For the writers living with chronic illness and physical disability
I'm going to get into writing and posting this while my brain is still half asleep and before I change my mind because it feels too personal and I don't do that online. Please excuse any typos.
Comments on a recent post of mine about wanting to write but not being able to got me thinking. I'm chronically ill and physically disabled. I have been for most of my adult life (I'm 42 now). It's been progressing slowly throughout that time and more rapidly over the last few years. It is what it is.
I don't talk about it in detail on the internet because it's impossible for me (not saying other people can't do this) to accurately represent the full experience in a way I feel comfortable with while still engaging enjoyably with an interest-based community, which is what I'd rather be doing here.
Also, people get fucking weird about it. I have no patience for *pat on the head* "well done for existing" consolation-prize pity bullshit or inspirational cripple bullshit. Equally, I have no patience for being dragged into a who-has-it-worse competition that I'm never going to take part in because I don't see the world that way or a what-about-me-ism-fuelled derailment session.
This shit is complicated. I'm on Tumblr to write and to talk about writing. But if I'm also quietly dealing with all that other stuff alongside making up some guys (gender non-specific) in my head and putting them in situations, I know some of you are too.
And you know what? It's hard. I know it is. We live in an inaccessible world and so many parts of that world and so many people in it can be brutally hostile towards chronic illness and physical disability in ways that still shake me to my core when I encounter them. It no longer surprises me, but it still fucks me up on the regular.
But listen. YOU ARE CREATING. You're doing something huge and worthy and valuable and fucking difficult. You're carrying the weight of all that other shit and YOU ARE STILL CREATING. It might take you longer than you'd like and you might be doing it in ways that are far from ideal, but you are still doing it.
You might feel excluded from communities and events and conversations, not necessarily because anyone is intentionally excluding you, but because you have no option other than to do the sick-person version of things and it's impossible not to feel like you're on the outside looking in sometimes when that's your experience.
The point of all this is that I want you to know with my whole heart that YOU ARE SEEN. Your strength and your determination and your sadness and your rage and your pain and your more-able days and your rock-bottom days are all seen.
Your challenges and your messiness and your perfectionism and your complexity and your dichotomies and the unrealistic standards and demands you have internalised from existing in an ableist society are witnessed and felt, widely and deeply, and with a solidarity unshakable enough to hang bridges from.
I'm not going to tell you that you're good enough, because it should go without saying. I am going to tell you that you're not alone, because that does need to be said. You are so much more than a conditionally-acceptable exception and you deserve to reach and exist beyond the boundaries of the small boxes you get shoved into without your consent or permission. YOU ARE SO MUCH MORE.
Alright? Alright. Keep going 💜
In case this gains any sort of traction and people start replying to it or reblogging it, I want to make something very clear. I am also neurodivergent. That is not what this post is about. I also have lifelong experience of mental illness and trauma. That is not what this post is about. This post is about chronic illness and physical disability and it's for people who are living with those specific things, whether or not they're also living with the other things.
So, in the most loving way, if you have something to say that isn't about that, this isn't the place to say it. Thanks.