It’s Valentine’s Day, which means that it’s time for me to be extra vulnerable on the internet again. I have always hated my disability and the way that it leads other people to perceive me. I have also spent an embarrassing amount of time crying over people that cancelled dates with me, after deciding that the prospect of future caring responsibilities was too much to handle. The damage that these experiences have inflicted is too heavy for words to properly convey. It has left me unable to trust in anything good. I’m constantly waiting for it to go wrong. Allowing myself to sit in the happiness for too long just feels dangerous and naive. I am notoriously bad at playing the field, so only have the emotional energy for one person at a time. If I have ever attempted to flirt with you in any way, please know that you are blessed and I am still shocked by the idea that you might have fancied me, however briefly.
Here’s the truth: I was about nine or ten when I burst into tears in the middle of an appointment to mould new splints for my legs, just because the man made some joke about all of the attention that I’d receive on Valentine’s Day. Every February, the words: “that’s never going to happen. Nobody’s ever going to love me because I’m disabled” sit at the forefront of my brain on an endless loop. I was heartbroken and am still trying to unlearn those negative internalisations.
With that said, this is a love letter because I’m learning to be grateful. Before my brother met his long-term girlfriend, there was more than one occasion where women would lose interest in him after finding out about his disabled sister. I really, really wish that I was joking. But this bullshit is a good thing, which is something that I have been trying to remind myself every day. Although impossibly painful for everyone, it is the purest of blessings. I don’t need that ableism in my life, anyway. I am determined to have more self-respect than that. I am worth more than someone that doesn’t see how beautifully radiant a life with me could be. I deserve to hold onto the connections that feel mutually good and healthy, which I’m trying to focus on now. Maybe there is something on the horizon, who knows? My heart is open to the possibility.
A few days ago, Lucy Dawson tweeted me back and called me beautiful. It was a passing comment and she has probably forgotten about it completely now, but it meant the entire world to me. For those that are unaware, she’s a pretty big deal within the disability community. She has been very influential in teaching me that disabled isn’t synonymous with unsexy. It is possible to feel attractive in a body that does not look the same as everyone else’s. I have even bought myself some new bras for the first time in two years, after my sense of self became so distorted that looking in the mirror was genuinely painful. These may sound like small steps, but I’m trying really hard.
To the reader, if you don’t know much about this stuff, that’s okay. You can learn here and here. If you are disabled, single and feeling shit about yourself for it: know that I’m on the journey with you. You are whole. Falling in love with a disabled person will never be a burden, now or ever. My disability is not all that I am — I am a wonderful person and anyone would be LUCKY to date me. Repeat until believed.
Céline, you are the realest one. I appreciate the pep talks more than you know. Hannah, thank-you for reading this before I made it public because I was too nervous and insecure. I am beyond grateful that your friendship exists in my life. xoxo