Tag: selflove

My dissertation was about sex! :o

My dissertation was about sex! :o

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 2 Comments

Considering that quite a few of you took part in the research, it won’t come as a surprise that I wrote my dissertation on whether physically disabled women are perceived as sexy by the societies they live in. (Big big thank you to everyone who took part btw). I don’t really fancy plagiarising myself here though, so I won’t go into the minute detail of the dissertation, but since so many of you contributed and were interested in the topic, it’d be rude of me to not give you the low-down of why I chose it, and what I discovered. So buckle up kids.

If I’m honest, my diss was partly another effort to understand why my love life insists on being so dire. In my first year of university, I wrote a blog about how a friend had asked me whether I thought my disability had ever hindered lads from asking me out or taking things further with me, and what I said then remains true for me now: yes, it has, but I’d be shocked to see anyone admit it. From all my research, and from what I’ve literally seen, able-bodied people are tentative to date or be intimate with physically disabled people (whether maliciously or not), and for the ones with the disabilities, this has at best resulted in being ignored or passively rejected, and at worst just straight-up abused.

The work that I’ve done so far is minuscule when compared to how much work needs to be done. I looked at ‘physically disabled women’ in particular but even that phrase is kind of hollow because it doesn’t even begin to describe the vastly diverse group of people it’s trying to categorise. Furthermore, I didn’t have the words or time to study the impact of race, gender, economic background, type of disability, and all the other aspects which would inevitably influence the experience of sexuality for individuals. I also didn’t have the opportunity to talk to disabled people directly; I used a tonne of literature, but nothing can come close to hearing the words from the ones who feel it. So, whilst my work was informed and (I hope) useful, to call it the tip of the iceberg would be a huge understatement, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I continue to write about this for the rest of my life.

Nonetheless, the overarching theme of this dissertation was one of acceptance and optimism from most of the people who answered my questions. What I will say though, is that often your optimism was naive; it was comforting, but it didn’t really line up with the reality of the world. People gave the correct response by saying that it shouldn’t matter if you have a disability, and it shouldn’t matter how that impacts sexuality because anyone can find love, sex isn’t a fixed thing, and disability shouldn’t ever threaten a person’s ability to experience pleasure within relationships. Only, saying that something shouldn’t happen, doesn’t make it not happen.

For months, I’ve been exposed to the disabled experience on a level that I’d never seen before: for the first time, I was reading and listening to things that felt totally relatable rather than 85% there. The fact is that like all of the ‘isms’, ableism is so ingrained within our society that just because I have a disability, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have prejudices against the disabled community. There’s plenty to unpack there, but I think I’ll leave that for another blog (or two, or three…). But to generalise, the truth is that we’re so concerned with looks and frightened by what we don’t personally understand, that the disabled body has been persistently and systematically defined as undesirable and in need of a cure. To put it even more plainly: I’m disabled, so that means that my body is wrong, so it can’t be pretty and it definitely can’t be sexy, and if someone does find it pretty, then that’s not because of the disability, it’s despite it.

Obviously, there are grey areas here, and each individual can (and is) judged to be beautiful, desirable, and every other positive adjective by individual people. But finding one disabled person gorgeous doesn’t a perfect society make. There need to be some HEFTY changes when it comes to what ‘society’ and individuals understand disability to mean because for pretty much all of history, it’s equalled a mistake that we should ignore and just wait until it dies (or kill it before it lives).

So…how did it feel to write this, when I was sort of writing about myself? Well, it wasn’t great to hear that disabled women are far more likely to experience abuse (psychological and/or physical) within romantic or sexual relationships than able-bodied women. Nor did it feel amazing to read countless experiences of disabled people like being asked to leave restaurants because their appearance might put people off their food, or being persistently pushed to the side and dismissed as irrelevant and pointless. It also almost brought me to tears in the library to read women say that it’d been easier for them to tell people who’d assumed that they couldn’t have children because of their disability that they were right when they weren’t actually right because they could have kids, but the support for disabled women just isn’t there since everyone assumes that they can’t have kids anyway and if they can, then they shouldn’t in case they pass their disability on. But again, that’s not even scratching the surface.

Disabled people aren’t the weak, infirm victims history and modern culture paints us out to be and there are so many examples of fulfilled, happy lives with a disability. However, I share the sentiment that I read basically all of the disabled community expressing, in that the worst of the ‘struggles’ I’ve already had and the ones I’ll continue to have aren’t because of my Spina Bifida, they’re because this world is doing its absolute best to ignore me until I croak.

The thing is though, I’m a loudmouth who’s got a loooot of years left and I plan on making people talk about this because, regardless of whether you’re disabled or not, it has everything to do with you. I hope that in some small way, my blog or whatever else I do in the future can contribute to disabled people actually being listened to and valued because we deserve your attention.

If I can manage that, then that’s a win really innit?

P.S.

Can we all pls manifest that I get a good grade on my diss lol IMAGINE

Be my Valentine

Be my Valentine

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve thought long and hard about how I want to address that. Earlier in the week, I’d toyed with not mentioning it at all and just posting something else I’d written; I thought about how I don’t want the only two themes of my posts to be relationships or my disability, even though I know that those are the topics my readers gravitate towards. But Valentine’s Day is a big deal for lots of people (whether they want it to be or not), since everyone is so aggressively brainwashed to believe that we each need a romantic relationship to experience true happiness or success and that this is the time when we get to show off that happiness and success. Or, we get to not, and then have it implied that we should be sad about that.

I remember when I was about 18, talking to my mum about boyzz, and saying that I thought the reason I’d had disappointing experiences was because I trust people too easily. She scoffed at that, asked what I meant, and said ‘you don’t trust anyone’. That makes her sound really brutal – she’s not brutal, but she is honest, and she made me realise that I like to tell myself that just because I’m extroverted and kind, that that equates to me being super trusting of others. Except, what she said to me when I was 18 remains true as I type this as a 22-year-old: romantically, I don’t trust lads as far as I could throw them.

This lack of trust isn’t founded in some intense trauma; I might have had some bad luck in romance so far, but I’m fortunate to have never suffered that badly from it. Honestly, the worst thing that’s happened to me in that arena is that the very few lads I was really interested in have hidden me. The first boy I ever really liked actively kept me a secret, by asking me to do things like turn my Snapchat maps off if I went to his house so nobody knew I was there, he’d never post me on his story like he would when he was seeing other girls, and he’d only be out in public with me if it suited him. Then there were the other couple of crushes who preferred a kiss behind closed doors and us to never mention it again.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: all of that’s awful and I don’t seem like someone to stand for that ridiculously toxic behaviour with the things I say in these blogs. You’re right about both of those things. I tolerated all of that sh*t when I was younger because it was subtle, I was desperate to be a part of the romantic relationship world, and we don’t always practice what we preach when we’re in the situation.

If I were to describe how I’d feel about being in a relationship now though, I honestly think that my main feeling would be terror. (I laughed when I typed that though, so don’t read this as if I’m crying about it.) I guess I’m scared of being with someone because I have absolutely no idea what that’d look like in my life: I’ve seen others do it, but I don’t know who I’d be in that context. So, the prospect of that degree of new experiences and emotions is ridiculously exciting, yet I can’t help but be scared of it as well.

I think that Valentine’s Day is a funny one because it’s nauseatingly commercialised, and it’s one day of the year when people seem to be obnoxiously happy or obnoxiously bitter or ambivalent about the whole thing. We all know that in the grand scheme of things it matters very little if you get a bit of cardboard through the door saying ‘be my Valentine’ or not, but at the same time, many of us can end up feeling pretty low when the 14th February is like any other day. That’s just because we’re human, and we want to experience love.

So, even though we know Valentine’s Day is pretty pointless, be as obnoxiously happy or sad or anything in between as you want. Plus, it’s Pancake Day soon!

Wait, but I thought that I was supposed to hide this?

Wait, but I thought that I was supposed to hide this?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

If there’s one thing that I always hate hearing from people as a young, disabled woman, it’s ‘oh you do so well’. I’ve heard it whilst sitting on buses, walking down streets, in the waiting areas of the doctors or in airports, from the mouths of my parents’ colleagues and those of my teachers, and plenty of times from strangers when they simply don’t know what else to say. And I know that the intention is often pure; people want to show some level of appreciation for the fact that my physical existence may not be as simple as their own. Only, most of the time it just comes across as a bit bloody patronising.

The flip side of this, however, is that I spend so much time coping with my disability whilst doing whatever I want to do, that I’ve been guilty of disassociating myself from the fact that I’m physically disabled and that these things I’m doing are impressive. I am also English, though – Northern at that – so I suffer from an acute inability to talk about my successes without the embarrassment setting in.

But when I really think about why I don’t acknowledge ‘how well I do’, it’s because ableist aspects of our western society make it such that I’m supposed to blend in. Therefore, if I make any reference to how it might be really bloody impressive that I’ve done things like travel to, and live in the middle of the Nepali jungle without any access to medical care for 3 weeks on my own when I was 19 even though 3 weeks before that I couldn’t even go into work because I had an infected foot, then doing that doesn’t make me blend in. It brings my disability to the forefront, and I stick out in precisely the way society has told me that I shouldn’t.

So this is the part where you, my lovely reader, (hopefully) think ‘yes, of course, that’s impressive! You shouldn’t want to hide who you are’. And just like I’ve said to every person who has had genuine kindness in their eyes when they’ve told me ‘you do so well’, I want to thank you for saying that.

But drawing attention to my physical weakness is hard.

Last summer whilst I was in Ukraine, I found myself in a situation where I knew I had to mention my disability in a very public way, in order to avoid awkward run-ins later on. As always, when arriving at a place full of strangers, I chose to wear an outfit which covered my shoes to avoid any judgements before people heard me speak, but then I remembered that summer camp counsellor is a pretty active job and when the kids arrive tomorrow, if people see me sitting down every now and then, then they might think that I’m lazy or slacking off. So, to save face, I sat next to my friend from the first year I’d worked there and I announced my disability to a group of around 35 people. I’d never done anything like that before, and it was awful; my voice shook with every word I said, and I was very close to tears. But people were lovely about it, as they often are, and my announcement actually created the space for individuals to feel comfortable and slightly obliged, to ask me specifically how my legs were doing during our intense working days – something no one except my parents had ever asked me.

However, every single time someone asks about my disability, or I have to explain how it limits me, it’s emotionally draining in a way that I can’t effectively explain. That’s not to say that people should stop asking – definitely don’t stop doing that. I just want to communicate to you that back to back disability explanations don’t come free: it’s new for me to meet people and my disability to be one of the first things we talk about, and it’s new for me to have to talk about it this much.

One of the most heartwarming things I experienced after my announcement in Ukraine was towards the end of the summer. I was walking back from running an activity for some of the kids when 2 girls asked me if I could please explain to them why I wear my shoes. For the first time ever, I turned to someone who’d asked me to spontaneously offload personal details, and I said ‘do you mind if I tell you tomorrow? Because it’s 11am and 25 people have already asked me today.’. 25 isn’t an exaggeration by the way, I’d counted. And at that moment I realised that I’d always answered people’s questions straight away because I’d never wanted anyone to get embarrassed or feel upset about asking me. I also realised that subconsciously, when people see something as physically obvious as a disability, they think that on some level they’re entitled to an explanation. This, of course, is problematic.

I did explain it to these girls though since they asked so nicely, but they had to wait a day.

So, I’m in a weird spot now because I’m seeing myself doing things I never would’ve done two years ago, like walk around my university library with my callipers on full show and mentioning how I’m physically disabled in the first few moments of speaking to people. Meanwhile, the stubborn part of me which never wants to be defined – positively or negatively – by my Spina Bifida persists, and it occasionally dismisses my physical successes as just what everybody does.

And I know that my writing style leans towards a nice, neat conclusion that pulls all of this together, but not today my friends. My relationship with my body is complicated, and that’s just it.

I don’t want to wait until I’m older

I don’t want to wait until I’m older

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

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.

Why’d you text him again?

Why’d you text him again?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Why’d you do it then, eh? Why bother texting him again when you know he’s a dick? When you know he’ll leave it a few hours (even though he’s always on his phone, and definitely knows that it’s there). When you know he’s not that interested – YOU’RE not even that interested. So if you don’t really like him that much then why bother with putting yourself through the annoyance of it? Why’d you text him, if all you’re going to do is avoid your social media, waiting for his name to disappear from your notifications screen? What’s the point? Just ignore him, and forget about it. Yes, good idea. Delete the message thread, forget about it, move it along. Until the next one that is…

Hands up if you felt personally attacked by that first paragraph!

Well, if it’s any consolation, I just read myself to absolute filth and those were all questions my friends have asked me plenty of times, though I’ve undoubtedly asked myself them more. So, why do we text him – or her ! – over and over, when we’re the first ones to admit how tedious it all is? Where’s the logic?

For me, I think it’s a combination of lots of things. For example, the being constantly exposed to media and culture where romantic relationships seem to be necessary for overall happiness, the desperately wanting to feel known by someone (and to know them), the hormones, and the heavy, heavy boredom. I think it’s defo the hormones and the boredom which override the logic on a consistent basis, though. Which is fun.

On a less personal note, however, I think that what’s keeping us shushing the logical parts of ourselves is that romantic relationships are all we ever seem to talk about. Whether it’s a discussion of someone you just walked past and found attractive, your favourite celebrity, someone you had sex with last week, someone you might ask out on a date, or even the more abstract discussion of ‘who, out of our mates, would you date if you HAD to?’, sex and relationships are just constantly on the mind. In fact, the only people I know who don’t discuss these topics as regularly, are the ones in relationships – but even they get excited by their single friends’ tales of romance.

I’ve no clue why all of us are so hung up on this aspect of life, and I’m well aware that I’m as bad as anyone for it. But it’s the New Year, and I hAvE a rEsOLuTion people !! I’d sincerely like to stop wasting my time just for the sake of it.

I love people, I love a flirt, and I love a bit of drama, so I’ve had my fair share of situations with boys since the age of about fifteen. Still, I could honestly only count on one hand the lads that I was genuinely interested in; everyone else, I either fancied but knew it’d never work, or didn’t even fancy them that much, I just liked the attention. Oh god that sounds awful, doesn’t it? But we’ve all done it! In fact, I’m 100% sure that there have been plenty of occasions when boys have been thinking this way about me; it’s not a reflection on you (though it can certainly feel like that sometimes), it’s just how it is.

A few months ago, I was sitting on my friend’s bed, having a bit of a it’s-winter-I’m-tired-I-don’t-want-to-write-any-more-essays-can-it-be-Christmas-now sob, and in the middle of it I said the words ‘I’m just so tired of feeling this lonely’. I know, tragic. And I’ve written many blogs about how I’ve not wanted to be single for years; how I’ve felt left out because the only romantic experiences I’ve had so far have been a headache. Though, other reasons have also exacerbated these thoughts, like how much easier dealing with shit like my feet would be if I just had someone there who’s interested enough to care. Or even the fact that doing things would be nicer if there was someone there to do them with. But as bored as I am of being lonely, I’m more bored of saying how bored and lonely I am. So I’m not going to do it anymore.

Famous last words…

I’m seriously going to give it a go this time though!! I know I’ll probably stumble, because it’s surprisingly difficult to avoid all drama at a university where that seems to be all anyone talks about; not to mention the fact that I’m a total sucker for the will-they-won’t-they first stages. But I’m unbelievably picky, and stuff doesn’t work out; I end up getting upset, feeling like a failure, and we’re back to square one. SO, I’m going to start asking myself if I really will benefit from texting him again, when I know that we wouldn’t work and I don’t like him as much as I like the attention. I’m going to wait and see if he’s got the balls to show me that he likes me, before I try to control everything. And last on the list of New Years’ Resolutions: I’m going to acknowledge that there’s no time for pointless drama when there’s a degree to get, and a life after university to figure out. No more drunk-texting: only fun, easy, stress-free situations.

Come on 2022, you can give me that, can’t you?

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

I don’t wanna hear it anymore

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Sometimes when I’m at a house party, people come up to me and ask me about my blog, often interested in how I decide what to write about. The only way I can describe the process is that a topic will pop into my head, and I’ll feel a compulsion to type something about it: I guess it’s like a diary in that sense. Unlike a diary though, I know that these words will be read by others so I edit them and I rationalise them in an attempt to not sound like a prat. I can’t promise that I manage it every time, but we do our best. Although today, I’m not going to edit and I’m not going to rationalise: we’re just gunna go with it.

To make an extremely long, and tumultuous story short, in the past couple of weeks I’ve come to realise that I’ve never really been in a romantic situation with a lad where he’s tried as hard to get to know and understand me as much as I have him. I’ve consistently been the one who’s been actively interested in a bigger way than the physical sense; asking all of the questions, noticing the small things, and making an effort to work out what’s important to the person I’m interested in. And this realisation came to me when I was cleaning my room, sorting my shoes out, listening to music. I was feeling so relaxed and so honestly myself, and it made me think that there are so many parts of who I am that I’ve never shared with someone because I’ve been too busy trying to get to know them, and they’ve never asked.

That feeling was of course, kind of sad, but at the same time, it made me realise just how stressful ‘dating’ can be. How people have spent so much time and energy messing with my head, telling me yes then telling me no then telling me they would if they could but they can’t so they won’t; making it seem like I’m involved in the situation when really it’s just about them. I’m involved by name, but I’m never particularly relevant. Yawn.

So I went upstairs to my housemate the other day when I was feeling a little low, and I mentioned all of these feelings to her, and after listening to me she thought over all of the romantic relationships she’s had with boys and she completely empathised with me. Then without even bringing up how I’ve been feeling, multiple girls just this week have told me how they’re tired of being wanted physically; being told they’re hot by a drooling drunken boy at 2am, but never being given the time of day once the sun comes up.

Fortunately, I’m pretty emotionally robust so I can deal with the rejection. However, just because a person’s self-esteem is in decent condition, that doesn’t make it indestructible. And being told by someone that they’re really into you, or they really fancy you, is lovely for 2 seconds but it very quickly becomes hurtful if all it is is words. What I mean by that, is that the words become less believable if you don’t do anything about them. I’m flattered in the moment, but I’ve been in so many situations like this where boys have put my hopes up so far, then at best ignored me, that at this point I don’t trust words.

I don’t really understand why this is a thing, and I don’t know why I seem to attract it, but god almighty it’s a headache. Not least does messing with someone’s head like this fuck with their feelings, but it made me feel completely objectified at points. After the excitement of the moment had faded, I’d wake up and wonder if what’d actually happened there was a young lad only saying what he’d thought I wanted to hear because he wanted to sleep with me. Making that dramatic confession untrue, and all the emotional turmoil completely unnecessary.

All of this isn’t to say that I hate every lad I’ve had a situationship with; I’m still quite fond of a few of them, but I have to say my piece because I’m tired. Not to mention the fact that a healthy level of self-esteem doesn’t just happen; it’s incredibly fragile and takes a lot of work to maintain. So I refuse to allow the yeah-but-no-but treatment I’ve had from lads this year, to morph into self-criticism and thus take a toll on my self-esteem. Naturally, this is always easier said than done but once again, we do our best.

Thus, I want to finish with a request for all my readers (no matter your gender): please think before you speak. Decide whether what you’re about to tell a person is beneficial to them, or do you just want to say it to help yourself? Go into things with the correct intentions, and try not to fuck with someone’s head in the process. You might not always manage it, but it’s always worth a try. Because personally, I don’t need or want to hear it anymore, if you’re not going to do anything about it.

Is physical disability really that much of a turn-off?

Is physical disability really that much of a turn-off?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I remember in my first year of university, I was asked by one of my friends whether I thought that my physical disability had ever meant that people found me less physically attractive. (He had perfectly sound intentions by the way, and knew that that type of questioning wouldn’t offend me, so we’re good.) My short answer was yes; not because of any insecurities, or because I was fishing for pity-filled compliments, but yes because I’d seen it happen right before my eyes. I’ve seen lads begin to chat me up, then at the mention of a disability, turn the other way, and I’ve consistently had more success on a night out when I wear trousers to cover my shoes, or when the place is too full and too dark for anyone to see.

As real as they seemed, these were still always just suspicions derived from body language and facial expressions. So I’d wonder. Could it really be true that the sight of some metal bars on a young woman’s shoes is enough to intimidate? Is physical disability that much of a turn-off?

This week I read an article where George Robinson (the actor who plays Isaac in Sex Education) spoke to the BBC about sex and disability: two words you rarely see mentioned in the same sentence. I won’t summarise the article here as I’d prefer you read it yourself, but one part which really hit a nerve for me was when the reporter wrote that in 2014, 44% of the British people asked said that they wouldn’t consider having sex with someone who was physically disabled. And I emphasise ‘consider’ here because that wording is particularly cutting.

I could go on and on unpacking this statistic, but what I’d like to first draw your attention to is the fact that the term ‘physically disabled’ describes a hugely diverse group of people, and yet it seems that society associates it exclusively with paraplegic wheelchair-users. That in itself is mad and highlights so many issues in society’s narrow understanding of disability, however, my main concern today is the suggestion that physical disability strips a person of their sexuality. If you’re disabled then you have no sex drive, you’re unable to have sex, or whatever type of sex you can have isn’t normal and is shrouded in stress and embarrassment, and you’re not sexy.

Frankly, I never thought I was sexy. And I attributed that to the layers of misogyny which group young girls and women into the boxes of cute, pretty, sporty, or sexy. (We can unpack those toxic elements of the patriarchy another day). But now I realise that it was my being disabled which contributed to the surprise and disbelief I felt if someone called me sexy. I’d just never known that I had access to that word because no one who looked like me had ever been described as it. At least, I’d never seen it.

Thus in my late-teens, when talking to boys and developing crushes on them, I’d always envisioned that my disability would be peripheral in our relationship and it’d be something that I’d prefer him to ignore as much as possible. I’d want support when I really needed it, but if I had ever gotten a boyfriend then I’d wanted him to treat me like a ‘normal’ girl. Depressingly, hindsight makes me realise that 17-year-old me was equating ‘normal’ with able-bodied. Then when I went to university I started speaking to a lad who never once asked about my disability, after months and months of talking. I found myself conflicted because it was sort of what younger me had always wanted, but older me didn’t see how we could ever start a relationship if such a big part of my life was going to be ignored: it didn’t seem practical.

So now I’ve decided that I want something truly radical: I don’t only want a romantic partner to be interested in and tolerate my physical disability, I want him to find it attractive. I want him to look at my surgical scars and find them as beautiful as he does any other part of me. I don’t want to have to reject my disability in order to feel sexy. But as any reader of my blog will know, I’m yet to experience much more than a casual relationship with a lad so I can’t end this on a Disney note where I say I’ve found everything I’ve ever wanted and here he is *ta-dah*. Nonetheless, there’s one specific experience I’ve already had where I got a glimpse of what it might be like.

One morning I woke up next to a young lad I’d slept with a few times before. I cared for him, and enjoyed his company, but I didn’t have any romantic feelings towards him. I was used to him being affectionate by moving my hair out of my face as I slept, or kissing my shoulder, but on this particular occasion he took it further, as I woke up to feel him carefully tracing the curves, indentations, and lines of the lump on my lower back. That lump is the root of my disability, and it’s been something I’ve tried my hardest to look at as little as possible, let alone touch. So as I woke up, I realised what he was doing, and I lay there as he gave the most emotionally and physically vulnerable part of my body more love and attention than even I had ever given it. It was nice: I felt safe.

That young lad, even though he probably had no idea what he was doing, emphasised just how important it is that when I find someone I want to be with, they have to understand and love my disability as much as they love every other part of me. It’s not something to be ignored, and it’s not something which strips me of my sexuality: people and prejudices do that. But I don’t believe that the 44% statistic is rooted in malice; rather, it’s rooted in ignorance and a misunderstanding of disability. We all want love and to feel wanted, but I don’t see why my physical condition should decide whether I qualify for that or not.

I’m physically disabled, I have a sex drive, I enjoy sex, and just like everyone else, the details of how I like to have sex are only your business if I decide that you can make it that far.

You free later?

You free later?

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I’ve written many a blog about romantic relationships, men, flirting, sex: all those topics which easily draw a crowd. But often my writing shows, as I’ve said before, the more logical part of my personality. I conveniently omit moments when I’ve failed to follow my own advice because everyone likes to present the neatest version of themselves to the internet and honestly, I can’t see myself regurgitating every detail of my life on this blog or my social media pages any time soon. This isn’t because I’m trying to mislead anyone, it’s because I’ve no obligation to and it’s nice (healthy, even) to keep some things private.

Obviously I’m going to tell you about something today though…

For over a year, I was subconsciously slut-shaming myself every time I slept with someone and I didn’t even acknowledge it. The logical, feminist, part of my brain always knew that it was a misogynistic and nonsensical thing to do, given that every time I’ve had sex with someone it’s been consensual and feeling guilty about it afterwards was never necessary. I never cried about it or said really hurtful things to myself; my method of slut-shaming was way more insidious than that. In the days after having sex I’d low-key pretend that it didn’t happen, give in to embarrassment, and avoid any contact with the boy ever again. But doing that started to feel silly after a while.

I’d realised what I was doing through the conversations I was having about sex with the young women around me, and decided it was time to stop partaking in this form of psychological self-harm. I know why I was doing it though; it was because I’d really rather not sleep with different people, so every time I did, I felt guilty straight afterwards. I’d have this stressful internal monologue of not regretting the sex, but wishing it’d been something more interesting than just that, with someone I knew better. However, I don’t know anyone I’d want to date yet, so does that mean that I should numb all urges I feel for physical interaction until prince charming comes along? No, that doesn’t seem right either.

The ideal situation for me earlier on this year was to engage in a good, old, friends with benefits relationship. Yet, there are so many unspoken rules when having sex with a person that the idea of sending the ‘you free later?’ text just made me cringe. Frankly, I thought I didn’t have the personality to ‘pull that off’ – an idea no doubt derived from the patriarchy suggesting that it’s abnormal for a woman to want to have sex simply because she’s horny – something I recognise as complete bullshit, of course. But we’ve got a lot of internalised patriarchy to undo here on the daily, so yes, when I texted a lad I trusted asking if he was free later for the first time, it felt weird. No regrets after doing it though heyooo.

I know that I’m fortunate to have so many sex-positive people in my life and that it’s a luxury not everyone has. There continues to be countless women out there who spend a stupid amount of energy telling themselves to stop feeling what they’re feeling. But you’re not only horny when you’re in a relationship and you should never make yourself feel guilty about when or who you want to have sex with. It’s a toxic way to waste your time, and even though stopping doing it hasn’t made me want a relationship less, it’s made sex a lot less associated with guilt and embarrassment in my head. Which is definitely a win. So go get your kicks with whoever you want, whenever you want, and start taking better care of yourself by taking control of your sexuality.

Oh, and if you and a couple of your friends order vibrators at the same time and split delivery, it’ll be cheaper.

What I can’t see can’t hurt me

What I can’t see can’t hurt me

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I’ve always thought I was fortunate to have not suffered from intense anxieties and insecurities in my teens. Granted, there have been times where I thought I looked fat or any of the other standard moments of self-criticism, but generally speaking, I was happy with who I was and what I looked like. The only thing I ignored in order to continue being comfortable in my own skin was how I look when I walk. I didn’t look when I walked past shop windows or any reflective surfaces, and I asked friends to delete videos where you could see me walking; I just didn’t need to know what that image looked like.

So naturally, when my university friends were like ‘do you want to do the college fashion show and walk on a stage in front of hundreds of people and have the whole process videoed and posted on social media for even more people to see?’, my reaction was ‘uhhh no, not really’. But the second I told them why I didn’t fancy doing that, I got bombarded with accusations of hypocrisy because as they quite rightly pointed out, I can’t be on here sporting for diversity and inclusion if I’m not going to practice what I preach. Thus, I took my disabled arse up onto a pretty big stage and I stomped along it in front of hundreds of people. And I even did a walk in my underwear lol, since if you’re gunna do it, you may as well go all-out, right?

I’ve said many times before that I don’t know if I’m proud to be disabled, and that a lot of what society encourages me to do is to blend in; I’m told by the abstract powers that be that I should shut up and get on with it, and try my utmost to pass as able-bodied to get by. I know that I don’t love being physically disabled – it’s a bit of a pain – but I am disabled, and I don’t want to change that because god knows what I’d be like if I wasn’t. However, the way I feel about myself doesn’t change the fact that society rarely gives me examples of a disabled body being deemed as beautiful without there being some subtext of pity. And even though I’ve got an ego, I can’t say I’ve got a burning desire to use my body to change the way people understand disability. But I would like to trust that strangers could find me interesting, and clever, and sexy, knowing full well that I’m physically disabled; that they won’t go from respecting me to patronising me the second they hear my medical history.

What I’ve recognised though, is that I can’t keep blaming the abstract idea of what ‘society’ thinks for my insecurities. Yes, disabled people might not be plastered all over billboards and well-represented in films and TV, and yes, disability might be something the world wants to hide away and forget about. But when it comes to individual people, I’ve met so many people of all ages and backgrounds who accept me as interesting, clever, and sexy partly because I’m disabled. So maybe it’s a me problem; maybe I’m the only one who’s judging the way I walk and the shoes I wear.

Love letters

Love letters

by elizabethmdouglas ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

You know, it’s come to my attention that sometimes I’m not very kind to myself. And I’ve also just realised that that was a really deep way to start a blog… 🙂

Over the last decade or so, it’s become very fashionable for people to recognise when they’re being really hard on themselves and to rectify those moments. We start to do yoga, we meditate, we go on holiday (lol, imagine), we buy an adult colouring book, we have a good cry, we talk to each other. But still, no matter how self-aware we are, and no matter how many affirmations we say to ourselves in the mirror – although, I’ll be honest and say that I’ve never personally tried the talking to yourself method…seems a bit intense to me, but anyway – humans still don’t seem able to escape from those self-criticism shackles.

I was speaking recently with one of my housemates about this and we both noted that for each of us, part of growing up has been coming to terms with who we are: the good and the bad. Generally, I’m very comfortable in who I am and I like to think that I’m a pretty decent human being, but I know that every trait I really like about myself does have a side effect. For example, when I care about things I really care about them: I work really hard for it, I’ll spend hours on it, I’ll do everything I can to make it work – whether that be a friendship or my degree. However, the flip-side of that is that if I can’t control it and if something goes wrong, I lose my shit. I pin part of my self-worth on the success of that one thing, and if it fails then I get angry and I’ll probably end up sobbing until my eyes swell-up and the colour of my skin resembles Clifford the Big Red Dog. It’s intense.

Another thing I like about myself is that I’m pretty good at rationalising situations: I can be objective, and am decent at understanding why I’m feeling the way I do. Still, my overactive brain is very skilled in ignoring and doubting my own rationalisations, so I’m also pretty bad at practicing what I preach. Therefore, sometimes when I write a blog and I’m able to give what I hope is decent, pragmatic advice, that’s me writing a love letter to myself. Obviously, I’d love to always be as calm and measured as I can make myself out to be, but these words are carefully considered and they’re not always a reflection of my actions. But then, do any of us always follow the advice we give to our friends? Probably not. Do we know that we should? Yep. So why don’t we? Fuck knows.

I suppose I’m saying this because the more blogs I write, and the more advice I inadvertently give, the more I realise that I’m setting myself up for a fall when my friends see what I do and say ‘do I have to send you your own blog?’. (Which, though cutting, is always kind of hilarious when it happens.)

These blogs are the times when the rational part of my brain is able to take over and make sense of everything; to try and keep my anxieties and insecurities at bay. But, in this age of crafted opinions and convenient omissions, I’d like to make the disclaimer that I’m 21 years old and whilst I may know something is the right thing to do, that unfortunately doesn’t mean that I’ll always do it. What’s important, is that we each at least try to take care of ourselves as much as we can, and that we identify when we’re not doing such a great job of it. But as Hannah Montana wisely said: everybody makes mistakes, everybody has those days.

Enjoy the sunshine! Xx