The Head and the Heart
The Head and the Heart
0/10 do not recommend having a body.
My relationship with my body is... complicated at best. You’d think as someone who’s been disabled their whole life I’d be comfortable, accustomed to how things are. Getting comfortable would mean things are predictable, and my body is not predictable. How I feel changes every day, sometimes every hour.
It depends on so much. What I did that day, what I did the day before. How much sleep I got, or how much I didn’t get. Whether it’s cold or hot outside and how my body reacts to that. What I have planned for the rest of the day and what I have planned tomorrow. I need to be aware of how much energy I’m conserving and how much I need. I like the spoon theory but I also see my energy levels -- physical, social, emotional -- as batteries. I don’t hate leaving my house, I don’t hate being around people; I just need time to let myself recharge again by being alone.
I’ve never looked at my body in a wholly positive or even neutral way. Being disabled fucks up my outlook so much. I’m hyperaware of what’s different -- the way my thighs look compared to the rest of my legs, the way my arms look because I can’t hold them out perfectly straight, the way my hips push my torso outward, the way the curve in my lower spine affects how my hips sit, where my weight settles, how easy it is for me to gain weight, how my stomach looks covered in scars that never went away, the size of my chest. I could keep going, but I’ll stop there. There’s even more that most people would probably never even think to notice. I can ignore some parts better than others, but never completely. There’s always something I want to change. Combine that with having a boomer/Gen X cusp mom whose self image was way too influenced by Victoria’s Secret and it’s a perfect storm of criticism.
My brain feels disconnected from the rest of my body, which is funny because my disability is actually caused by damage to my brain... but only in the parts that control my movements. Too many people don’t realize that I’m just as aware and intelligent as they are; they see my wheelchair or walker and assume everything about my mental abilities. I could write an entire separate essay about how rude people are. Seeing doctors makes me anxious because I hate talking about my body. I hate being looked at in such a clinical way and having no choice in who does it and when. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have a physical form.
My point is that my brain doesn’t listen to my body and my body doesn’t listen to my brain. There are things I want to do that my body just cannot do. I’ve tried things that I probably shouldn’t have, or probably couldn’t do because I’ve declined so much functionally. There are things I want to try that I don’t know would be the best for me to do, but I won’t know until I try. It’s hard to be so independent minded and so dependent physically. I want to do more, but I also don’t want to push myself.
The struggle between the two is what makes me frustrated and angry. It’s extremely hard to balance when I’m an ambitious person who isn’t content to sit still all the time. I don’t know if I should let myself try and experiment or if I should talk myself down and stop daydreaming. The push and pull of it all adds to my anxiety. It’s really ironic (actually ironic, not just coincidental) that I’m disabled and I’m the type of person who doesn’t want to be complacent. I want more for myself, I don’t want to settle. There’s so much I want to experience regardless of my disability; it shouldn’t fucking matter, I should be able to have the kind of life I want. I’m not there yet, but the closer I get the more I want it.