
edit bc this post has become the bane of my existence:
FAQ
Q: wtf do you mean he's a dad? he looks like a kid.
A: he is 29 years old, and a half-foot. half-foots are dungeon meshi's halflings, or hobbits, or whatever you want to call them.
Q: wait, if he's 29, why the fuck are you calling him middle-aged?
A: half-foots have an average lifespan of 50 years. chilchuck was originally drawn with grey hairs (you can see that in the manga fullbody) but the mangaka gave up on that over time. he's middle-aged for his race.
Q: hey, doesn't that look like a little angry face on his boot in the manga drawing?
A: yea kinda
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