Part 2 of 8
(…a continued reflection on Datable by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp)
Slice and Cupp remind us of an important decree for dating: it should not be about trying to “fill some empty hole in my life but to add to my life that is already full in so many ways” (p. 46). This axiom should be true for disabled and nondisabled daters alike. Cupp uses the analogy of ice cream: “I don’t technically need ice cream—it’s not an essential food group—but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Ice cream is rich and delicious—having someone special in my life could be rich and delicious too” (p. 46).
It’s interesting trying to hold the positive aspects of being disabled without falling into the trap of forced positivity. As Slice shares, “I credit my disability with my ability to find joy in small things and my capacity for empathy. My pride in my identity is not based on some equation of whether my disability has brought ‘good things’ into my life; rather, it’s because disability is an indispensable fact about me. It’s integral and true” (p. 51).
Slice and Cupp were also surprised to discover that disabled people were much more likely to be in nontraditional relationship structures and engage in kink. Personally, I’m not surprised in the least. After all, ethical non-monogamy (enm) and kink both have strong parallel values with disability culture. There is an inherent sense of wider acceptance, an openness to expressing and fulfilling needs, respecting limits, and sharing preferences.
Speaking of needs, Slice and Cupp were quick to acknowledge and validate the widespread experience of disabled daters scoping out potential date locations before committing to meeting a date there (p. 69). This often involves going to the site itself and performing a lot of logistical labor that is frequently overlooked.
I recently had a first date and found myself automatically doing this work. It’s so second nature that I barely gave it a thought until my date thanked me for my labor in setting up the logistics. Of course, I did my best to blow off the expression of gratitude, because to have these realities recognized by someone who doesn’t identify as disabled might be emotionally overwhelming. It just illustrates another way in which I’ve internalized the ableist idea that it’s my responsibility to ensure my body fits the world instead of the other way around.
This shows up in disabled lives so often that it can become second nature. We shrink ourselves to the smallest possible size so as not to disturb the ableist structures in place. As Cupp shares, “I wish I could say that there was some big secret for shaking this whole ‘I’m sorry for existing; I’ll just sit over here and try not to breathe too hard lest you need the oxygen’ attitude. All I can say is that I felt like that at one point, and now I don’t (or, more accurately, don’t much of the time)” (p. 65). I’ve found this to be true in my experience as well. Sometimes it just takes time and a lot of practice taking up space to really feel entitled to existing in all your disabled glory.
Leave a Reply