by Laura Millar
From the Editor: Laura Millar is a blind outspoken disability rights and queer rights advocate who is deeply committed to advancing the field of sexual health promotion for people with disabilities. With master’s degrees in public health and sexuality studies, Laura conducts research that examines how blind and visually impaired people learn about and navigate the world of dating, sex, and intimate relationships.
Laura began her work with the goal of empowering people who are blind or visually impaired. Her passion and expertise have expanded to educating people with all types of disabilities to help them comfortably navigate intimacy and physical relationships. Laura specializes in helping people break through pockets of resistance and navigate shame related to their disability and/or sexuality.
Her work highlights the importance of creating a culture that centers around consent and strives to live in a world where talking about and obtaining consent is not only the norm but expected in every situation! Laura’s current services also include group education and one-on-one coaching. Training programs are available for teachers, trainers, group facilitators, and for people with disabilities and their family members. She can be reached at [email protected]. Here is what she says:
My confidence grew the moment I stepped out under blindfold for the first time. I was in my mid-thirties and was finally coming to an acceptance of my blindness; I was finally getting some much-needed cane training, and I wasn’t hating it. To be honest I wasn’t loving it either, but it was a beautiful day, and I was happy to be outside. With each step I could feel myself exploring the world in a new, exciting, and terrifying way. My feet teetered off the curb on the left, and I gently felt my instructor’s hands on my shoulder guiding me back onto the path, a gentle instruction on how to make sure I located the curb without falling off. We then continued the lesson.
It is important to pause here and let you know that this settled my internal systems. I realized how close my instructor was to me, and I naively believed that I would be safe from that point on—that they would make sure I did not fall off curbs or run into objects.
As the lesson proceeded, I continued to learn new skills as situations arose. About ten or fifteen minutes later I found myself preparing to cross my first very busy lit intersection. My instructor and I stood on the corner for what felt like forever deconstructing the intersection, the sounds, and how I could discern when it was safe to cross. We practiced scenarios verbally on the street corner until finally I was ready to cross.
As I stepped into the street, I could feel myself veering too far to the right, and when I reached the middle of the intersection, I could hear cars heading toward me. I swung my cane to the left and moved back to what I thought was on course, but I over-corrected; instead of finding a safe path, I instead heard traffic rushing toward me in the other direction. Nothing made sense, and I started to feel afraid. I called out to my instructor and didn’t hear a response.
At this point my anxiety was fully activated, and I panicked, fearing for my safety. Instinctively, and not something I recommend anybody ever do, I ripped off my blindfold right there in the middle of the intersection. What little vision I had left was overwhelmed and washed out by a flood of light, which only added to my anxiety. To this day I am not sure how I got out of the intersection or to the corner, but I’m sure my instructor was right there and was a big part of getting me to safety after my poorly thought-out plan.
Only after the fact did I realize that I likely was never in any immediate danger, and they were helping to direct traffic so I could figure it out on my own. I was always “safe,” at least in theory, but in the middle of the intersection when I was getting no response and feeling so threatened, I was terrified, leading me to react the way I did. I had no foreknowledge that they would be directing traffic and leaving me to what felt like my own devices, and I think it would have been very helpful to know!
Before the lesson that day, I’m sure my instructor and I had a conversation about my fears going under blindfold and what the lesson would be like. We certainly discussed many things before we left and while we were walking the route. What we did not fully discuss was informed consent—I was put into a situation that I not only wasn’t prepared for, but which directly and immediately affected my mental health, my ability to focus, and my ability to concentrate and learn. In talking with my instructor about what happened, I was able to share that I felt like I simply did not have enough information about how they were going to work with me and what to do if I felt unsafe.
I remember that, when I stepped off the curb, I made a mental note that I was safe because my instructor’s hand reached out to guide me back on the path before I was able to stumble or hurt myself. That was a completely nonverbal discussion that resulted in assumptions that, when faced with the problem later, did not match my reality. When I was struggling in the middle of the intersection, I assumed that my instructor would be right there to guide me to safety. After calling out to them and not hearing a response, I reacted by throwing off my blindfold. What I would have wanted instead, and am now requesting of my instructors, is that they spend some time not just reviewing the lesson but doing so from an “informed consent perspective.”
This event changed the trajectory of my career. I had envisioned myself solely working in the blind community as a sex educator focused on sex education and consent in relationships. My work shifted to more advocacy-based teaching and training orientation and mobility instructors, teachers of the visually impaired, and parents and educators about the importance of consent and informed consent in EVERY situation. I now take advantage of everyday situations to model consent and demonstrate the agency (a personal feeling of control over actions and their consequences) and autonomy that blind people have and can advocate for over their own world and life.
When most people hear of informed consent, they think of a research study or maybe a visit to a medical doctor, and they would not be wrong. Those are places where there are ethics review boards and other controls to help assure the humane and ethical treatment of people. When provided with informed consent, the participant can ask clarifying questions, request accommodations or modifications, and ultimately make an educated and conscientious decision about whether or not they want to participate.
In an ideal world, informed consent about going under a blindfold would include a pre-discussed plan that outlines the activity, including associated benefits and risks. Preparing this plan should address any concerns, fears, or limitations the participant might have with the proposed activity. This plan would include where they were going, the length of activity, the location and responsibility of the instructor, and the personal safety of the participant, including the risks they will be taking. It would also outline how the instructor might interact physically with the participant: where their body was, what expectations both have about touch, and communication about when a participant will be outside the instructor’s reach. It is extremely important that the plan outline what the participant should do when they don’t feel safe, including how to end the activity.
It’s also important to note that even having a plan and a conversation ahead of the activity may not have stopped my anxiety attack in the middle of the road. However, I firmly believe it would have changed the way I reacted to that anxiety as the expectations, risks, and protections would have been clearer. The idea that folks need to be uncomfortable to learn is not only outdated, it is downright dangerous. Informed consent would not have stopped my discomfort, but it would have alleviated a great deal of it. It would have given me the information that I needed to show up fully empowered and to make better choices about the situation.
My main goal is to emphasize how important it is that parents, orientation and mobility instructors, teachers of the visually impaired, and ultimately everyone understand informed consent and that the methods we use to teach and model consent to blind folks will directly affect the kind of blind person they will become. A blind person who is treated with agency and respect, who is given the information that they need to make an informed decision, is one who can take that agency, autonomy, and respect confidently with them into their workplaces, relationships, and lives. That kind of empowerment helps us face the challenges life throws at us and makes the world easier to navigate.
Here is my contact information: Laura Millar MPH, M.A., MCHES (She/Her)
Sexuality educator, consultant, coach, and community organizer
Contact [email protected]