Sometimes I don't like being me.
And not because I'm blonde or have a Sourhern accent or don't drive.
Not because I hate how I put off laundry day or leave the milk out at least once a week in my sleepy stupor.
Not even because I can take things personally when people don't mean them to be personal or because I can have an awkward sense of humor at inappropriate times.
But for the obvious reason.
Sometimes I do not like having a disability. At all. Sometimes I hate it.
Yes, hate.
You know how "they" say there's a thin line between love and hate?
Well, the commonality between love and hate is that they both require you to care. To love something you have to care about it. And to hate something, you have to care enough to invest energy to fuel your disdain.
Most of the time I love being me. I embrace who I am, because my disability has given me so much: a passion for civil rights work, an amazing, eclectic group of friends, and a faith in God that is renewed each time I wake another day.
I appreciate my body, made in His image.
I appreciate my work borne from my own life.
I appreciate the people I know who can truly love me completely-- who let me breathe out, laugh at myself, and who I honestly know would walk three miles with me without one look of pity or request that I pick up the pace.
But even with all the joy it brings me, it gets old.
The looks of pity from random strangers on the street.
Walking past a window and seeing myself in the reflection, realizing why they give me that look.
Explaining at least once a week that no, my life is not "hard" or "difficult" or "heroic "... It is my life. The only one I've ever had and ever known.
Going into a shoe store, seeing women my age with fantastic, sexy, colorful shoes, and hearing them talk about the hundreds of dollars of shoes they have in their closet.
I think, "I have hundreds of dollars in my closet too... Only I get excited when I can find something that doesn't look like it should have come from an orthopedic store or wear out after one 10-hour wear."
Sometimes I am angry. Sometimes, I don't want to take 10 minutes just to put on my shoes in the morning.
Sometimes, I want to walk into a dance studio and sign up for a hip hop class without the word "adaptive" in front of it.
Sometimes, when I lie alone at night, I wonder what's really holding me back from finding love.
Let's see--there was the guy who broke up with me because I reminded him of his grandma.
The guy who broke up with me because he thought being with me made him seem he had more of a disability.
Or the most recent guy who could never give me a reason on the whole... and while I know in my head disability probably had little to do with his lack of commitment.... it fits the pattern and seems like a fairly easy scapegoat at the moment.
Honestly, I liked getting my heart broken by a gay man the best because 1. I knew even walking away that he loved me. and 2. I knew our breakup had nothing to do with the two metal sticks I carry.
But I digress...
I have to sell myself every day. We all do. At work. In our dating lives. With every new person we meet.
But today-- I'm tired of selling.
So, here you go. Here I am.
I have a disability. It's here. It's not going anywhere. Every morning when I wake up it will be there. And that will be the case the entirety of my Earthly life. And sometimes I hate that--yes.
But what I hate more is how others see it. I abhor this constant expectation and assumption that everything I have ever achieved in my life has been in spite of my disability.
No. No. No. No.
This attitude. This " overcoming" piece of bull (excuse my French) is exactly what I hate.
I didn't graduate high school in the top of my class in spite of my disability. I graduated at the top of my class because I worked harder than most of the people at the bottom.
Why did I work harder? Because I have a disability .... And I have to sell myself. Because that lady who pities me on the street expects less of me than I do, and maybe, sometimes, so do you.
This is the same reason I have three law licenses and 2 graduate degrees and speak 2 languages. The same reason I jump out of planes and run races and row boats.
The same reason that I have loved and been loved and that I know I will ultimately find the love of my life.
Because I live. I live hard, fast, deliberately, and with purpose. I live with a disability. A part of me that pushes me to achieve from my core. My disability is not an obstacle in my path. It is a catalyst to my success. My disability forces me to focus on who I am, and what I can do, and how I can get to where He wants me to be. While society might harp on what I can do in spite of it, I am constantly thinking of what He will allow me to achieve because of it.
Because I know that where I am weak, God sees me as strong. The life I've been given was given to me for a purpose, and for this reason, I could never "hate" it for long. My life is a gift, exactly as I'm living it. Right now. Today.
Even on bad days.
Sure, I may wake up some days and hate my armbraces, my feet, my accent, my hair, whatever.
But if He's let living with my disability teach me anything, it's that this life is not about living happily ever after.
The point is that we live.
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