Sometimes I feel like a human traffic cone, sitting in my big old tank of a wheelchair, creating a roadblock that people have to navigate around. Or maybe I’m the giant couch that no one wants to drag up the stairs to their 10^th floor apartment, huffing and puffing and complaining that the elevator broke for the third time this week. My life tends to be an unchoreographed tango, with people climbing over me, sliding around me, trying to lead me to move, or awkwardly bumping into me. And when the surroundings are especially tight, I might even find myself the recipient of an unintentional lap dance.

Because of all this, I find myself constantly apologizing. “I’m sorry I’m in the way.” “I’m sorry you walked right into me.” “I’m sorry I’m holding you up because we need to find somewhere else to go eat since there were stairs at the last five restaurants we checked.”

Logically, I’m aware of the fact that I have just as much of a right to be somewhere or do something as all other human beings. You’d think that since I consciously choose to incorporate advocacy and disability pride into myself, I’d be totally comfortable and confident in the high visibility of my presence. But when you’re constantly made to feel like your existence takes up too much space, or like you should feel guilty because you require a sizable piece of mobility equipment to navigate the world around you, it can take an emotional toll.

Perhaps the most prime example of situations that cause me to experience these feelings is using public transportation, like the New York City subway system or the Washington, D.C. Metro. Let me set the scene for you: it’s morning, rush hour, everyone’s hustling to get to where they need to be. Including me. I make it to the platform with a few minutes to spare and position myself so I can quickly get to a train door. As if on cue, when the train pulls up, most people tend to trample over me so they can enter the already crowded train. I need to make this train to get where I’m going on time, so I ask if I can please squeeze on, as though I have to get permission. Since every train car is packed, it doesn’t much matter where I try to board. I’m met with sighs and impatience while I say “excuse me” several times as politely as possible, wishing I could turn into a Transformer and shrink. Each time the train makes a stop and more people get on, they look at me as though I’m an inconvenience to them, maybe because part of my wheelchair might be blocking the door since I have nowhere else to go. And of course, instead of going to the next door down, or even saying a simple “pardon me,” I usually find myself subjected to the lap dance I mentioned earlier. An unchoreographed tango, indeed.

All this leads me to wonder: is there some kind of balance? Is it my responsibility to always have to be the one to get out of the way or take the next train? Do I always have to feel obligated to apologize for things that are out of my control? Is it a terrible thing that I occupy a little extra space because of my wheelchair? Should I feel bad about it? When I can’t get into a building where my friends wanted to go because of steps, or if I need to ask for help because a door is too heavy and there’s no automatic button, why am I the one who’s “sorry?”

Of course, when there’s a simple solution to avoid an issue, I’m all about being courteous. And if I’m in the wrong, then I absolutely believe in apologizing. However, I think it’s fair to say that the world is far more inconvenient for me than my presence is to any unaccepting people. So, I’m declaring once and for all that it’s time for people to stop apologizing for their disabilities and the circumstances that come with them. I’m sure I’ll find myself apologizing about things at least a million more times, because old habits die hard. But right here, right now, let it be known: when it comes to doing what I need to do to live my life…sorry, I’m not sorry anymore.

Emily Ladau is a writer and disability rights activist whose passion is to harness the powers of language and social media as tools for people to become informed and engaged social justice advocates. She maintains a blog, Words I Wheel By, as a platform to address discrimination and to encourage people to understand the experience of having a disability in more positive, accepting, and supportive ways. You’re welcome to connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.