I’ve been meaning to write about this topic for a while. I just had a difficult time figuring out what I wanted to say about it. Confidence is big, I think, in every facet of life. It’s certainly a lot more nuanced when you’re disabled, though. Let’s talk about it.
Confidence comes into play at a different level when you live life disabled. At a very young age, I had to learn to deal with other children, and adults, staring at me. You know, because I walked differently and my movements were stiff and awkward, what I later learned was a marked sign of cerebral palsy — at least the type I was born with. I had to learn to ignore the stares and keep moving. Be comfortable in my body. Much more difficult than it sounds. Yes, it did affect me. Not so much in the moment, I think, as it did later on. Puberty and young adulthood, anyone? Yikes.
Looking back, I always thought all that staring was so rude. What was so different about me? The fact that I walked with a posterior walker? Wore AFOs? Eventually used forearm crutches? I truly didn’t understand what the big deal was back then, and I honestly still don’t. Do I have hang-ups? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just general confusion about non-disabled people’s attitudes about disability. Let me help. Let’s make this easy to understand: I’m really not that different. The disabled community isn’t that different. Even if they were, is that so terrible? Why do people have such obsessions about fitting in, being like everyone else? How boring. Put simply, being disabled is just another way of being human. I see that point circulating around a lot, probably because it’s so true.
It reminds me of something my boyfriend once said to me. On our first date, when we were just starting out, he said something like, so you walk a little slower. So what? This was after I asked him if it bothered him that I use crutches, that I’m disabled. The answer was a resounding no if you couldn’t already tell by what followed. I was just double checking. Realistically, you never know. Back then, I certainly didn’t. I’ve heard other stories, mostly online in the disabled community, of a non-disabled person “not realizing” that somebody’s disability was “that bad.” As if that makes any sense whatsoever.
It’s part of why I hate surprising people with the reality that I’m disabled. I’d much rather tell new people beforehand. It saves me a ton of anticipatory anxiety and helps me not waste my time. This doesn’t just apply to dating. With all kinds of new people. Friends, for example. Who knows, maybe it does go back to being stared at all the time. I really was just trying to get down the sidewalk like everyone else….jeez. The way they stared, you’d think I was some sort of freaky-looking clown or something.
It might lead back to when I started online dating — a long time ago — and I made the mistake of omitting that I’m disabled on my dating profile. When this one guy found out, he said, I wanted someone who can walk and ride bikes, or something to that effect. Whatever. His loss. He went on to say, I hope you can understand what I mean. I think I must’ve replied, Well, I understand that you’re blatantly ablelist. Mic drop.
I also found out that an ex-boyfriend, who’s not worth naming, was also ableist a couple months into dating him.…yeah. Sounds bad, right? The realization itself didn’t feel like a gut punch. It felt more like I knew something was up with him all along, like my deep instincts were correct the whole time. The key words in that other sentence are ex-boyfriend and ableist. He obviously didn’t just find out he was ableist, which is how he presented it to me….by literally saying the words, I think I’m ableist. Wow, ok. I wasn’t fooled by this weak, pathetic, unconvincing epiphany of sorts. This man knew the whole time we dated that he was ableist. He just wasn’t up front with me about it until we were breaking up. This is the same person who said he “felt bad” when he “wanted to flirt with other women” while we were together. Needless to say, I made it very easy when we fortunately ended things, effectively removing this man’s guilt while I removed myself from his life, so he could flirt all he wanted to. See if I care. I don’t. I didn’t. Go ahead and have fun while I happily move on, sir. The whole situation sounds a lot worse when I put it in writing. I mean, it was bad, just by principle alone. In terms of its effect, my pride was hurt more than anything. After I got over that, I was kind of relieved. Anyway. Thankfully, that era of my life is over.
I guess my point is, confidence plays a big role when you date as a disabled person. It’s like playing all your cards and feeling good with what you put on the table in front of you. That’s certainly what I did back when I was dating around….and it eventually worked out. The journey was tough, exhausting work but the destination and reward were sweet. Almost nine years with the same man…and life still is.
This is not to say that I’m this super confident person. In fact, I think that’s actually inaccurate. I might just be living in my head again. It’s hard to tell, really. Am I as confident as I seem? Could be the reverse. Maybe I act unconfident but I’m really not? Like I’m secretly confident or something. Hope I’m not confusing it with humility. I’ve no idea.
I do know I’m not naive enough to think my confidence will grow when I become a full-on attorney. Confidence is something I have to work on from within. In other words, my confidence issue won’t be cured when I get Esq. after my name. As much as I wish it would, I know it won’t. The learning curve during the first year out of law school is steep. Mix that in with confidence struggles and….well. Say less.
The Spastic Diplege 