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I’m in my 20s and I am a Ph.D. neuroscience student, yet I am often offered candy by front office receptionists, accompanied by a sickly-sweet, high-pitched "O' sweetie, would you like some candy?" Experiencing such infantilization is ubiquitous if your disability is very visible and more so if you are seen as “more disabled.” Infantilization refers to the act of treating individuals as if they were infants or children, regardless of their age or cognitive abilities.
Yes, my disability is very visible and evident to the onlooker. I have autism and ADHD with limited speaking ability and I do have a lot of atypical body movements and sensorimotor mannerisms called stimming behaviors, many of which are often involuntary. Rocking back and forth or flicking fingers are common stimming movements.
Yet, infantilization is something that I experience all the time, like at the stores where the checkout clerk will make it a point to talk to me in a slow, high-pitched tone meant for toddlers; and throw in a few “Good Jobs” for good measure. Surely, disability meant I could not possibly comprehend the typical pace and pitch of a human conversation, hence the need for the slowly spaced-out words. High-pitched notes are painful on the ear rather than helpful for autistics like me who have sensory sensitivities. And I had not done anything deserving of praise in that particular instance; I had to wonder if the copious and high-pitched “Good Jobs” was pity directed at me for just existing on this earth with a disability.
It's been 33 years since the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed, yet being accorded basic dignity remains elusive for many disabled individuals. Infantilization harms the disabled by denying their dignity, intelligence, and adulthood, perpetuating inequality, and devaluing their worth. It also negatively affects mental health, contributing to frustration, helplessness, low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, and isolation. It perpetuates ableism, marginalizes individuals, undermines their personal identity, and creates barriers to inclusion. It also diminishes social opportunities, leading to loneliness and reduced social skills.
The irony is that the person at the other end thinks of their action as well-meaning, kind, benevolent, or perhaps even an act of much-needed charity. Under the charity model of disability, disabled individuals are seen as passive recipients of charity and pity, rather than as potential active participants in society. In fact, even as I was at dinner at a restaurant recently, an older male, sitting at the next table, walked up to our table and sidled a dollar note across the table in my direction, and said “I want you to have this. You are such a blessing.”
In that one moment, I had been reduced to a charity case; an object of pity; with the few dollars doled out serving to ease the conscience and boost the sense of feeling good by that other person. But I am left to walk away feeling I am worth less than the ant crawling on the ground near my feet. Disabled autistics like me face these types of microaggressions every day from all manner of folk. This cognitive dissonance between our capability and how society treats us affects our mental health and hinders our personal development and potential for growth.
I dare dream of a society where we all are valued and can live a life of dignity. I dare dream that I can live in a society that is accepting and supportive of both diverse challenges and diverse abilities and contributions of every individual. I dare dream that together we can create lasting change where we can all feel we belong.
