For a few months now I’ve been reading a lot of literature on the topic of disability and sexuality. I’ve been doing this mostly because it’s what I’m writing my dissertation on, but it’s also doubled-up as an exercise in understanding how to be a better ‘advocate’ for disability.

The first thing I learnt, which didn’t surprise me whatsoever, was that the study of disability history is a relatively new branch of academia – though obviously disabled people have existed for as long as anyone else. And whilst there are a million comments I could make on the nuances of disability history, I don’t really fancy self-plagiarising, so I think I’ll save those details for the 8,000 words I’m required to write. I do, however, wish to take some time now to acknowledge just how uncomfortable physically disabled people have been made to feel by society when it comes to their bodies. I’ve read page after page of interviews with physically disabled people, where they describe how not only have they never been led to believe that they could be beautiful or attractive and physically disabled, but that many of them are actually disgusted by the sight of their physical appearance on some level.

Disgusted. I just want you to notice that that was one of the words used by them.

This embarrassment, and in some cases repulsion, at the sight of one’s physically disabled body isn’t something people should be having to feel just because they don’t look like what some eye in the sky defines as ‘normal’. But these individuals are so poked and prodded, and pushed into a corner by societal expectations that eventually they’re left feeling physically lesser in more ways than those written in their medical notes. And these feelings of irrelevance are present in more aspects of society than many able-bodied people notice. For instance, clothes shops are made so inaccessible that people in wheelchairs can’t reach half of the clothes, or, if they can reach them, most clothing isn’t designed to fit people who need to use medical equipment or have deformed body shapes. Thus, many physically disabled people can neither look at, nor consider wearing half of the clothes everyone else is browsing, and they’re pretty much told to just cope with that.

Then there’s the fact that the medical aids designed to make life easier for people are designed solely with purpose in mind; never aesthetics. For example, let’s take the case of my callipers. Callipers are a pretty straightforward medical appliance, used by thousands of disabled people. They’re two metal bars that are inserted into the soles of my shoes, and they help to keep my legs straight. That’s it. And my shoes are made specifically for me, with personalised insoles and little tweaks here and there, but overall they just look like Docs. So, if that’s how simple the provisions are, and Doc Martins/boots are insanely popular, then why can’t I have as many designs and patterns as are sold in the Doc Martins shops? Would it be that difficult to make them?

I’ve just given you two examples out of I can’t even tell you how many, but the running theme in this discussion is that hardly anyone is considering that physically disabled people might want to look nice too. They might want to experiment with how they present their bodies just as much as anyone else. Only, their medical history means that the ability, or option, to do that is taken away from them.

Undoubtedly, there are some out there who don’t relate to what I’ve said here at all. Nonetheless what I’ve seen from my research so far, is that it often takes physically disabled people a long time to get to a place where they can wholeheartedly say that they’re comfortable with how they look.

But I don’t want to wait until I’m older to be able to do that.

It’s no secret that I’m confident in my disability. Still, I don’t look at my full-length reflection. And it’s sad to admit it, but I do think that the image of me walking is gross. What’s sadder though, is that I only think these things because my legs aren’t like everyone else’s. Thus, it’s been through my dissertation research that I’ve realised how much shit I’ve internalised when it comes to my perception of my disability. Here I was, thinking I’ve always been pretty comfortable in my body, without realising that I was only ever thinking about myself from the knees-up. But these insecurities about how I look when I walk aren’t constantly on my mind – in fact, the world has so consistently shown me that my disability isn’t pretty, that I can only describe it as an ambivalent acceptance.

But fuck that. Fuck accommodating centuries of patriarchy and nonsensical beauty standards just because some of my nerves are in a knot. And fuck writing off a whole percentage of the population’s moral right to their own sexuality, simply because of their biology. I don’t see how any of it makes sense. So, I just posted a video of me walking on my blog Instagram (it’s _bettydouglas_ btw, just in case I haven’t bullied you into following it yet) as my way of showing that I’m trying to fully accept this Spina Bifida. I can’t promise I’m going to look at my reflection now every time I walk next to, or towards a glass window, but I’ll try not to look away so enthusiastically when I spot my reflection.