I've shared it a few times but I've been kind of unable to articulate how much this article means to me because of everything, so.... here goes nothing.
When all this dropped- the original article, that is- I was sitting in the waiting room at a radiology clinic, about to go in for a Chest CT to follow up on a possible issue with my lung. I haven't got results back yet, so I don't know what it is, but I have been conscious of just how bad my physical stamina is, and in my constant urge to figure out what's wrong with me (which- itself is probably a disorder of some kind), I concluded that it's probably something chronic. Maybe long COVID, as I sure don't remember being this quick to tire before I caught it (but, I barely remember things anyway).
That conclusion, amidst contemplation about a number of pain issues I've been having, lead me to actually understand my situation as someone with a physical disability. Sure, maybe all of my physical stuff is actually treatable or maybe curable. Maybe my lung issue is just a respiratory infection and my pain is just caused by poor posture or something. Maybe I can be fixed. I still ask myself that question, but... I'm trying to understand myself and afford myself the care that I need, right? Making that choice to actually help myself instead of just pushing through it because "well I'm not really disabled."
Except of course, I am. Putting aside the physical, I've known for a long, long while that I'm rather mentally ill. I'm a trans girl in 2026- its almost a given, unfortunately- but that combined with some barely unpacked childhood trauma, and.... yeah.
And yet, despite my conscious knowledge of my mental illnesses, for the longest time I struggled to define myself as disabled. Never had a problem acknowledging others' mental illnesses as the disabilities that they are, just my own. Call it internalised ableism or an insatiable urge to minimise my struggles or whatever term exists to describe it, but it was there. Funnily enough, my justifications were "sure, this sucks, but I'm not physically disabled, so I probably shouldn't complain..." (I'm aware of how unquestionably awful that sentiment is both to myself but also to everyone else who has a disability- I don't seek to justify it or to approve of it. internalised hate is a Bad Thing Actually!)
So, when an Xray found a "thing" in my lung (which itself was prompted by a panic attack hospitalisation- but y'know, it's not a real disability sarcasm) that needed further examination, I started thinking about my physical state. And that lead me to a rather delicate but somewhat empowering place of being to understand myself as disabled, both physically and mentally.
And it was there, in that understanding, sitting in the radiology clinic waiting room, that I read (half of- I couldn't finish it) an 8000 word hate piece, hitting me straight in the midst of my developing understanding of myself. Needless to say, it got to me.
I didn't start spiralling until I got home- instead expressing my anger at something I felt like was a deep betrayal. But when I did get home, I spiralled out very hard. I was hurt, hurting, and convinced that my (very similarly disabled) girlfriend who I had just gotten off the phone with actually would end up hating me for being a burden and would dump me.
I didn't really have an out from that spiral, and so I was careening towards an unpleasant endpoint, until i used my Uncanny Ability to Not Be Upset Anymore. The next day I had to call off work, from how bad it all was still affecting me. I lost most of that day to unmotivated rotting, as the girls would say, until a post arrived upon my dash.
The article linked above by Anonsee, or @storyweavingspider on here, is that post. And it is a beautiful, caring, empathetic, gentle one. It took me by the hand and told me that everything will be okay. In just a short article, every single one of my fears were acknowledged. I was told that it was okay to define myself this way- as disabled- to understand myself. I was told that it was okay to not put myself down because "others have it worse." That I should work on the things that make me survive. That, just maybe, I'm not "too young" for the things I might need.
The only thing fae didn't promise me is that my girlfriend would stand by me. (Which is expected- fae's not my girlfriend and can't do that). But what fae did give me is an understanding that it's okay to be disabled. We don't deserve to be dumped for that. It doesn't make us lesser. With that knowledge in mind, I managed to break from my avoidant personality and actually talk to my girlfriend about this whole situation. It helped. It helped immensely. She of course never sees me as a burden, or anything along those lines. She committed herself to me, even if I need more support than expected. This comic appeared on my dash just before I was to talk to her- a comic she has quoted at me on a few occasions- and... yeah. It nearly derailed the whole talk before I composed myself!
I did a pretty bad job at conveying how much Anonsee's article meant to me at the time (not that I blame myself, I wasn't exactly the most stable of thought at the time!), so I wanted to write this to give my thanks properly. To tell my story and acknowledge the article which has honesty played a very significant role in it. It says a lot of things I needed to hear (even without the context of what it was released in reply to), and I wholeheartedly think that if you identify at all with disability, in any form, or even just are struggling with an ongoing (physical or mental) health issue, it's absolutely worth a read.
ellievsbear
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
dededos
