Part 8 of 8
(…a continued reflection on Datable by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp)
The disabled community is large and varied in its defining characteristics. However, “one pretty strong marker of inclusion is that you’ve been on the receiving end of some ridiculous comments” (p. 200). So. True.
As I’ve explored in previous posts on disability representation, we almost always stand in for some concept of who we are instead of the messy and complex reality of our existence. One way that this plays out is how “a physical or intellectual impairment can also create the impression that we are innocent or clueless in every area of life, just longing for advice from anyone with a pair of working legs, eyes, or ears (even if they have no actual expertise on the subject in question)” (p. 202).
I swear, you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve been told the ways I could heal myself if I just did X or tried X. I once had a guy tell me that the hot springs tub we were sharing that I’d no longer need my cane when I got out. Sir, that is not how disability works. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been prescribed yoga, which actually makes my congenital hip dysplasia flare. Recently, someone tried to prescribe massage to me as a cure for my severe carpal tunnel syndrome. Ma’am, I have a metal plate and seven screws in there. Massage is not a viable option.
The authors agree that while it might be “unfair to have to justify to the world why you’re capable… there’s also some value in accepting any invitation to show off competence” (p. 204). I do like blowing away people’s assumptions about me when I do some basic things as speak for myself, have wild sex, and live alone.
At the same time, “we don’t have to feign competence where we don’t feel it; there’s strength in vulnerability because it opens the door to support that we’ll actually benefit from” (p. 205). We don’t want to fall into a supercrip role where we pretend we have no needs and can do it all alone. That stereotype is just as harmful as the one telling us we’re incapable of doing things independently.
Naturally, people can be curious about us and our lives because, to many nondisabled people, our lives are a mystery. Yet, while “curiosity and cruelty are two different things… when we’ve been bludgeoned with the second over and over, our tolerance for the first can be limited” (p. 207). I can only be asked “what happened to you” so many times before I snap that it’s none of their business.
So, what does this have to do with dating while disabled? Mostly it makes its appearance in our dating lives in the form of assumed roles and characteristics. For instance:
“One persistent theme of disabled and interabled relationships is the idea that there’s an element of heroism baked in. We can’t just be out there bickering over whose turn it is to take out the trash; au contraire, we are living, breathing symbols of humanity’s highest ideals, casting off the shackles of a consumer-minded, beauty-obsessed culture to live a great and powerful truth: love can conquer all.” (p. 207)
Our disabilities are not something to be conquered, ignored, or minimized. We have the same relationship problems as everyone else. Yes, sometimes those are complicated by our disabilities, but who doesn’t have some aspect of their life that complicates their dating life? Yet, “relationships involve constantly discovering, forging, and renegotiating roles. The ability to do that in a world that often dismisses or mischaracterizes those relationships might be somewhat heroic, but no single person is” (p. 209).
It gets all the more confusing for the nondisabled masses when disabled people are dating each other. As Cupp so hilariously describes it, “people can’t tell which of us is the pity date” (p. 209). I live for causing this kind of cognitive dissonance.
Ultimately, it comes down to accepting that we can’t control how we’re perceived. We have to find a way to choose our battles and figure out which ones we leave for others to fight. Yes, we must continue to push back against ableist assumptions and perceptions. We also need to be able to live our lives without constantly trying to educate people.
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