Tag: acceptance

Lol, I got blocked

Lol, I got blocked

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 1 Comment

When I first started this blog, I didn’t really think that anyone would read it. Then after a few months I realised that hundreds of people every week were clicking on my links. (!) And I thought that if I promoted it on social media, then maybe even more strangers would take the time to read what I write.

One of the ways I did this was by occasionally sharing posts to my University’s ‘overheard’ page. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s basically a Facebook page run by students of universities where the members share all kinds of things: information about houses, people trying to find things they lost on nights out, promotion of student events or student projects, all sorts. And when I shared blogs to this page, I received hundreds of reads on each article (one time, the views even reached over 1000 in 24 hours), with strangers sending me messages saying how much they’d appreciated my writing. Some even said ‘thank you’.

However, whilst many were grateful to me for talking about subjects such as social class at Durham University, others reported me as promoting a scam…This then caused me to get blocked from the page – a fact I only realised when I checked and saw that I could no longer access the student community.

Bit harsh, but never-mind, whatever.

When I asked the administrator of the page to unblock me, they did it straight away. Then last Wednesday I shared a blog about disability representation. I did so because disability is really not something I ever hear mentioned at Durham, and I thought that reading a blog about it might be a safe and easy way to get students in on the discussion. Plus, I thought, if you don’t want to read it, then just scroll, it’s not exactly an offending topic???

I received hundreds of reads and around 50 likes on that post. But once again, some found it so insulting that they chose to report it, and got me blocked. Only this time when I asked the administrator if they could undo it, they said they couldn’t because at least 50 students reported the post. At least 50 !!! The administrator didn’t remove or report it, my fellow students did.

Why am I even writing about this, you ask? Well, I’m writing about it because when I shared blogs about dating or relationships, they stayed up on the page for weeks – no problem. But then when I discussed social class or disability, at least 100 people took the time and effort to report me. So this isn’t about my ego, it’s about how objectively insane it is that at least 100 students at my university have reported articles about social class and disability as having no place on a Facebook page devoted to a student community. These people may make up a minority, but they exist, and they’re actively rejecting conversations about disability and social class, and I’m not okay with it.

Durham is one of the best universities in the country and many of those attending it will reach powerful positions in their lives; some will even become the people who make the rules in this country. So if later down the line these people are going to control my rights as a disabled person, then why can’t I ask them to try and understand what it’s actually like to be the disabled person?

If you don’t like my writing then it’s calm, just keep scrolling. But don’t tell me to sit down and shut up, or get me blocked because I’m not talking about something you want to hear: it’ll only make me more persistent.

I want to go for a walk

I want to go for a walk

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 2 Comments

For me, disability causes a constant conflict between personality and body. Ever since I was small I’ve struggled to mesh the two together because I’ve never wanted to accept that there are things that I’ll never be able to do. From the age of about 8 until 14 I was awful for it: I’d just do everything that my friends were doing because I wanted to, and I’d rarely give a second thought to my feet. But then I’d end up with infections, and in a wheelchair. So living that way didn’t get me very far.

After about the age of 16 I’d managed to (sort of) make my peace with it. I accepted that I couldn’t ever live my life the way most people could, and I mourned it, but ultimately I realised that those are just the cards I’ve been dealt. I mean, my disability could be so much worse, and what do I gain from fighting it?

Then I was 19 and I had my gap year. I proved to myself that I could travel the world on my own: I went to seriously remote places, away from medical institutions, and showed myself that doing what I want to do doesn’t always have to end in infection and debilitation. It might sound trivial to you, but it was breaking news to me, my family and my doctors.

This year, quarantine happened and after a while the government started allowing people out for walks and exercise. This change to the lockdown brought so much relief to most people, but not to me because I can’t just go out for a run. I can’t just walk down loads of steps to the beach and then back up them, because if I do, I have to accept that I might injure myself. I might put myself in a wheelchair.

This is where we get back to how complicated disability is, because many of my readers have seen me in person and have seen me walk plenty of times. I can walk short distances, and I’ve been known to dance for hours on a night out, but sometimes it’s just luck that I don’t end up with a blister after doing these things. I’m a seasoned professional when it comes to internalising my worries and pushing my disability as far as it can go. I’m stubborn and I’m young, and I don’t see why all my friends can but I can’t. Like I said, it’s a constant conflict.

But I don’t write these blogs to be all ‘woe is me’. Loads of people have it so much worse than I do, and everyone does the best with what they’ve got. It’s just that if I’m going to write blogs about when I feel empowered by being a young disabled woman, then I have to show you the side of my condition which gives me no joy whatsoever.

Some days I just don’t want to be this disabled person. It makes me feel weak and suffocated. I don’t want to have to think about whether I can go somewhere, I want to be able to just go. Sometimes I look at my feet and wonder how it’s fair that I have to be the only person I know who can’t just wear normal shoes and have normal legs. I wonder how it’s fair that I’ll have this for the rest of my life, and how I’m supposed to get over it when there’s nothing I, or anyone else can do to ever improve it.

There are no solutions to these problems. Life doesn’t work in ‘fair’ and ‘unfair’ – especially when I don’t believe in any type of God. As far as I can see, random people get random sacks of sh** to deal with, and we move. I have a really good time even with the headache of my Spina Bifida, and it’s shaped me in so many positive ways. To be honest, if someone told me that I could flick a switch to get rid of it I’m not even sure that I would. Disability can enrich a person’s perspective on the world and life in many ways, but I’d never, ever, wish it on anyone.

Can you be hot AND disabled?

Can you be hot AND disabled?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

On Monday I had some really gratifying conversations with my group of friends. All the points we made and discussed, are points that I want to write about in future blogs but one in particular sparked this entry.

For a while I’ve been wanting to discuss what it’s like to be disabled in the dating world, but I’ve never really known how to articulate it. The truth is: I find it really unfortunate just how much it probably does affect how I’m perceived by boys, because it’s something about myself that I absolutely cannot control.

When my friend asked me whether I think my disability affects my dating life, my immediate answer was: yes, but I don’t think that anyone ever told me. My response may come as a surprise because as I’ve said before, I’m aware that once someone spends time with me, it’s very easy to forget that I’m disabled.

The thing is though, no matter how confident or independent or self-sufficient I am, I will always be disabled and will always have to live my life with certain adaptations for my health. When people get into a romantic relationship with someone, everyone has some preconceived idea about what it’s going to be like. These preconceptions come from all the popular culture and media we consume on a day to day basis – and have done for years. But very rarely does that popular culture include examples of relationships where one person is physically disabled and the other is not.

In the past year, I’ve gotten particularly impatient with my failed attempts at romance – as you’ve probably noticed hehe. Whenever one has failed, like most people I find myself looking for reassurance that sometimes it can work out. So I look around me, and at the media. But never ever ever ever do I see myself reflected in the relationships shown. I don’t often see couples on the street where one of the two is disabled. I definitely barely see it on Instagram. And I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen a famous person with a physically disabled partner walk a red carpet.

If I have seen a couple like this in the media or popular culture, it’s often felt tokenistic. By this I mean, in television programmes or Snapchat ‘Born Different’ stories it’s examples of severely disabled people and their partners. Whilst it’s (rightfully) always a celebration of those love stories, I still don’t feel represented or particularly comforted by them. And with that, the disability always seems to overwhelm everything else that makes that person attractive. Can you not be hot and disabled? Can that not be a thing too?

I don’t feel disabled enough to relate to those permanently in a wheelchair or with more severe illnesses than I. But then I’m still disabled, so I can’t fully relate to anyone who isn’t.

Since we don’t see examples of couples where one person is (not severely) physically disabled, subconsciously that plays a part in how we date. I’m not trying to say that it makes someone a bad person for not finding someone with a disability attractive, because that might not even play a part in how you feel about them. But then again, the intimidation which might come with how little you can relate to that part of someone’s life and the degree to which you feel prepared to try, might well shape your decision about dating someone.

Explaining what it’s like to be disabled to someone who has no idea, is an impossible task because no matter how hard they try, they just can’t access that type of human experience. So that’s obviously going to be intimidating when dating someone because you literally canNOT connect with them on such a huge level. And that might not be what you want. I totally get it.

In light of this, this blog is not meant to be a guilt-trip; I understand why people might do what they do – both consciously and subconsciously – when it comes to dating. Obviously I’d love to feel more represented, and to feel that my disability 100% doesn’t affect my dating life, but I can’t change the world overnight with my ramblings.

What is important, is that you know that just because someone has an issue that you know nothing about, that that doesn’t then mean that you would be useless at helping them with it. Disability needs to be more visible and in all honesty, we need to see more relationships in the public eye where a disabled person has an ‘able’ partner.

The day I see someone ridiculously famous walk a red carpet hand in hand with their physically disabled boyfriend/girlfriend, I think I might actually shed a tear.

Walk it

Walk it

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

So here I am: it’s Tuesday, I’m full of whatever illness my friends at college have gifted me and I’ve somehow been bothered to make it to my 2 hour Korean lesson. The day’s going well. (This blog is going to be pretty emotionally-charged by the way: strap in).

What I didn’t need added to my day, was some old, male, traffic warden peering through my windscreen whilst I was STILL IN MY CAR, to check if my disabled badge was a fraud. For the record, it’s weird and intimidating to have a stranger looking inside your car whilst you’re still in there. But the core of my annoyance, was the fact that I’m sick and tired of the disabled parking bays situation.

Now, if you aren’t disabled, or don’t have any close relatives or friends who are, then you might be thinking: what situation? Is there even a situation?

Well, my dear reader, yes there bloody well is a situation. And it’s one that has made my parents furious for years before me, but now I also have the joy of being angered by it too. Lucky me!

So it’s simple, right? You go to any public space and most of the time there are parking bays with bright yellow hatching, and the universally recognised symbol for disability. Everyone knows that that then marks those parking bays as exclusively for people who need it i.e. ones who own a blue badge issued by the government, indicating that they’re legally recognised as disabled. I won’t go too into it now, but trust me when I say that you don’t just get that badge. You have to undergo what is in my experience, an insanely gruelling, somewhat traumatising process so as to be recognised by the government as ‘eligible’ for it. But I’ll write a blog detailing that process another day- look forward to that one, it’s a corker.

Anyway: you need a disabled badge to park in the space closest to the destination, seen as it’s predominantly the people who’re disabled who’re unable to access things and places easily. Surprise!

Why is it then that when my dad dropped me off at Secondary school, on average only 2 out of about 8 disabled bays had cars with blue badges in them? One of which was my dad’s car. With my badge. I’d also like to add the information that my school was attached to a Special Needs school: attended by children with severe disabilities, whose parents probably needed to use those parking spaces when picking them up.

Why is it that this also happens every time I go to a supermarket, a shop, or just anywhere really? Why did I have to ask the receptionist at my University college today – a college which prides itself on diversity and acceptance – to ask the woman who uses a bay every week and doesn’t display a badge, to please park somewhere else?

You might wonder why this is so offensive to me. Or, like the traffic warden, think me ‘silly’ for even being offended by it. (His patronising choice of words really added to the moment, I must say).

It’s offensive because when people park in these spaces, they’re not thinking of how insanely immoral and unfair what they’re doing is. Those spaces are for people who literally need them. People who can’t walk that extra few steps to the building. People who need equipment to move and to live. People who have in recent years had to fight so hard, just to be deemed ‘eligible’ by the government for things that they need to survive.

If you park in those bays when you don’t need to, then you’re depriving a disabled person of their right to get on with their life and to be independent. I’m not always in a wheelchair, and on the surface it appears that I walk pretty well, but if I can’t park in those bays then I might have to walk a distance which will cause me to develop an infection, and to go in a wheelchair for months on end. So if that’s what’s at stake for me, then think about the people who’re wheelchair bound and what that space might mean to them.

Again, this might sound like an overreaction, but trust me when I say that it’s not.

It’s not just the walking distance, it’s also the backlash that comes from people abusing those spaces. Namely, the fact that it creates a culture of doubt. If those spaces were respected, then I wouldn’t have had some old man looking into my car to see if I was lying today. I wouldn’t have had him looking me in the eyes in disbelief as to why I was asking him not to do that. He told me that he was checking the disabled badge ‘for’ me: to ‘help’ me. I obviously understand why he checks, but I resent the fact that he thought I would lie.

So I appeal to you, to think about your actions and to just park somewhere else. Just walk those extra steps. Not just because you have the physical ability to do it, but also because I would never ask for something that I don’t need. I don’t abuse the system, in fact I probably don’t use it enough. But I need to park there. And I’m tired of defending my right to that space.

Eyes up here please

Eyes up here please

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 1 Comment

When I write or talk about my disability, I have to remind myself that the tiny things I experience are not also a part of everyone else’s day-to-day. So this Sunday, I’m going to tell you about one part of my life which may surprise you, though it seems tediously normal to me.

To put it simply: I can’t step out of the house without someone staring at my shoes. For instance, just the other day I was walking in my college at University and one of my fellow St Aidanites walked past me. She stared at my shoes for the entire time we were passing each other – a good 15 seconds – and at no point did she take the time to tear here eyes away from my feet to look me in the eye. Now. People. I get it. Often when you see my shoes it’s the first time you’ve seen anything like them in your life. But come on. Is it really that exciting? Did your parents never teach you that it’s rude to stare? Plus, the object of her amazement was literally just leather boots with some metals bars coming slightly up my legs. Wowee 😮

Growing up I became so used to people staring at my shoes and not looking in my eyes that I was sort of numb to it: on the street, on a bus, in a museum, at the cinema, at school, at the park, with my brothers, with my friends, on my own – you name a time and a situation, someone was probably having a look. Amazingly, I can’t remember ever really being phased by it as a little girl. But then I got older, and I got angry.

A particularly memorable experience is when I was 12 years old and I went to a shopping centre with my family. I was standing on my own in a queue for some food, when I saw a middle-aged woman abandon what she was doing just to gawk at my boots. She literally stopped in the middle of the floor and just stood there looking. I’m not even exaggerating. I was furious and humiliated, so I crouched down to make her realise that there was a person (a child) wearing those shoes who could see exactly what she was doing. She didn’t apologise after she realised I’d seen her, she just walked away. I’ve had more instances like this than I care to remember; with some days gifting me more than one.

Fortunately it’s not always like this. Very rarely, I’m made speechless when someone sincerely says that they like my shoes. Like! The first time in my life someone did this was when I was walking up the stairs at school, aged 17, and a supply teacher said ‘Nice shoes’ to me as he walked past. I stopped dead in my tracks with my mouth wide open, mumbled a stunned ‘thank you’ and watched him walk away. In all honesty I was ready to pounce because I thought he was taking the mick, but I realised that he wasn’t: he actually meant it. So I legged it into my common room and still in disbelief, told my friends about what had just happened. That was the first positive comment I’d ever gotten about my shoes from a stranger, and to this day, that’s only happened a handful of times.

Now that I’m older, somehow I don’t really care about my shoes or the stares. Although if you catch me on a bad/insecure day and I see you staring, then I will hate your guts for a second. Regardless of my mood though, I’ll always at least notice it.

I know that people stare because my shoes and my disability are probably things that they’ve never seen before. So if that then means that I have to be the one to watch you gawk at me like an object for a few seconds, so that you won’t do it to the next disabled person you see then that’s fine, I can take it. Just remember that whatever you’re staring at is being worn by someone, with feelings, and eyes to see you too.