I was watching Survivor the other night — a show that’s usually all about strength, strategy, and survival — when something completely different caught my attention.
One of the players opened up about being autistic. She spoke softly, explaining what her episodes might look like and how she experiences the world.
And then, the man she was speaking to — a big, strong, “manly” kind of guy — simply said:
“How could I help you in that moment?”
Those six words stopped me in my tracks.
I felt this sudden wave of emotion wash over me because that question — that simple, human question — holds so much power. It’s what so many of us who live with disabilities long to hear. Not because we want sympathy or special treatment, but because we want understanding.
I know that feeling all too well — of wanting to be seen, not as “different,” but as me. There were so many moments in my life where I felt like an outsider, where loneliness wrapped around me tighter than any blanket could. But then there was this one moment at varsity that I’ll never forget.
A really good friend looked at me and asked, “What do you need to feel comfortable?”
I could have cried right there. It was the first time someone had seen me — not the wheelchair, not the assumptions — just me.
You see, when you live with a visible or invisible disability, you often find yourself misunderstood. Sometimes people talk louder to me, as if my brain needs help understanding, when in reality, I just need them to listen. It’s moments like that that can make you feel small — unseen, unheard, and invisible in a world that often moves too fast to pause and understand.
But over the years, I’ve learned to use my voice. To ask clearly for what I need. It wasn’t easy — it took years of practice, patience, and courage. But I’ve realized that asking for help doesn’t make me weak. It makes me honest. It makes me human.
What I wish more people understood is that we have feelings, we want to be heard, and we want to belong. Inclusion isn’t just about physical access — it’s about emotional access too. It’s about asking, “How can I make you feel comfortable?” or “How can I help you in this moment?”
Because life, at its heart, is about connection. About taking the time to understand someone else’s world — even if it looks a little different from your own.
I’m like everyone else. I just want acceptance. I want to feel part of the human story — the messy, beautiful, complicated one we’re all writing together.
So next time someone opens up to you, take a breath, listen with empathy, and maybe ask the question that means more than you’ll ever know:
“How can I help you in that moment?”
Because that’s where real understanding begins. That’s where connection lives.
