I, like everyone on the planet, struggle with real, uncontrolled vulnerability. As one of my best friends made clear to me once, I express the emotionally vulnerable parts of myself in a very measured way; what I say isn’t untrue, or dishonest, it’s just I lead the expression of vulnerability and would find it far more difficult to relax into a situation and let the vulnerability happen.

For a long time, when I’ve been romantically interested in lads, I’ve gone in all guns blazing because another thing I struggle to do is not say what’s on my mind, and when that hasn’t gone so well, I’ve had my sad girl hours, telling myself it was rejection. But then friends and lads I’ve dated, have also told me that I’m difficult to read, which has seemed like a total contradiction. What can be difficult to read about me saying exactly what I mean?

Have I actually said what I wanted to, though? Or did I sugarcoat it in vagueness, distraction, or flirtation to avoid misunderstanding, judgment, or rejection?

A couple of years ago, one of my close friends jokingly said that she could never live with me because I’m too needy. She laughed, I thought it rude and unfair but put it down to a poorly-judged joke. Then she said it again during another social situation, and eventually it just became a joke she sometimes fell back on. That one stuck with me and went straight into the part of my brain where the various other piercing comments I’ve had from other people live. Like when lads I’ve been dating have called me ‘too much’, or the more back-handed ‘you’re actually quite sexy’ said with an air of surprise just to make my eyes narrow even more.

All of these comments link up to illustrate why I’m cautious about being vulnerable: I don’t want to be judged as less or weak. I’m a young woman, and I know the way those perceived weaknesses could negatively impact how people see and treat me, because patriarchy doesn’t often allow for women to have imperfections and still be seen as valid. Further to that though, I have a physical disability, and whenever I’ve been in a moment with my feet which has forced me to be totally physically dependent on others, I’ve felt pointless. I’ve continued on as normal to try to distract everyone, but in the back of my head, I’ve just got this intense embarrassment that even though internally I’m the same as I was yesterday, now I can’t even open a door on my own.

Nobody likes feeling weak. And even though there’s absolutely nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it, and even though I know I don’t become pointless or change when my disability pipes up, that’s how it feels sometimes. It feels humiliating, and it leads me to always think silly things like if a man I fancied saw me on crutches or talking about my disability on my social media pages, then he wouldn’t look twice. There’s internalised ableism in these thought processes – no doubt about that – but also there are real, tangible facts that disability is viewed by the world as being so awful for a person that it entirely consumes them and their life. So, you expend so much time and energy trying to prove to people that that isn’t all you are, that it makes the times when your day is kind of ruled by your disability feel even worse because how can you distract everyone from paying attention to it when you need them to wait for you so you can hop up the stairs on your crutches? (Because no, there isn’t a working lift).

I love sharing my life with other people and telling them the reality of what it’s like to be a young, physically disabled woman. I know I’m so much more than my condition, and I know that people think of me as so much more than that, so I needn’t worry about how I’m perceived. Nonetheless, as I sit on this sofa with a bandage on my foot, and bruises on my right side from using crutches and falling when trying to protect the bandage, I’d be lying if I said that I feel my best. I don’t feel bad, because I’m inside and therefore not stressed by the embarrassment of others seeing me this way, but I don’t like it. I don’t like that one tiny cut on the side of my foot can leave me so vulnerable. I’d rather it hurt for a couple of days but heal like everyone else.

Maybe this last paragraph isn’t necessary, but I need to say that this isn’t me wishing my body away, or disowning my Spina Bifida, it’s simply an attempt to explain that I don’t wake up every day and feel okay with having it. I know it’ll be fine, and that it’s nothing to feel embarrassed about, but logic and emotions aren’t always compatible. And so, I’m excited for when I can walk to the kitchen using both of my legs again. There’s no infection, so hopefully not long now. 🙂