Show us off in public, in the light of day.
November 5, 2015 2:38 PM Subscribe
Stop Paying Lip Service to Diversity D'Arcee Charington Neal writes about dating while gay and visibly disabled.
This post was deleted for the following reason: Poster's Request -- Brandon Blatcher
the thing he says about medical professionals seeking him out is something i know happens among heterosexuals, and it never occurred to me that it would appear elsewhere as well, but of course it does, and that just makes me very very sad. do no harm, indeed.
posted by nadawi at 4:19 PM on November 5, 2015 [1 favorite]
posted by nadawi at 4:19 PM on November 5, 2015 [1 favorite]
So while mine is not the typical story, I know it’s a common one, shared by people with varying degrees of disabilities who happen to be LGBT. And in this big “family,” supposedly all together underneath the rainbow, sharing those stories is all but forbidden. We’d rather just ignore those folks trying to make themselves heard, and continue yelling “Equality!” from the rooftops and “masc, white, and neg only” on our Grindr profiles.
This is great; thanks for posting it. It brings back a memory from a couple of years ago, when I went to see a musical about teens on the autistic spectrum, written by a friend of mine who is gay and has Asperger's. When the play got to the solo by the genderqueer character, I had tears in my eyes. I tend to feel embarrassed when talking about identity, like I've already hit my quota of difference and there's no way to talk about the subject without fragmentation and awkwardness. There's really no substitute for hearing from people who have similar experiences.
posted by thetortoise at 4:55 PM on November 5, 2015 [9 favorites]
This is great; thanks for posting it. It brings back a memory from a couple of years ago, when I went to see a musical about teens on the autistic spectrum, written by a friend of mine who is gay and has Asperger's. When the play got to the solo by the genderqueer character, I had tears in my eyes. I tend to feel embarrassed when talking about identity, like I've already hit my quota of difference and there's no way to talk about the subject without fragmentation and awkwardness. There's really no substitute for hearing from people who have similar experiences.
posted by thetortoise at 4:55 PM on November 5, 2015 [9 favorites]
I wish I had good answers to this stuff myself. I actually started an OKCupid account just two weeks ago, and I'm really upfront about being Deaf on it. I've been putting off online dating for a while, because I knew the result would be I wouldn't get any real interest from people, and because I knew it would be a pretty heavy blow to my self-esteem that way - but it was a good week for me, so I thought I'd be able to take it.
The thing about never getting any messages is that it's actually harder to deal with than overt bigotry; with slurs hurled at me, I can at least get angry, rebut things, hail and fight against an outside agent. But when it's silence, it just turns inwards. It becomes a metaphor for all of the times you missed social milestones that everyone else was privy to, everyone else was invited to. All of the sweethearts and friends you never had; all of the parties and social occasions and seminars and activist protests you never went to; all of the movies you've never seen, all of the dances you've never had, all of the places you've never gone to. You said that it was because you were too good for them, because you were too busy with other great things, because you didn't want to, because you were better than that, in a bid to protect yourself. You said that it was because you were proud and good and purposeful and that these were decisions you made to shape your own life.
But there's no excuse for the silence; it was you that made the profile and put yourself out there and realized the truth you've always known. And it erodes all of your excuses and leaves life crashing down on you. You know the reason that you've never done any of these things is not because you chose not to, but because you couldn't hear anyone talk, because you were too scared as a Deaf traveler alone, you were too tired to explain everything to the staff and arrange for accommodations, because there were no accommodations and there were no people who were willing to make themselves available to you at any given time. You lose all sense of control over your own fate, and realize how much of your life has been shaped through "I can't" over "I chose".
Just yesterday, I went on a date with someone who I knew right ahead of time that I wouldn't be attracted to in the least, because he was the only one on the site to actually reach out to me. As expected, there was no chemistry whatsoever, but at very least, I wanted to have the illusion that I was doing the normal things that people my age did. I know that more likely than not with the way things are going, I'll end up alone in the future. I've already paved the way for it mentally and socially: my friends and family have all heard me repeatedly scorn the idea of partnering up for partnering's sake. I tell them that I live life unconventionally: that I don't want a house, I don't want a car, I don't want children. I don't want the white-picket fence ideal. So whenever anyone asks me about dating or having a boyfriend or marriage, I haughtily respond with these facts.
Do I actually believe these things? Probably. But the line between necessity and identity has become blurred for me, and I have no idea how to tease out the difference between "things I can't have" and "things I don't want" anymore; I don't know how they feed into each other anymore, if I can't have things because I don't want them or if I don't want things because I can't have them. It's all become a cycle, a tangle so twisted that I cannot find one end or the other anymore. So my date, my date I knew wouldn't work out, was another means of further knotting up this cycle for me; "I've tried dating, it's just not my thing and I can't find a match - oh, well, I'm not one to compromise, I'd rather live alone than do that."
The worst is when it clashes with my identity. If you've ever heard me speak on disability justice or racism, you would be under the impression that I'm not one to let racism and ableism go unchecked, that I'm always bold and merciless in the face of it - searching for perpetrators to eviscerate with my words. But really, the opposite is true. My Grindr account has existed for a lot longer than my OKCupid - and I never initiate any conversations on it, because I'm scared. I'm scared that all of the work that I've spent turning my identity into something that I am proud of will be toppled over by the relentless demands that I be ashamed of it: the slurs, the haughty rejections, the silences. So I sit there and let men message me, and I pretend not to know that the only reason why they're messaging me is because they fetishize me. Every few weeks, I fuck one of them and I pretend that I'm being seen as a human rather a stereotype as I fuck. And then I take a very long shower afterwards. Sex and shame have, too, become intimately tangled up knots for me.
If this was the inspirational essay that everyone expects of disabled people, there would now be an inspirational prelude about how I learned to love myself, or how I overcame these difficulties and found someone that accepted me for who I was, or whatever. I'd wrap up the struggles with a tiny bow so everyone could go home satisfied. But I'll be honest and say that these things just don't happen, at all. I know this because sometimes I put these bows and flourishes on my experiences at times - and these are merely snapshots of the disorientating holding patterns that I'm stuck in, conveniently frozen and plattered so they look appealing from the outside. I love my body - so long as I ignore all of the messages telling me how broken and ugly it is. I'm loved - so long as I ignore all of the conditionals that are attached to it, that I'm loved more as an object on a pedestal than a human, that love mingles with racism and ableism in ways we'll never be able to disentangle. I oscillate being able to ignore and not, being able to love and not, being pride and desperation, between control and aimlessness, shuttering one aspect or the other, but never seeing the full picture of my status as a sexual and romantic being while disabled and while Asian.
posted by Conspire at 6:03 PM on November 5, 2015 [81 favorites]
The thing about never getting any messages is that it's actually harder to deal with than overt bigotry; with slurs hurled at me, I can at least get angry, rebut things, hail and fight against an outside agent. But when it's silence, it just turns inwards. It becomes a metaphor for all of the times you missed social milestones that everyone else was privy to, everyone else was invited to. All of the sweethearts and friends you never had; all of the parties and social occasions and seminars and activist protests you never went to; all of the movies you've never seen, all of the dances you've never had, all of the places you've never gone to. You said that it was because you were too good for them, because you were too busy with other great things, because you didn't want to, because you were better than that, in a bid to protect yourself. You said that it was because you were proud and good and purposeful and that these were decisions you made to shape your own life.
But there's no excuse for the silence; it was you that made the profile and put yourself out there and realized the truth you've always known. And it erodes all of your excuses and leaves life crashing down on you. You know the reason that you've never done any of these things is not because you chose not to, but because you couldn't hear anyone talk, because you were too scared as a Deaf traveler alone, you were too tired to explain everything to the staff and arrange for accommodations, because there were no accommodations and there were no people who were willing to make themselves available to you at any given time. You lose all sense of control over your own fate, and realize how much of your life has been shaped through "I can't" over "I chose".
Just yesterday, I went on a date with someone who I knew right ahead of time that I wouldn't be attracted to in the least, because he was the only one on the site to actually reach out to me. As expected, there was no chemistry whatsoever, but at very least, I wanted to have the illusion that I was doing the normal things that people my age did. I know that more likely than not with the way things are going, I'll end up alone in the future. I've already paved the way for it mentally and socially: my friends and family have all heard me repeatedly scorn the idea of partnering up for partnering's sake. I tell them that I live life unconventionally: that I don't want a house, I don't want a car, I don't want children. I don't want the white-picket fence ideal. So whenever anyone asks me about dating or having a boyfriend or marriage, I haughtily respond with these facts.
Do I actually believe these things? Probably. But the line between necessity and identity has become blurred for me, and I have no idea how to tease out the difference between "things I can't have" and "things I don't want" anymore; I don't know how they feed into each other anymore, if I can't have things because I don't want them or if I don't want things because I can't have them. It's all become a cycle, a tangle so twisted that I cannot find one end or the other anymore. So my date, my date I knew wouldn't work out, was another means of further knotting up this cycle for me; "I've tried dating, it's just not my thing and I can't find a match - oh, well, I'm not one to compromise, I'd rather live alone than do that."
The worst is when it clashes with my identity. If you've ever heard me speak on disability justice or racism, you would be under the impression that I'm not one to let racism and ableism go unchecked, that I'm always bold and merciless in the face of it - searching for perpetrators to eviscerate with my words. But really, the opposite is true. My Grindr account has existed for a lot longer than my OKCupid - and I never initiate any conversations on it, because I'm scared. I'm scared that all of the work that I've spent turning my identity into something that I am proud of will be toppled over by the relentless demands that I be ashamed of it: the slurs, the haughty rejections, the silences. So I sit there and let men message me, and I pretend not to know that the only reason why they're messaging me is because they fetishize me. Every few weeks, I fuck one of them and I pretend that I'm being seen as a human rather a stereotype as I fuck. And then I take a very long shower afterwards. Sex and shame have, too, become intimately tangled up knots for me.
If this was the inspirational essay that everyone expects of disabled people, there would now be an inspirational prelude about how I learned to love myself, or how I overcame these difficulties and found someone that accepted me for who I was, or whatever. I'd wrap up the struggles with a tiny bow so everyone could go home satisfied. But I'll be honest and say that these things just don't happen, at all. I know this because sometimes I put these bows and flourishes on my experiences at times - and these are merely snapshots of the disorientating holding patterns that I'm stuck in, conveniently frozen and plattered so they look appealing from the outside. I love my body - so long as I ignore all of the messages telling me how broken and ugly it is. I'm loved - so long as I ignore all of the conditionals that are attached to it, that I'm loved more as an object on a pedestal than a human, that love mingles with racism and ableism in ways we'll never be able to disentangle. I oscillate being able to ignore and not, being able to love and not, being pride and desperation, between control and aimlessness, shuttering one aspect or the other, but never seeing the full picture of my status as a sexual and romantic being while disabled and while Asian.
posted by Conspire at 6:03 PM on November 5, 2015 [81 favorites]
Mod note: Folks, this is a very painful and personal situation for a lot of people here. Please try to find something to discuss other than how you or people in general can't be asked to find a disabled person attractive. That's not a line of discussion that leads anywhere at all. Thanks.
posted by restless_nomad (staff) at 7:05 PM on November 5, 2015 [25 favorites]
posted by restless_nomad (staff) at 7:05 PM on November 5, 2015 [25 favorites]
This is too big a snarling knot of personal things and people I love for me to write about, except to say thank you for the link and comments, and Neal is a bloody good writer.
posted by dorothyisunderwood at 7:37 PM on November 5, 2015 [2 favorites]
posted by dorothyisunderwood at 7:37 PM on November 5, 2015 [2 favorites]
> the line between necessity and identity has become blurred for me, and I have no idea how to tease out the difference between "things I can't have" and "things I don't want" anymore
A girlfriend once told me, scornfully, that [my friend] wouldn't know who she was without her illness. Her comment stayed with me, a persistent and confused ache. Years later, I came to understand that it was so difficult for me to hear because her statement was just as true of me: I don't know who I would be without my illness. Would I be more extroverted? A night owl? Would I want children, a partner to live with me? Would my ambition have lasted? My girlfriend scorned the way illness shapes who we become and changes our lives and in doing so cast all of my decisions and personality traits in a negative light.
People often don't want to acknowledge that our bodies affect our lives and who we are. I kind of understand - anything that reminds us of our mortality and lack of control over our lives is horrifying. But getting sick or having a disability make it harder to hang on to those very comforting delusions.
I feel that to be likeable as a sick person, I have to convince those whose bodies have not failed them that I am unchanged or even improved by my body's problems and differences. This means I have to pretend to be a very different person and downplay the impacts of my illness.
When I do not or cannot, I am excluded, ignored, berated, or made invisible. This is especially painful when dating. Promising flirtations peter out when it becomes clear that I'm physically unable to go to that late show or take a weekend climbing trip.
We talk about making accommodations for the disabled. Being accommodated sucks. The relationships that feel good are relationships where staying in when I don't feel well is a wonderful excuse to discuss whether or not Esperanto is a good language for pet names and learn about each other's taste in film, not a second choice activity to make up for missing out on going to the party. Where being unable to lift my arms doesn't mean I'm too sick for sex, but that we should play a naughty game. Where a day when I can't get up or talk is a nice day to spend in bed finishing that novel and having fun sharing the best parts.
posted by congen at 8:00 PM on November 5, 2015 [19 favorites]
A girlfriend once told me, scornfully, that [my friend] wouldn't know who she was without her illness. Her comment stayed with me, a persistent and confused ache. Years later, I came to understand that it was so difficult for me to hear because her statement was just as true of me: I don't know who I would be without my illness. Would I be more extroverted? A night owl? Would I want children, a partner to live with me? Would my ambition have lasted? My girlfriend scorned the way illness shapes who we become and changes our lives and in doing so cast all of my decisions and personality traits in a negative light.
People often don't want to acknowledge that our bodies affect our lives and who we are. I kind of understand - anything that reminds us of our mortality and lack of control over our lives is horrifying. But getting sick or having a disability make it harder to hang on to those very comforting delusions.
I feel that to be likeable as a sick person, I have to convince those whose bodies have not failed them that I am unchanged or even improved by my body's problems and differences. This means I have to pretend to be a very different person and downplay the impacts of my illness.
When I do not or cannot, I am excluded, ignored, berated, or made invisible. This is especially painful when dating. Promising flirtations peter out when it becomes clear that I'm physically unable to go to that late show or take a weekend climbing trip.
We talk about making accommodations for the disabled. Being accommodated sucks. The relationships that feel good are relationships where staying in when I don't feel well is a wonderful excuse to discuss whether or not Esperanto is a good language for pet names and learn about each other's taste in film, not a second choice activity to make up for missing out on going to the party. Where being unable to lift my arms doesn't mean I'm too sick for sex, but that we should play a naughty game. Where a day when I can't get up or talk is a nice day to spend in bed finishing that novel and having fun sharing the best parts.
posted by congen at 8:00 PM on November 5, 2015 [19 favorites]
I do not know squat about dating, Grindr/Tinder, or gay dating especially. But I do sorta suspect that online dating in general makes it easier for people to blow off/write off people who don't fit the standard mold because they can shop around, or whatever.
posted by jenfullmoon at 10:31 PM on November 5, 2015
posted by jenfullmoon at 10:31 PM on November 5, 2015
A girlfriend once told me, scornfully, that [my friend] wouldn't know who she was without her illness. Her comment stayed with me, a persistent and confused ache. Years later, I came to understand that it was so difficult for me to hear because her statement was just as true of me: I don't know who I would be without my illness. Would I be more extroverted? A night owl? Would I want children, a partner to live with me? Would my ambition have lasted? My girlfriend scorned the way illness shapes who we become and changes our lives and in doing so cast all of my decisions and personality traits in a negative light.
People often don't want to acknowledge that our bodies affect our lives and who we are. I kind of understand - anything that reminds us of our mortality and lack of control over our lives is horrifying. But getting sick or having a disability make it harder to hang on to those very comforting delusions.
I feel that to be likeable as a sick person, I have to convince those whose bodies have not failed them that I am unchanged or even improved by my body's problems and differences. This means I have to pretend to be a very different person and downplay the impacts of my illness.
OMFFSM, THIS. I am so sick of hearing some chipper-ass reporter or spokesperson natter on about how SuperHuman X "hasn't let" Disease Y change her or affect her life or keep her from doing everything she wants to do. Well bloody flipping good for SuperHuman X, who is usually some preternaturally good-looking blond little tart with perfect teeth and rich parents and a megachurch who pays for her ski lodge in Vermont or something. I will bet you dollars to dog droppings that as soon as the cameras are off Superhuman X is just as affected by Disease Y as Untermensch Z who looks like a refugee from the "We Don't Do Those Ugly Stereoyypes Anymore" file at Central Casting and is also me and secretly slips into Superhuman X's bedroom at night to slap her upside the head but stops at the last minute because it's all about empathy and it'll probably hurt my hand more than it'll hurt her head.
It's like hearing a sodding Jell-O dessert say, "Just because I was chilled in this ring mold doesn't mean I'm ring-shaped!"
posted by The Underpants Monster at 6:30 AM on November 6, 2015 [6 favorites]
People often don't want to acknowledge that our bodies affect our lives and who we are. I kind of understand - anything that reminds us of our mortality and lack of control over our lives is horrifying. But getting sick or having a disability make it harder to hang on to those very comforting delusions.
I feel that to be likeable as a sick person, I have to convince those whose bodies have not failed them that I am unchanged or even improved by my body's problems and differences. This means I have to pretend to be a very different person and downplay the impacts of my illness.
OMFFSM, THIS. I am so sick of hearing some chipper-ass reporter or spokesperson natter on about how SuperHuman X "hasn't let" Disease Y change her or affect her life or keep her from doing everything she wants to do. Well bloody flipping good for SuperHuman X, who is usually some preternaturally good-looking blond little tart with perfect teeth and rich parents and a megachurch who pays for her ski lodge in Vermont or something. I will bet you dollars to dog droppings that as soon as the cameras are off Superhuman X is just as affected by Disease Y as Untermensch Z who looks like a refugee from the "We Don't Do Those Ugly Stereoyypes Anymore" file at Central Casting and is also me and secretly slips into Superhuman X's bedroom at night to slap her upside the head but stops at the last minute because it's all about empathy and it'll probably hurt my hand more than it'll hurt her head.
It's like hearing a sodding Jell-O dessert say, "Just because I was chilled in this ring mold doesn't mean I'm ring-shaped!"
posted by The Underpants Monster at 6:30 AM on November 6, 2015 [6 favorites]
This was a good essay. Now I have another one of the very inconvenient crushes I get on gay men from time to time.
posted by not that girl at 8:34 AM on November 6, 2015 [1 favorite]
posted by not that girl at 8:34 AM on November 6, 2015 [1 favorite]
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He had just flown five hours from SF home to DC after meeting with Uber executives about improving service for people with disabilities.
posted by tittergrrl at 3:13 PM on November 5, 2015 [17 favorites]