The Shame of Being a Disabled Person

Since childhood, I have carried around a sense of shame about being disabled. Alongside that, I have also been disappointed in myself for having those feelings. It’s impossible to watch the Paralympics (with all of these disabled athletes living their best lives) and not feel like I should be doing more. It’s impossible not to feel like I should be happier and more comfortable with my apparent adversity. All of this was true, until I had a recent realisation:

The pressure to feel better is directly related to allowing others to be more comfortable — to create a space where they don’t perceive me to be living a life that is wasted. Of course, this type of attitude is one that I wish could be removed from society completely, but there is some truth to it. Sometimes, pretending otherwise can be tiring, especially when it only serves to allow people not to feel so awkward when staring at me in the street. Like, it’s apparent from my previous posts here that there are some aspects of my life that have been halted or made more difficult by disability, but happiness is not made nonexistent by such a reality. It is possible to find a weird sense of harmony between the two, which I wish could be more widely understood.

For example: in about February of this year, before the pandemic hit in earnest, I went to Starbucks with my cousin and family. We were happily gossiping about the trails and tribulations of our dating lives at the time, when a stranger approached us and handed me a leaflet. He said that he couldn’t imagine how unbearable my circumstances must be, but that he was willing to help me find “a life without wheels”, through the power of prayer. I’m a loser and hate confrontation, so I politely thanked him and headed into the nearest bathroom to cry. At the time, I had been really struggling with my body image and generally didn’t feel great about myself, so the whole thing was very bad timing. For me, perhaps the saddest part of this interaction was that I’d been having a genuinely nice day, until that moment. I had been laughing in the seconds before he spoke to me, yet he was entirely focused on highlighting the glaringly obvious negativities.

When drafting this post, I had initially wrote: to be honest, I wish that he had been right. I mean, imagine if fixing everything really was that simple. But let’s unpack that idea, in hopes of demonstrating how damaging these well-meaning gestures can be. Firstly, there is no cure for Cerebral Palsy, so taking away my wheelchair would truly be no life at all, even when I do struggle to accept my dependence on it. Secondly, isn’t it heartbreaking that one conversation can leave me feeling so broken? Especially when it probably wasn’t at all significant to the other party.

Moving forward, I will strive to live without shame. Your misplaced guilt and pity is not my problem, so I can promise that I’ll be fine without your prayers. This body is mine, for better or worse. Sometimes, that can be a beautiful thing. Please allow me to try and outweigh the bad with the good throughout 2021. Already, this blog has received more overwhelming love and support than I ever could have hoped for. It has brought a certain strength to my friendships, both old and new. Maybe — just maybe — I’ll never hide in a bathroom again. Let that be my New Year’s Resolution, okay? One blog post at a time. xxx

PS: as promised, here’s a shoutout to my brother, Jack. He wants me to remind everyone that he is, in fact, Carer of the Year. Not really, but still.

If you have a question that you have always felt weird about asking directly, hit me up on CuriousCat! Yay for anonymity. I’m all about that education and will do a post on it in January, if there’s anything. https://curiouscat.qa/Disabled_Danielle97

My Body Can’t Take Care of Itself

In all likelihood, nobody that knows me has ever thought about how the inner workings of my daily routine come together. That’s probably because I have the ability to hold (relatively) intelligent conversations, which gives people the impression that I can look after myself. I’m still trying to decide whether or not this is something to be grateful for, in all honesty. On one hand, it allows me to be treated somewhat normally (whatever that means) by those around me, but it also leads to my circumstances being forever misunderstood. I have decided, though, not to spend the rest of my life being defined by other people’s misconceptions and prejudices. So, I’m writing this post to offer some clarity. It might not be possible to hangout in-person right now, but I’m hopeful that by being transparent here, people might be a little more thankful for my presence than before.

So, let’s start at the beginning. I can get myself out of bed, although this is something that I needed assistance with until the age of twenty-one. From there, it’s not possible for me to safely prepare my own breakfast (or any meal). My hands don’t often do what I want them to, especially when I’m trying to focus on something important. When it comes to showering and personal hygiene, my mum has to help me. Yes, this is awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved, particularly since I have been getting older. She also helps me to get dressed, too. Most of the time, this includes choosing what clothes that I’ll be wearing, given that I’m generally too anxious to make those decisions on my own. Once all of that has been navigated, let’s not forget that I’m not able to reach my desired destination without her taking me there. (Before you say it: yes, I’m aware of the fantastic things that they can do with cars nowadays, but none of it feels practical or safe for me. I have also tried to independently use public transport a handful of times before, which only ever ended up being a nightmare.)

If we have ever eaten lunch or dinner together at a restaurant, please know that I would have spent hours looking at the menu online beforehand, so that I could ensure that there was at least one option available that wouldn’t require me to cut anything up. If you have ever seen me choose to drink something directly from a bottle, it’s because I can’t pour it into a glass myself without spilling it everywhere. Very classy, I know.

It’s such a weird thing to explain. In many ways, it feels like my brain doesn’t function any differently to other people’s. Once the basic self-care has been done, my life isn’t particularly extraordinary: I have the same wants, needs and goals as everybody else. I like to have a social life, in the same way that most other people do. Still, the process of getting there does take a little more consideration. It’s hard not to feel like my job prospects are limited, when there is so much that isn’t immediately obvious from the outside. (Thanks in advance, but I really don’t need any well-meaning suggestions about this.)

To be honest, most days, I just can’t be bothered to put in the extra effort. I find myself growing tired of it. If it wasn’t for the gentle encouragement from my mum, I would probably just never shower again. I’d survive on crisps and takeaways that are easy to manage. Even before the pandemic, I would only leave the house if my friends were very enthusiastic about it. It’s a lot to sign up for, you know? To the people that are willing to try, you are true blessings. It’s more important than you will ever know. One blog post at a time. xxx