Seeing Beyond the Cane: Redefining How We View Assistive Devices

I often feel that when I am using my cane, people see the cane first and make assumptions about me before they see me—the person. It’s as if the simple presence of this small tool rewrites my identity in their minds. Suddenly, I’m not a community leader, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, or an author—I’m “the person with the cane.” While I understand that it may catch someone’s attention, the assumptions that follow can be heavy to carry.

Assistive devices like canes, guide dogs, and wheelchairs are not symbols of limitation. They are tools of independence and empowerment, allowing people to navigate a world that wasn’t always built with them in mind. Yet, society often views these devices as signs of weakness or tragedy, and that stigma can shape how people with disabilities are treated. In reality, using an assistive device has nothing to do with someone’s capability or worth—it’s a way of moving through life with freedom and dignity.

The language we use plays a powerful role in shaping these perceptions. Phrases like “wheelchair-bound” or “confined to a wheelchair” are both inaccurate and harmful. A wheelchair doesn’t confine someone—it liberates them, enabling them to move, explore, and engage fully with the world. A more accurate and respectful term is “wheelchair user,” which centers the person and frames the wheelchair as what it truly is: a tool. Likewise, saying someone “suffers from blindness” assumes that their life is inherently full of suffering. Many blind individuals don’t view their blindness as suffering at all—it’s simply a characteristic, like being tall or having brown hair. Saying “a blind person” or “a person who is blind” acknowledges this reality and treats it with dignity. These small changes in language reflect a broader mindset of respect and inclusion rather than pity or limitation.

Unfortunately, many people still react to assistive devices with stares, pitying looks, discomfort, or unsolicited advice. Staring can make someone feel as though they’re on display rather than seen as a person simply living their life. Pity suggests that their existence must be tragic, when in truth, many people with disabilities live full, joyful, and vibrant lives. Even well-meaning unsolicited advice—like telling someone how they should hold their cane or navigate a curb—can come across as dismissive, as if you don’t trust them to know their own needs and abilities. These reactions, though often unintentional, create barriers that make public spaces feel unwelcoming.

What’s needed is a shift in perspective. Imagine if every time you saw someone riding a bike, you thought, Oh, poor thing, they must not be able to walk. That would be absurd, right? A bike is understood as a helpful tool—a way to get somewhere faster or more easily. Assistive devices should be viewed the same way: as neutral, even positive, extensions of a person’s independence. Seeing someone with a cane, guide dog, or wheelchair shouldn’t evoke discomfort or pity. It should signal that our communities are becoming more inclusive, that people who were once excluded from certain spaces now have full access to them.

When we celebrate the visibility of assistive devices, we take the weight of stigma off the individual and place the responsibility where it belongs—on society. It becomes our job to ensure sidewalks are smooth, buildings are accessible, apps are designed inclusively, and our language is respectful. Small actions have a big impact: smiling instead of staring, asking before offering help, choosing terms like “wheelchair user” instead of “wheelchair-bound,” and saying “a person who is blind” instead of “suffers from blindness.” These choices send a simple but powerful message: you belong here, and your experience matters.

The next time you encounter someone using an assistive device, notice your first reaction. If it leans toward discomfort or pity, pause and reframe it. Their device is simply part of how they move through the world—no more remarkable than someone else’s bike, car, or glasses. When we see assistive devices as ordinary, we help create a culture where everyone, can live with dignity, independence, and joy. This shift isn’t only about individuals; it’s about building a world where every person is free to move, explore, and thrive.

I often feel that when I am using my cane, people see the cane first and make assumptions about me, before they see me-the person. It’s as if the simple presence of this small tool rewrites my identity in their minds. Suddenly, I’m not a community leader, a wife  mother,  grandmotheror a author— I’m “the person with the cane.” While I understand that it may catch someone’s attention, the assumptions that follow can be heavy to carry.

Assistive devices like canes, guide dogs, and wheelchairs are not symbols of limitation. They are tools of independence and empowerment.. Yet, society often views these devices as signs of weakness or tragedy, and that stigma can shape how people with disabilities are treated. In reality, using an assistive device is not a reflection of someone’s capability or worth. It’s a way of moving through life with freedom and dignity.

The language we use matters deeply. Terms like “wheelchair-bound” or “confined to a wheelchair” are both inaccurate and harmful. A wheelchair does not confine someone — it enables them to move, explore, and participate fully in the world. A more respectful phrase would be “wheelchair user” because it centers the person and acknowledges the wheelchair as a tool, not a prison. Similarly, saying someone “suffers from blindness” assumes their life is inherently full of suffering. Many blind individuals do not view their blindness as suffering at all; it’s simply a characteristic, like being tall or having brown hair. Instead, say “a blind person” or “a person who is blind.” These small changes may seem insignificant, but they reflect a mindset of respect and inclusion rather than pity or limitation.

Unfortunately, many people still react to assistive devices with stares, pitying looks,  discomfort or unsolicited advice. Staring makes someone feel as though they’re on display instead of being seen as a person living their life. Pity suggests that their existence must be tragic, when in truth, many people with disabilities live full, vibrant, joyful lives. Offering unsolicited advice — like telling someone how they should hold their cane or navigate a curb — can feel dismissive, as if you don’t trust them to know their own needs or abilities.

These reactions, even when well-intentioned, can create barriers that make public spaces feel unwelcoming.

What we need is a shift in perspective. Imagine if every time you saw someone riding a bike, you thought, Oh, poor thing, they must not be able to walk. That would sound absurd, right? A bike is understood as a helpful tool, a way to get somewhere faster or more easily. Assistive devices should be viewed the same way — as neutral or even positive extensions of a person’s independence. Seeing someone with a cane, a guide dog, or a wheelchair should not be a moment of discomfort. It should be a sign that our communities are becoming more inclusive, that people who were once excluded from certain spaces can now access them fully.

When we celebrate the visibility of assistive devices, we normalize them. And when they are normalized, the burden shifts from the individual to society at large. The responsibility becomes ours — to make sure sidewalks are smooth, buildings are accessible, apps are designed inclusively, and language is respectful. Small changes make a big difference. Smiling instead of staring. Asking before helping instead of assuming. Saying “wheelchair user” instead of “wheelchair-bound.” Choosing “a person who is blind” instead of “suffers from blindness.” These choices send a powerful message: you belong here, and your experience is valid.

The next time you encounter someone using an assistive device, try to notice your initial reaction. Instead of letting discomfort or pity lead you, take a breath and remember that their device is simply part of how they move through the world — no more remarkable than someone else’s bike, car, or glasses. When we see assistive devices as ordinary, we help create a culture where everyone, regardless of ability, can live with dignity, independence, and joy. Normalizing these tools isn’t just about changing how we view individuals — it’s about building a world where every person is free to move, explore, and thrive.

Written By Michelle Friedman

Michelle Friedman is the board chair of Keshet in Chicago, a member of Disability Lead and has been a disability advocate for 40 years. She has written two children’s books and is a frequent speaker for elementary and high school-age students. #AllInForAllAbilities