Liana Hildebrandt hesitates to ask people for a seat on transit. But on Thursday, she didn’t have to say a word.

After boarding the northbound Yonge line train during rush hour, Hildebrandt thought she’d have to settle with standing. She has arthritis in her hips, and standing for too long can trigger bouts of pain that can last all day — but still, she didn’t want to nudge the man who was fast asleep in one of the priority seats.

“You never want to bother somebody,” Hildebrandt said. “Everyone is so engrossed in their phones, or deliberately trying not to make eye contact. You feel like you’re intruding on their personal space.”

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Hildebrandt was wearing one of the TTC’s new “Please offer me a seat” buttons. A man standing next to her looked away from his tablet and woke up the slumbering commuter, who freed his spot for Hildebrandt.

One day earlier, she had a similar experience during her long commute from Etobicoke to midtown Toronto. She didn’t know if the button would make a difference. But what she didn’t expect was to feel touched by having a stranger wordlessly free up their seat after spotting her bright blue-and-white button.

“Without even having to make eye contact, or speak to anyone, a woman in one of the blue seats stood up immediately and gave me her seat,” the 40-year-old said.

Last week, Star reporters travelled with riders, some wearing a blue button for parts, or all, of their subway and streetcar commutes, to see how people reacted to the new initiative.

The buttons, announced Tuesday, are being rolled out to passengers with visible and invisible disabilities with the goal of drawing attention to their need for a seat. They’re available to anyone, without having to disclose personal information about a disability, from TTC customer service agents and collector booths. The buttons are voluntary and not a prerequisite to getting priority seating on public transit.

Not everyone is on board. In some cases, passengers didn’t budge for the button. The Star also came across people with disabilities who said they are reluctant or felt ashamed to wear the button, electing to wait for a seat instead.

Hildebrandt said her hesitation to ask for a seat comes from getting a hostile reaction in the past. “The person said, ‘I don’t believe that disabled people should get priority,’” she said.

“All you need is one time for it to go badly before you get anxious about asking someone again.”

Hildebrandt said the buttons — hers was clipped to the strap of her shoulder bag — validate her requests for a seat in the eyes of other travellers.

That is, provided often bleary-eyed passengers see it.

Kaitlin Wainwright is eight months pregnant. Her baby bump is hard to miss, but the button, a little smaller than a coaster, seemed to be less noticeable.

When she entered the packed King St. streetcar, she squeezed her way through the aisle to try and find a seat. She made eye contact with one woman who didn’t get up. Another woman took off one of her ear buds, gestured to the seat and asked Wainwright if she needed it.

Asked if the button prompted her to free her spot, the passenger said she didn’t even notice it. She just saw that Wainwright was pregnant. “Everyone should get up for people who need it,” she said.

Wainwright, the director of programming at Heritage Toronto, has two parents with visible disabilities: her mother lives with the effects of polio contracted as a child and her father had cerebral palsy. This makes her think the button should really say “Please offer me a seat if you’re able to,” and not have the white wheelchair symbol, known as the International Symbol of Access, on it.

“It’s a symbol for physical disabilities,” she said, “And physical needs shouldn’t become a competition with other disabilities. It doesn’t matter how obvious your need is. If you need a seat, you should get a seat,” she said.

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For Penny Hartim, a blind woman in her early 60s who travels the TTC with her guide dog, Chicory, getting a seat is easier.

“Very rarely can I not find a seat,” she said. “The bus driver will ask people to move, or Chicory will find me a seat.”

Her Labrador was trained to help those who are blind be safe on transit. On a packed train, Chicory will guide Hartim to the nearest spot. If there are none, she’ll nudge someone until they move.

“I can see (the buttons) helping people with hidden disabilities,” Hartim said. “Maybe you have a problem with your knees, or an illness that makes you tired, or something. Then maybe it’ll help.”

Carlton Bellows, a 73-year-old man who uses a cane, said he would be “embarrassed to wear it.” Bellows has not had a car for 30 years and is an active public transit user. He started using a cane last fall after a stroke.

When Bellows got on the train at Queen Station, no one in the busy afternoon train offered him a seat. When two people departed at the next stop, Bellows slowly walked over and sat down, one hand gripping the cane, the other grasping the poles on the way.

Still, Bellows doesn’t believe the buttons would change his experience. “I don’t think it’s needed. Most of the time people give me a seat.”

The TTC wasn’t the first to try out the button concept on Toronto’s subways. Local disability activist Kate Welsh designed a similar button last year. Called “Equity Buttons,” they were meant to address feelings of shame that can arise in asking for accommodation. The buttons have been shipped across Canada and the U.S.

“They’re a quick DIY way to ask for what you need while riding transit, without having to disclose diagnosis,” she said. “I created them because I’ve had an invisible disability and chronic illness since I was a child and there’s always been a lot of shame about asking for what I need, because I look able-bodied, and I’m young.”

The 29-year-old is pleased to see the TTC’s initiative, and hopes it could signal a shift in general public awareness on disabilities.

As for awareness of the program itself, many transit employees at various subway stations and buses who the Star asked about the buttons replied with confusion, some learning about them for the first time despite ads for the buttons appearing on TTC television screens intermittently. One fare collector, who declined to be named, said a customer asked for one on Wednesday and her booth didn’t have any. She admitted to not knowing what they were at the time.

The Star heard similar reactions from commuters, who were either unaware of the existence of the button or refuted the value it could add to their commuting experience.

An older woman commented that the button was “just ugly” and its message seemed “too pushy.” She said she’d just ask for a seat if she needed it. “People do that anyway,” she said.

But Tess Forgues said people with disabilities, particularly invisible ones, regularly face stigma. The 33-year-old has chronic pain — arthritis, fibromyalgia and endometriosis — and even when her bright purple, foldable cane is fully extended, she said she has to do “a lot of asking” for a seat.

“Just because (other passengers) see someone young, it doesn’t compute,” she said.

Five minutes passed aboard an eastbound Queen St. streetcar. Forgues’ blue button was on display, tacked to her shoulder strap across her chest.

No one gave her a place to sit.