Image by Jason Wertz on Unsplash.
The New York Times recently ran a piece on how “older” people resist aids for disabilities. The subheading lays out the premise neatly: “Many older Americans shun an identity that could bring helpful accommodations, improve care and provide community.”
According to the article, older adults avoid useful supports—hearing aids, walking devices—because they’re reluctant to embrace a “disabled” identity. The suggestion is that vanity or denial explains the resistance.
This argument feels familiar. We see versions of it in articles claiming that older people resist change because they’re “stubborn,” or their brains have “hardened,” or they simply cling to what’s familiar.
But if you dig a little deeper, a better question emerges: What are people actually resisting?
Often, they’re resisting being nudged toward forms of care that come with significantly less privacy and alarmingly high rates of mistreatment. (I talk about this in my book, When I Grow Old I Want to Be a Bitch.) Given the choice, I too would resist being shuttled into an “old folks facility.” Move me to a suite at the Ritz-Carlton and I’ll pack in ten minutes.
So when I read that older adults “resist adaptations,” I want to look beneath the surface.
Take hearing aids. They’re expensive, poorly regulated, rarely covered by insurance, and they require training to use well. They aren’t like eyeglasses—you don’t simply pop them in and go about your day. I’ve met very few people who were genuinely satisfied with their hearing aids. Many of the people quoted in the Times article gave up on theirs or ended up constantly asking others to speak louder.
Walking devices come with their own issues. I’ve used a cane when I’ve been injured. I found it awkward, easy to get tangled in, and—more importantly—I received responses ranging from patronizing humor to assumptions of helplessness. A tool that should have made my life easier often complicated it socially.
The article frames all of this as a reluctance to adopt a “disabled identity.” But must you embrace an identity to ask for help?
I’ve had a lifelong fear of escalators, especially going down. I’ve never hesitated to ask strangers for assistance—once in Budapest, when facing a particularly intimidating escalator in the subway.
I also get nervous on Amtrak platforms where the gap between train and platform can be wide. Conductors have helped me many times; once, an Amtrak employee even escorted me to the quiet car. Helpful, not humiliating.
But do these situations make me “disabled”? Why should recognizing a need for help require adopting a label?
And what exactly do we gain by adopting such an identity? Pity? Stereotypes? A new box to be placed in? Sometimes you just need help. For example, my baking skills are nonexistent. Does that make me “disabled in the kitchen”?
I once knew someone who couldn’t drive because of vision issues. He took public transportation, bummed rides, and arranged taxis. I never thought of him as disabled—just someone who found ways to work around a limitation.
If anything, removing the requirement to frame needs in terms of identity makes it easier to solve problems. When you treat a situation as something that simply requires a workaround, you can focus on the solution itself. When I can’t manage a downward escalator, I find stairs or ask for assistance. When I can’t hear well, I ask someone to speak up—especially when the available hearing aids are unlikely to help.
The Times quotes a health-care professional saying, “It greatly assists in health care settings if you disclose a disability and know to request an accommodation and support.” But why should I have to disclose a “disability” to request support?
And what if your challenge isn’t medically recognized?
I, for instance, can’t tolerate blaring televisions in medical waiting rooms. The noise raises my blood pressure and makes it nearly impossible to hear my name called. By the time I reach the exam room, I’m agitated, not prepared to have a calm conversation with a doctor. Is that a disability? And if I explain this reaction, why should it be taken less seriously than a need to sit rather than stand during an exam?
The article repeats the cliché that Americans resist asking for help. I don’t believe that. What Americans (and institutions) do love is labeling—“older,” “disabled,” “impaired.” Boxes are comforting to people who want the world neatly sorted.
But we don’t have to climb into those boxes.
We should rethink the phrase “disclose your disability” as something far more practical: assert your need for help. You’re not in a “one-down” position for asking. You’re identifying a need so that you can participate fully in the world around you.
If we focused less on labeling people and more on responding to their needs, we might actually create a world where help is given naturally—without identity tests, without stigma, and without the pressure to adopt a label just to get a hand.
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/11/15/health/older-people-disability.html
