I was at a party on Saturday, sitting on the couch, drinking a mojito, talking to someone new. She asked me, what do you do? I searched through my mental list of responses and settled on the frank answer: I’m not working at the moment because I have a disability. Then I replayed the party to that point in my mind. I watched myself mixing drinks, getting the door, walking about. Really? What disability?
No one ever asks, of course, but I always find myself explaining. Over-explaining. Awkwardly stammering about upper body weakness, pain, assistive equipment. Anything to justify the disconnect between “disability” and able, social, normal looking me.
I count myself lucky to have the ability to do pretty much anything if I want to. I’m learning that it’s worth overdoing it sometimes, if it makes me feel a little bit independent or social or sane. It’s also a lot easier to ignore pain if I’m doing something fun and engaging.
I’m not sure why feel like I have to explain myself; I bet people don’t judge me half as harshly as I do. But I’m always worried they’re gonna think I’m faking it.
This thing's got legs 