Today Someone Asked if I Was My Husband's Mom

Today, someone asked if I was my husband's mom. Yep, you read that right. I know it's been a few months since I've had my hair dyed, but there's no chance I look like a 31-year-old's mother. Before we get to that particular story, let me back up.

Today, Jordan had his yearly checkup with his pulmonologist. Usually, we have a parent come with us just because it's easier, but this time, we went by ourselves. This particular doctor is located in a fairly large hospital downtown Indianapolis, where parking consists of using a parking garage. A parking garage in which you must pull a ticket to get in.

While most people don't give it a second thought, parking garages are the bane of my existence when I don't have an able-bodied person with me. If a parking garage has a gate where you need to pull a ticket—I can't get in. Simple as that. I can't reach out the window to pull a ticket, so usually, whoever I'm with gets out, runs around the car to pull it, and then jumps back in when I'm on the other side of the gate.

I knew this hospital had a gated parking garage, but I also knew they had a drive with valet parking. I figured after I explained the situation, they'd let me just park on the side. When we pulled up, there was a person at a stand, but it also said no valet parking. I let Jordan out to go ask her where we could park, and she informed us that valet parking was now on the far end of the hospital. Long story short—we had to valet park and pay a higher price because the hospital did not have adequate solutions for people like me.

But this incident is just one example of the assumptions and limitations that we constantly navigate. It’s frustrating to be forced into higher prices because of my disability, whether it’s paying more for valet parking at a hospital or for accessible concert tickets that are categorized as “premium” seating. These extra costs aren’t about getting a better experience—they’re about basic access. My disability often forces me into specific situations, not by choice but because the system is designed that way. It’s a stark reminder that accessibility is still seen as a luxury rather than a right.

Anyway, we finally get to the doctor's office and settled into the room. The nurse went through all the normal questions, taking vitals, etc. When she was getting ready to leave, she said, "Are you mom?"

Stunned, I laughed and said, "No, I'm his wife." She responded with a comment about how I look like I could be his mom, and I mentioned I didn't think that was a good thing. Finally, before leaving the room, she said, "Let me see. Oh yeah, you definitely don't have the same facial structure."

Facial structure?! She didn't say, "Oh yeah, you're much younger than you look." She said I had a different facial structure.

I wish I could say this was the first time I've been asked an outrageous question like that (though "mom" is a new one).

When I was 10 or 11 years old, I flew with my dad to surprise my grandma for her birthday. The whole flight, the flight attendant was saying weird things like, "Isn't it nice to have a big strong man around?" I just thought she was a little kooky, but when the plane finally landed, and we were waiting for my wheelchair to come up, she pointed between my dad and me and said, "Husband and wife, right?"

Husband and wife?! Suddenly, all her weird comments made sense, but to this day, I cannot believe anyone would assume that. (For reference, here's a picture of me around that time:

There have also been many times people have asked if my mom is my sister. I will say that this one is a little more understandable because my mom definitely does not look her age, but my self-image of me still being 25 does take a hit. 🤣

I just laugh these questions off because, of course, I know that I don't look like my husband's mom or my dad's wife. But beyond the humor, these experiences highlight something deeper: the assumptions people make when they don't understand, or don't take the time to understand, the unique lives we lead.

These assumptions aren't just personal—they're systemic. They're the reason I have to pay more for parking because a garage isn't designed with disabled drivers in mind. They’re why someone might look at a couple and, based on nothing more than a glance, make assumptions about their relationship. They’re why accessibility remains an afterthought in so many public spaces, forcing people like me to navigate a world that isn’t built for us.

But here's the thing: our relationships, our lives, aren't defined by these assumptions. They're built on love, resilience, and a refusal to let the world dictate what we should look like or how we should be.

So next time someone makes an assumption about us—or anyone else—I hope they'll pause and consider that there's more to our story than what they see. And maybe, just maybe, the world will start to become a little more accessible and a lot more understanding.