Part 5 of 8
(…a continued reflection on Datable by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp)
Within disability culture, we celebrate mutual aid, which Slice describes as “the practice of supporting one another in a complex web of practical and emotional support” (p. 135). This can show up in a multitude of ways, which become far more complicated when it involves romantic relationships.
As an aside, one way this can show up is through participation in ethical non-monogamous (ENM) relationships. As Slice reports from her research, “After talking to many polyamorous disabled people, I started to think that the mutual-aid mindset crosses over into romantic attachments. Charlotte -an interviewee- specifically mentioned that ENM allows for a more sustainable supportive network versus a single partner with whom she might develop an unhealthy and unsustainable codependence” (p. 135).
Being disabled allows us to naturally question all the ways society tells us we ought to be because we simply don’t fit those molds. This, in turn, opens up an array of possibilities for different relationship structures and forms of mutual aid. At its root, mutual aid is “a system of collective care in which there is no distinction between the care giver and the care receiver” (p. 182). We too often hold this false binary that there are those who need care and those who do not. The reality is, we all need care in some shape or form.
One advantage that disabled people has is that this “doesn’t come as a surprise; we don’t have the illusion of eternal ability coloring our perceptions of reality” (p. 162). We know that bodies and minds shift over time, requiring different kinds and amounts of care from others. This is at the heart of engaging in mutual aid.
When we forget this basic tenet of disability culture, it becomes easy to fall into what Slice refers to as “gratitude exhaustion.” When we feel like we’re always the one being cared for, or the one who is most visibly cared for, having to always be thankful can become exhausting. As she says, “it makes sense that saying thank you for a thing I don’t want to have to ask for feels like adding insult to injury” (p. 178). She goes on to write:
“While some of the gratitude exhaustion comes from the fact that having disabled bodies and minds is literally exhausting, I have to believe another part stems from ableism. We are all, disabled or not, fed the lie that an independent life is the best kind of life. Our society (at least in the United States and Canada) maintains a toxic obsession with capacity as the measure of merit.
“In this paradigm, it makes sense that a constant reminder of our weaknesses feels demoralizing. Interdependence is, quite literally, counter to our culture’s morals. So then, as disabled people, every time we need, there is a little voice that whispers, ‘You are less worthy.’ No wonder saying thank you sucks.” (p. 178)
Mutual aid is one way that we can push back against this requirement that we always be patient and grateful. It allows space for us to open up to the entirety of our experiences and recognizes them as shared amongst us all, disabled and not. I’m not saying that we should be ungrateful. After all, empathy and generosity are at the core of mutual aid. It just shouldn’t be coming from a place of obligation and a sense of unworthiness.
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