Loving Me Does Not Make You A Saint
Whenever I drink, I have a habit of asking my friends if they really like me or if they’re just friends with me because they feel sorry for me. It’s a question that takes them aback, and maybe even makes them feel uncomfortable. The answer usually goes something like this: “of course I like you, why else would I hang out with you?” “Why do you ask me that? Did I do something wrong?” Or, “what a silly question, of course I like you why would you even ask me that?”
Then, I have to explain. It’s not about them, and never was, it's about me. They didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just something I worry about. I have to assure them, and usually they let it go. They write it off as tipsy late night ramblings, but the truth is so much more complicated than that. It’s a question that has taken root deep in the insecurities of my soul and haunts my very existence. I question everyone around me even though I know that they love me for exactly who I am. It is the result of deeply internalized ableism: the product of growing up in a world that never viewed me as a valuable daughter, friend, or romantic partner.
I can’t count the number of times I heard someone say to my parents, “You’re so brave! I couldn’t raise a child like that. You must be a saint!” I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard someone say to my friends that it was nice of them to hang out with me, or watched another person be praised for extending to me the most basic human kindness. My whole life I have watched society frame my relationships in the context of charity or self-sacrifice instead of love, shared interest, and mutual respect. I have gotten the message that my value as a friend, family member, or a lover is somehow diminished by the fact that I am disabled. The idea that somebody would have to be a saint or a hero to want to spend time with me falsely insinuates that I have nothing to offer the world or another person. As if something is so wrong with me that it is a heroic or sacrificial act to merely be in my presence.
I cringe every time I see news stories that praise able-bodied people for spending time with, dating or otherwise socializing with disabled people. I cringe when non-disabled people are featured in newspapers or viral memes because their prom date is disabled. I cringe every time I see a non-disabled child rewarded or being told they are a good person for befriending a disabled child. I remember parts of my childhood where other children were put on a pedestal for being my friend. I remember playing sometimes instead being framed as non-disabled kids “helping” me. I cringe because it’s wrong, and it sends a dangerous message to everybody involved.
Praising non-disabled people for loving, befriending or otherwise interacting with disabled people reinforces the idea that we are not desirable partners for friendship, romance, or life in general. Calling someone a “saint” or a “hero” for their relationship with a disabled person suggests that disabled people are less than human, and that a relationship with a disabled person is never mutually beneficial for a non-disabled person. When people are seen as saintly or heroic for spending time with you, loving you, or helping you in any way , it makes you believe that you are not worthy of love and friendship. It also makes it easy for people to excuse things like parents killing their disabled child, because there is an underlying assumption that they were heroic for loving that child in the first place. This kind of thinking is so damaging to disabled people, who are constantly bombarded with messages that who they are is not valuable and is not enough.
When people assume that non-disabled people deserve a medal or special recognition for having normal relationships with disabled people it makes it extremely difficult for us to recognize unhealthy or exploitive relationships. In the past, I have allowed myself to be manipulated by other people because I believed that I was lucky simply to have friends. I have tolerated things that made me uncomfortable or unsafe because I didn’t believe I deserved better. I put my true friends through endless rounds of questioning, and having to prove to me that they really did like me, because deep down I didn’t believe they actually could. When you’re constantly told hanging out with you makes someone a saint, you begin to see yourself nothing more than a charity project. You begin to accept less than you deserve, because you live in a world that doesn’t see you as fully human or fully desirable for relationship.
In my first romantic relationship, which coincidentally was with a another disabled person, I struggled to understand how I could possibly be anyone’s first choice. The messages I had received my whole life stuck with me and I felt deep down that somehow it must be a sacrifice for him to be with me. Overtime, I realized that he saw beauty in all the different complex elements of me. He saw a girl who was worth staying up all night just to talk to. He saw a girl he could debate with and laugh with, even about the hard things in life. He saw a girl who was smart, pretty, passionate, and yes of course disabled. The thing was the disability wasn’t a bad thing and it certainly didn’t make it feel like he was doing me a favor. We chose to love each other exactly who we were, and I didn’t feel like a saint or a hero simply because he also happened to be disabled.
We never call people “saints” or “heroes” for loving a non-disabled person, even though all people have good and bad to them. No one has ever once told me that I am a good person for putting up with my non disabled friends and family in spite of their flaws, when it comes to non-disabled people dealing with the good and bad but that is a part of all relationships is just expected part of what friends do, so why shouldn’t be any different when it comes to relationships with disabled people? Why should somebody be considered a saint or a hero just for loving me?
I have many friends, disabled and not, and I love them all for the unique things that they offer the world. It’s taken me some time, but I know now with a deep conviction that my friends love me because of who I am. I realize that my family loves me because they love me, not because they have to. I am grateful for all the people that love me and for the beautiful, fulfilling relationships I have in my life. They are not with without their flaws and that’s okay. I am so grateful for the people that love me for exactly who I am, but they are not perfect, and they are not saints just because they love me.
Then, I have to explain. It’s not about them, and never was, it's about me. They didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just something I worry about. I have to assure them, and usually they let it go. They write it off as tipsy late night ramblings, but the truth is so much more complicated than that. It’s a question that has taken root deep in the insecurities of my soul and haunts my very existence. I question everyone around me even though I know that they love me for exactly who I am. It is the result of deeply internalized ableism: the product of growing up in a world that never viewed me as a valuable daughter, friend, or romantic partner.
I can’t count the number of times I heard someone say to my parents, “You’re so brave! I couldn’t raise a child like that. You must be a saint!” I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard someone say to my friends that it was nice of them to hang out with me, or watched another person be praised for extending to me the most basic human kindness. My whole life I have watched society frame my relationships in the context of charity or self-sacrifice instead of love, shared interest, and mutual respect. I have gotten the message that my value as a friend, family member, or a lover is somehow diminished by the fact that I am disabled. The idea that somebody would have to be a saint or a hero to want to spend time with me falsely insinuates that I have nothing to offer the world or another person. As if something is so wrong with me that it is a heroic or sacrificial act to merely be in my presence.
I cringe every time I see news stories that praise able-bodied people for spending time with, dating or otherwise socializing with disabled people. I cringe when non-disabled people are featured in newspapers or viral memes because their prom date is disabled. I cringe every time I see a non-disabled child rewarded or being told they are a good person for befriending a disabled child. I remember parts of my childhood where other children were put on a pedestal for being my friend. I remember playing sometimes instead being framed as non-disabled kids “helping” me. I cringe because it’s wrong, and it sends a dangerous message to everybody involved.
Praising non-disabled people for loving, befriending or otherwise interacting with disabled people reinforces the idea that we are not desirable partners for friendship, romance, or life in general. Calling someone a “saint” or a “hero” for their relationship with a disabled person suggests that disabled people are less than human, and that a relationship with a disabled person is never mutually beneficial for a non-disabled person. When people are seen as saintly or heroic for spending time with you, loving you, or helping you in any way , it makes you believe that you are not worthy of love and friendship. It also makes it easy for people to excuse things like parents killing their disabled child, because there is an underlying assumption that they were heroic for loving that child in the first place. This kind of thinking is so damaging to disabled people, who are constantly bombarded with messages that who they are is not valuable and is not enough.
When people assume that non-disabled people deserve a medal or special recognition for having normal relationships with disabled people it makes it extremely difficult for us to recognize unhealthy or exploitive relationships. In the past, I have allowed myself to be manipulated by other people because I believed that I was lucky simply to have friends. I have tolerated things that made me uncomfortable or unsafe because I didn’t believe I deserved better. I put my true friends through endless rounds of questioning, and having to prove to me that they really did like me, because deep down I didn’t believe they actually could. When you’re constantly told hanging out with you makes someone a saint, you begin to see yourself nothing more than a charity project. You begin to accept less than you deserve, because you live in a world that doesn’t see you as fully human or fully desirable for relationship.
In my first romantic relationship, which coincidentally was with a another disabled person, I struggled to understand how I could possibly be anyone’s first choice. The messages I had received my whole life stuck with me and I felt deep down that somehow it must be a sacrifice for him to be with me. Overtime, I realized that he saw beauty in all the different complex elements of me. He saw a girl who was worth staying up all night just to talk to. He saw a girl he could debate with and laugh with, even about the hard things in life. He saw a girl who was smart, pretty, passionate, and yes of course disabled. The thing was the disability wasn’t a bad thing and it certainly didn’t make it feel like he was doing me a favor. We chose to love each other exactly who we were, and I didn’t feel like a saint or a hero simply because he also happened to be disabled.
We never call people “saints” or “heroes” for loving a non-disabled person, even though all people have good and bad to them. No one has ever once told me that I am a good person for putting up with my non disabled friends and family in spite of their flaws, when it comes to non-disabled people dealing with the good and bad but that is a part of all relationships is just expected part of what friends do, so why shouldn’t be any different when it comes to relationships with disabled people? Why should somebody be considered a saint or a hero just for loving me?
I have many friends, disabled and not, and I love them all for the unique things that they offer the world. It’s taken me some time, but I know now with a deep conviction that my friends love me because of who I am. I realize that my family loves me because they love me, not because they have to. I am grateful for all the people that love me and for the beautiful, fulfilling relationships I have in my life. They are not with without their flaws and that’s okay. I am so grateful for the people that love me for exactly who I am, but they are not perfect, and they are not saints just because they love me.
