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and sharing through lived experiences

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Why Sisters of Frida?

Posted on Monday, February 22nd, 2016


Sisters of Frida CIC is an experimental collective of disabled women. We want a new way of sharing experiences, mutual support and relationships with different networks.

Sisters of Frida started at a meeting when we floated the idea of having a disabled women’s group. It took some time to come together – the co founders were Eleanor Lisney, Michelle Daley, Eleanor Firman, Maria Zedda, Svetlana Kotova, Frieda Van De Poll and Martine Miel. We became a CIC in 2014.

We are seeking to build a/or different networks of disabled women.  The barriers and multiple discrimination have not changed, we struggle to have our voices heard as disabled women in our own rights.

We would like a sisterhood, a circle of disabled women to discuss, share experiences and explore intersectional possibilities.

Facebook group (for UK residents) : https://www.facebook.com/groups/sisofrida/

Facebook page : https://www.facebook.com/sistersoffrida/

Instagram: @sisters_of_frida

Twitter: @sisofrida

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16 days of activism: Million Women Rise Vigil

Posted on Wednesday, December 2nd, 2020


We thank EVAW and Million Women Rise for adding us to the “Never Forgotten Vigil.”

Let us not forget. In #solidarity

See also the Safe Lives report on Disabled people and domestic abuse

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Disability History Month and International Day of Disabled People: The intersection of being Disabled and a person of Colour

Posted on Wednesday, December 2nd, 2020


We are collaborating with Culture Access to interview some people on intercessions: being people of colour and disabled and more. Does Disability History include our disabled voices/stories? It is good that DPOs have had events for Black History Month and impact for Disabled Black people but there are many other stories in solidarity.

See what Nila Gopal has to say on this topic

Nila Gopal

Eleanor Lisney spoke on the complexity of being intersectional – including of being a disabled woman of South /East Asian origin.

Eleanor Lisney

Sarifa Patel spoke on being a disabled Asian mother of colour

Sarifa Patel

There are more people to interview. We think its also good for the International day of Disabled people on the 3rd December. And to beyond those dates really to continue the voices of Disabled people of colour.

See the other videos at the Culture Access website, meanwhile here are the ones to date

Annabel Crowley

Shura Davey

James Lee

Fazilet Hadi

Wishing everybody happy celebrations for the International Day of Disabled people (People with Disabilities)!

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Two Poems: Like Elsa & Hyperacusis Hell

Posted on Saturday, November 28th, 2020


Like Elsa

Family gathered in the conservatory,

youngest niece, Isabella, watches me,

as I rest back on the comfy chair,

sweeping my straggly, static hair

into a messy heap, over one shoulder.

Smiling, she says to Christina, her sister –

“Hey look, Dodo* has put her hair like that

and it looks like it’s in a plat, and because

it’s…white, she looks like Elsa”.

I’m happy then, delighted to be like

their favourite Disney character;

it’s the best compliment I’ve had

since depigmentation began.

Like the Snow Queen herself,

in her spectacular ice palace,

a resplendent arctic blonde – different,

but shimmering and lovely.

I’ll take that and treasure it:

I’m like Elsa.

Wirral 2020

*Dodo – a colloquial Welsh word meaning ‘aunty’.

This poem has been published on my social media pages: Twitter/ Instagram/ Medium: @serensiwenna It is also on my slides for the Public Health, Private Illness Conference and will be performed as part of the poetry reading evening event associated with the conference. It has not been published or submitted anywhere else.

Hyperacusis Hell

They’re always at it, everywhere –

fiddling with keys, crunching

crisp packets, and rolling tissues

between their fingers – and I can’t stand

these sounds, so slight to the normal ear,

but horrendously thunderous

in my own personal hell.

And they’re opening and closing their pens too,

thumbs moving, in and out,

over and over, click, click, click, ARGH!

It’s a cruel irony isn’t it? Losing functional hearing,

but developing unreasonable sensitivity

to every murmur and whisper, disturbing even

the all-encompassing silence – promised to me;

It makes me grumpy.

This world is becoming increasingly alien to me,

every day, and gradually confusing,

as the small sounds drown out the more important ones –

and I can’t differentiate between them.

Hyperacusis is a hell – one I can never escape from.

Wirral 2020

*This poem was originally published in Welsh as ‘Hunllef Hyperacusis’ (Hyperacusis nightmare) in the literary magazine ‘Barddas’. I have switched out the word nightmare for hell during translation to retain the alliteration; I feel the essence of the poem is also retained.

white woman with long platinum blonde hair in a blue jumer, smiling. she has a greenery backdrop.

Sara Louise Wheeler writes the column ‘Synfyfyrion llenyddol’ (literary musings) for Y Clawdd community newspaper in her hometown of Wrecsam. Her poetry, belles lettres and artwork have been published by Tu Chwith, Y Stamp, Gŵyl y ferch Anthology 2020, Meddwl.org, Barddas, Qualitative Inquiry, Centre for Imaginative Ethnography, and 3am Magazine. Sara is currently conducting an introspective project, exploring her embodied experiences of Waardenburg Syndrome Type 1 through a variety of creative and scholarly mediums. She is a Visiting Research Fellow at Glyndŵr University and lives in Ness, on the Wirral peninsula with her husband Peter and their pet tortoise, Kahless.

This is part of the Sister Stories series.

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Smoke and Mirrors

Posted on Thursday, October 29th, 2020


My experience as a patient has rocked my sense of self to the core, and one of my core values – regard for my profession as a Psychologist. Experience as a patient has extended and deepened anything I learned about psychotherapy and psychology, in training and at universities. My predominant experience of living in my body in recent years has been about pain management (and lack of) and debilitating bone deep exhaustion, to the point my brain no longer works – I lose speech and language, and it is all I can do to breathe. How patients are treated, how much work it is to be a patient, how systems are set up for the organisation and not the people within them, are all things I’ve been reflecting on.

What I now recognise as the harmful psychiatric perspective of ME/CFS that had sifted through into society – of ‘type A personalities’ and over achievers, adopting a ‘sick role’ – is a poor and damaging explanation of what is – in reality, a complex multi-system neurological condition that we just don’t know enough about to be able to treat it. These were beliefs I had soaked into my skin in the absence of alternative narratives. I can’t place their origin (in my life experience) but I now spot where they came from. This has been crucial – the ‘naming’ and attributing of responsibility to its rightful place is crucial in separating out what is me and what is not, what I need to carry and manage and work on, and what I can leave by the roadside as excess baggage that is not mine to carry.

Pursuing therapy to find the thing that was making me sick was frustrating, what I continued to find were layers of society and patriarchy offering narratives that were systematically constructed. I cannot be grateful enough to the therapist who sat with me unpicking all these things, also learning alongside me as I shared new knowledge and the research I was uncovering. The therapist took my word for my experiences. What happens for so many patients is that the healthcare practitioners they work with, even unwittingly, gaslight them through the subtle questioning of their experience – it is essential that practitioners hold open the possibility of society structures and narratives as being untrue, that they don’t know any more or any better than the person in front of them, and that the patient’s experience is not questioned, however well meaning their approach. If either or both parties are unwitting in this meeting it can add a greater burden to the patient.

The best therapy is equality – in finances and housing, healthcare access and treatment – and the best therapy has to be collaborative, based on an equal footing between patient and practitioner. As such it is imperative that therapists especially hold a political understanding and awareness of society and its many inequalities – racism, sexism, ableism, are all impacting on the air we breathe – if this isn’t recognised, it can exacerbate difficulties and increase the level of internalisation for an individual. Certainly, the work will not be therapeutic.

In starting a career in psychology I had a belief in science and its communication as being sound and fair. In living with a chronic illness I see how naïve that was – how research can be founded on judgement and societal stereotypes, how communication of research can be founded on those same societal narratives and structures of patriarchy – the fundamental baseline of who gets listened to.

As long Covid becomes established, people living with illness that, for generations, has been undermined and dismissed are hoping that old narratives can change, so those of us who have lived it will get our chance to be listened to. There is hope that the numbers of people with long Covid will form a large enough group they cannot be ignored so easily, while being heartbroken that this is happening to so many. For those of us who are living it, this tragic situation may contribute to having these energy limiting conditions properly acknowledged and addressed through research and understanding – and at the very basic level, of being believed. The more time passes the more I also see my arts background and writing as a part of the solution, for me, but also in changing narratives. I have been collecting books written by people about their ‘lived experience’ for years – because they are beautiful books, not always directly about their ‘lived experience’ but this happens to be a crucial part of their life. These books are different to the ones I would read as a student. And I wonder, why were these books not available, not on the lists of recommended reading. I think I am probably slow to this kind of thinking. There is so much else to focus on at the start: pressure to achieve, to compete, workloads and deadlines, applications and interviews. Psychology is a deeply competitive field, pressure to be bright and quick thinking is valued enormously. I liked the connections with people I’d make, I was fascinated with people and their lives and the difficulties they encountered. I enjoyed finding Cognitive Analytic Therapy (CAT – originally developed by a GP for the NHS), and psychotherapy practice, as it emphasised my more relational skills and fitted with how I viewed the world. It was also enormously beneficial on a personal level – personal therapy being a key element to the training (and one I think should be essential for anyone working with people, especially in a therapeutic capacity).

In time I am seeing all the things I believed be deconstructed. All the stigma and shame of chronic illness that I hadn’t always recognised working in services. There are complex ways of this happening without ever being questioned, but becoming a patient and seeing the other side of the fence things become clearer. Identifying and naming the sources and the structures, of the misogynistic approaches of medicine and society, of how anyone with a chronic illness or disability is required to ask (often repeatedly) for adjustments rather than expect society to be set up and inclusive from the outset, of the marginalisation of people of colour and minority ethnic groups, of just how much society is designed by and therefore set up for white men (although there is no great health care service for men with chronic illness either, but diagnosis can be made more quickly if you are a man than if you are a woman or person of colour). It chips away at all the challenges I have had to overcome within myself – that these were all my responsibility, that I should have tried harder, spoken more loudly, or differently, or to different people. It has taken me a long time to see, it is not me and it is not my fault that I am sick. And I am sorry it has taken so long, the harshness inflicted on myself for not being ‘better’ somehow is the cruelty inflicted by society. It is for this, and other reasons, that I am glad of my training and experience, that I return to the CAT model, and Psychology, and I can re-introduce these frameworks into understanding these structures and my own internalisation of them.

Writing and art helps to make sense when there is no apparent sense to be made. This is how narratives get re written and this is how society changes, how empathy can be built and grown – through books and art and language. Psychology helps me understand – my professional life is my route, I hope, to reconnecting with others who are now in positions of responsibility for other people’s care, for whom their narratives are powerful.

What I wasn’t taught, in all my years of training and experience as a Psychologist and Psychotherapist, was that crossing through that fence from practitioner to patient, is a normal part of being human. Visiting Sontag’s ‘land of the sick’ is a normal part of life. That it is barricaded with ‘do not enter’ and ‘hazard warning’ signs does nothing to ease the pain of those who arrive, often unceremoniously. And, perhaps, as healthcare professionals, we uphold a fallacy that we hold the keys.  If we were better prepared, if society was structured around this expectation and acceptance, the world would be a very different place.

black and white photo of white woman with long hair, and glasses

Louise Kenward is a Psychologist, Cognitive Analytic Therapy Practitioner and Supervisor. Drawing on this background, along with her work as a Writer and Artist, she has set up Zebra Psych. This new project aims to raise awareness and understanding of energy limiting chronic illness. 
@ZebraPsych (Twitter & instagram) www.zebrapsych.wordpress.com

This is part of the Sister Stories series.

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Just one small bite

Posted on Tuesday, October 13th, 2020


I’m hungry but I don’t want food. I’ve picked my favourite thing and it tastes bad. You’ve just asked me what I want and I’ve stared at you saying nothing for an awkwardly long time. Someone’s having a party and I’m looking at the menu online before I say yes, I’ll be there.

These are the things that happen when you and food are not always friends. If reading about my experiences may be triggering, feel free skip to the end where I’ve listed things that I’ve found helpful.

One of my earliest memories is discovering that yummy-looking food had medication hidden in it and tasted nasty. Another was being punished for not eating something I now know I’m intolerant to and causes me pain.

With support from friends – patient, understanding, supportive friends – I now eat a much wider variety of foods. I try new things more often than saying no, though I’m still quite particular. I think about my nutritional needs and respond to them as best I can, and accept when I can’t. I ask for more.

In my mid-teens, I weighed about 12kg. I’d been this weight since starting primary school. Every year, I’d be weighed, and see a consultant for my main condition, and a dietician. My weight would be noted, my food-related health issues would be noted, I’d be told to eat more and drink supplements, and then be sent away for another year. This went on for some time, until I switched to adult services which didn’t include a dietician.

I drank the shakes, sometimes, but that was it. I’d occasionally, very occasionally, try something new, but only if I fully had figured out what it was made of and what it looked like and what it smelled like and what the texture would be and if there would be consequences to me not liking it.

I’d hide food, throw away food, give away food, and lie about how much I’d eaten and drank. I’d try to make my leftovers look like less, try to eat the minimum amount I could get away with (but often couldn’t manage that). Of course, I was being “fussy” and “stubborn”; wilfully misbehaving for no reason, apparently.

In secondary school, I would say I had a headache, or backache, and be allowed to go and rest instead of attending biology lessons on nutrition and digestion. Yes, the A* student got away with skiving, as I’d read and could recite the textbook anyway. I didn’t want to compare again how my body didn’t work with how it should work, or what I ate with what I should eat. Certainly not in front of my friends and the whole class. It was my fault that I wasn’t good enough (or so I had been told), and I was too ashamed to confirm that again in my science book.

A very helpful community nurse took an interest once, and got me to write a food diary. She then pointed out that I wasn’t eating enough, drinking enough, or eating the right foods. As if I didn’t already know that. She pleaded with me to make changes, pointing out how much better things would be if I would only do as I was told. I felt even more ashamed, and nothing changed.

Nowadays, I’ve read that avoidant behaviour can be considered an eating disorder, particularly if there are impacts on a person’s health. People are meant to get supported, not shamed (though I’m sure that how things are supposed to go may not match up with everyone’s experience). The reasons behind a person’s choices are listened to and explored.

When I read this for the first time (thank you disability twitter), my brain exploded with “Why? Why did no one check if I had intolerances or sensory needs? Why did no one try to support me? Why did no one care enough to talk to me, really talk to me? Why did no one tell me it’s OK to not like things?”

I have my own answers to these questions, as right or wrong as they may be. Having one set of medical needs was complicated enough; why would anyone go looking for more? I was an embarrassment by not eating at social gatherings; why would what was considered bad behaviour be rewarded with attention in that decade? Kids with eating disorders were thought to look or behave a certain way; why would someone who doesn’t fit that pattern count?

And of course, there’s the usual answer: Disabled kids are too different. Mainstream services don’t cater well for disabled children and young people; specialist services focus solely on their specialism. People fall through the gaps.

I hope this has changed in the last decade and a half. I have.

My weight is low but stable. My body is an entirely different shape, having completed puberty 10 years late. My health is more reliable: I usually now don’t get constipated or feel sick or struggle to breathe through my nose. During childhood, this was my normal.

The only times I’ve got really ill as an adult are when my weight has dropped due to stress making me go back to old eating patterns. I’m more careful now with my stress levels, and have high-calorie low-effort foods ready and waiting.

I try new things all the time now. I make a point of it, a great big “F*** you” to the people who gave up on me food-wise. Sometimes it goes well, and I’ll be hooked from the first taste. Occasionally, it goes badly, and I’ll have a 2-hour panic attack after a single sniff.

There are 2 reasons for this great change:

1. Independent Living. I’ve been living independently with 24/7 support for years now. I am in charge in my own kitchen; I’m in charge of my own shopping. If I want to try something, I can cook it exactly how I think I might like it, knowing that the worst thing that can happen is that I order pizza instead. If I want to eat at an unusual time, I can. If I want to change what I’m having last minute, I can. If I waste food because I’ve over-estimated my appetite, it’s my money and no one else’s that’s been wasted, and I can learn to cook things that reheat well the next day or freeze well. If I have a sudden craving and no energy left to make it happen, Deliveroo will bring ready to eat goodness (I don’t like the gig economy, but in a “I feel a bit faint” situation, it solves a problem). In places where others control the menu, I don’t do well, and usually eat out or order in. At home, there’s no pressure, no consequences, no drama. I’m free to do what I like, whether that’s eat toast for lunch every day or spend an hour batch-cooking a masterpiece.

2. Friends. Great people who know that face that means “I don’t want to but don’t want to disappoint you” or “Give me time, I’m trying to figure out if I’ll like that” or “Yes, but not today” and know supportive responses and accept that. Great people who will trade a bit of their food for a bit of mine, and make it a 2-way thing between equals instead of a dominance/submission thing. Great people who will sit by me whether I greedily destroy the lot without sharing or take one look and metaphorically run away. Great people who will share recipes and think things through with me and suggest ideas, not make demands. Great people who won’t talk about stressful topics before or during meals, or point out how unappetising something looks, instead building a happy and safe atmosphere. Great people who ask “You want some?” only once and listen to and respect my answer, and don’t ask “Are you sure? No? Really? What about some of this? Or this? Or this?” until you give in and eat something you didn’t want. Great people who won’t stare at me to check if I like it, or look at my full finished plate and sigh frustratedly, but will stay on the main topic of conversation and understand my body doesn’t always give me a choice, and that my likes and dislikes aren’t always predictable. Great people who won’t buy food as a gift and create an obligation, but will join me to celebrate at a favourite restaurant and create a good memory. These are the people who have got me to where I am.

Things I have found helpful that may be useful to others, and would tell my younger self:

– Find out if you have any intolerances. Cutting stuff out without medical supervision can be dangerous, so seek support that will listen to your experiences and ideas.

– Learn what your body needs. If you already have a medical condition that affects how your body works, chances are that your nutritional requirements might be different to the recommended averages. If you can, find out safe maximum/minimum values for different nutrients and water. It’s easier to check against a known target than an unachievable “more” and “better”.

– Get good at cooking the things you already like. Have fun with it. Make the best ever version of it.

– Branch out from where you’re comfortable. You don’t have to try something completely different if you think it’s going to go badly. Go with something similar to something you already like.

– Grow stuff to cook. It tastes completely different. I find a lot of supermarket vegetables are full of excess water and sugar, and the fruits are pretty flavourless. I grow and prep and freeze and have food that actually tastes like food available for as much of the year as I can. Farmers’ markets and farm shops can also be pretty good, though some charge more.

– Go to a restaurant with friends and all order a different starter and a side each to share. This way, you have access to new food, prepared for you, but also a selection of reliable favourites with no obligation to try or not try. You can do the same with puddings too.

– Batch cook and freeze. This reduces the effort of preparing food when you’re just too tired.

– Keep standby snacks and shakes. Have options around that aren’t proper meals and aren’t nothing. There may always be days where you look in the fridge and go “nope”, and so I find having reliable not-quite-but-it’ll-do choices available can minimise the impact on health whilst taking the pressure of completely failing away.

– Say no. You don’t have to try anything at any time that you don’t want to. You don’t have to continuously challenge yourself. You don’t have to be perfect every day of every week. You don’t have to change unless you choose to, in your own way in your own time, without being driven by pressure from others. You don’t have to live up to someone else’s unrealistic expectations of how to take care of your health. Figure out what’s important to you right now and how you want to do that. You can be “weird” and “picky” and “boring” as much as you want.

– Relax. The people who best support me to eat new things are the people I can relax around. Put on your favourite music or a good film, grab a comfy cushion or a blanket. Make sharing food part of evening of pampering or games and laughter. Zero stress environments are the most successful for me.

– Talk to people you trust. Some of them may have similar experiences or positive attitudes, and I value their support. This blog was sparked by someone I mentioned all this to in a chat who instantly framed it as “unmet access needs” and I swear I nearly hugged my laptop.

From a contributor who prefers to remain anonymous

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Pain Drawings etc

Posted on Monday, September 14th, 2020


Pain Drawings



Whiffle


Flying high with my flock
It came as such a shock
to tumble
The engines all misfired
My vitality expired
And down I went
I tried hard to recover
as I plummeted at speed
towards a world that couldn’t quilt me
in my time of need
I wish that I could whiffle
with a lapwing’s landing flair
Manoeuvres would have saved me
in a torsion through the air
But I’m not a bird possessing skills
and wings to get me by
Just a woman trapped within one room
Wishing she could fly

Sisters stories
Gravity, the Enemy

Seven Boulders


looming above my bed
Poised and in position
with a blanket made of lead
One wrong move and they descend
locking into place –
to render me immobile
with pain etched on my face
Seven boulders:
One on my diaphragm
Two on my thighs
Two on my shoulders
Two on my eyes

.

.

White woman paying a violin
Paula Knight

Paula is the author of the graphic memoir The Facts of Life (Myriad, 2017) and three children’s books. Since becoming disabled and bedridden with energy impairment and pain conditions, she keeps a bedbound diary and writes poetry with the aid of voice recording. This work explores chronic illness as well as the natural world and her exile from it.  www.paulaknight.co.uk
Twitter: @Paula_JKnight
IG: @paulajkstudio

This is part of the Sister Stories series.

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The Woman in the Greenhouse

Posted on Thursday, August 27th, 2020


There are vines in the living room

Tulips in the garden

Sunflowers in your brother’s room

And in your own room there is a knife

You use to carve out your art

Your brother’s name

Your deadliest pain

Your brother who cried with you when you went through your first heartbreak

And bought you flowers when you got accepted into art school

I promise I’ll always hold your hand my dear sister

I never want you believe you’re in a chokehold

I promise you your words reach outwards

I see greenery in your soul

Honest and raw

I guess you think your pain is all your own

You don’t know your pain is omnipresent

And then I see you

You pick up your knife again

And I stare agape.

.

Sisters of Frida

Aisha Malik is an emerging writer. Her poems have been featured in 3 Moon Publishing and Dream Walking. She hopes to publish a book one day.

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This is part of the Sister Stories series.

 

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Disablism in GBTIQ+ Spaces

Posted on Wednesday, August 26th, 2020


With many thanks to pseudodeviant for sharing this with us, first published on Crip the Planet.

Queer Theory has provided a really useful lens for examining the marginalising effects of existing in ways that deviate from societal norms. As a Queer Crip I found that it not only helped me find new ways to understand my sexuality and gender, but that it helped me think differently about how disablement impacted my life, both personally and systemically. I started noticing that the boundaries between my experience as a queer person and a disabled person were blurry to say the least; sure homophobia feels different to disablism, but the root cause, that deviation from what our society expects a person to be (non-disabled, straight, cisgendered, often white & male too), was the same.

It’s one of the reasons I feel so hurt by the amount of casual and systemic disablism I experience from the LGBTIQ+ community. One of the ways that this community has learned to validate itself is to set itself in opposition to disability; “I’m not crazy, it’s who I am!”, “I’m not deluded, this is my gender”, “I don’t have a mental health condition” said with a sneer, “I’m normal, not broken like them”, “My needs require radical social solutions. Disabled people just need fixing”. The often visceral rejection of disability, of other people with bodies and minds, feelings & desires that either function or are structured in a way that doesn’t meet societal norms, seems strange at best, and cruel at worst. It’s especially hard when you are a disabled queer, expected to denigrate part of your being (being a disabled person) to validate another (being queer).

Before we dive in, I should say that yes, I am well aware that these issues are just expressions of disablism in the wider world, none are completely exclusive to the LGBTIQ+ community (heck, I could write the same about some neurodivergent activists that wish to no longer be seen as disabled because they aren’t broken us crips). LGBTIQ+ spaces are one of the few places I feel like I can be my queer self, and therefore I have a massively vested interest in wanting to do my bit to challenge the way casual and systemic disablism is an accepted part of the way we fight for LGBTIQ+ liberation.

A Quick History

Why is it like this? Well a lot of it has to do with the history of campaigning around queer issues. I’m going to have to do this in a nutshell, because queer history is as vast a topic as the history of humanity. Historically homosexuality was seen as being intrinsically linked with sin; the church condemned such “sodomites” as immoral and unnatural. You see similar in the history of disablism with the notion that we were cursed, possessed, or otherwise deviant beings, suffering in some way for moral failings. Then came the move to understand and naturalise homosexuality, by suggesting it is a biological reality. We were “born this way”, we can’t help who we are, God made us this way. No longer is it the dominant narrative that sin is responsible, it’s now an “individual tragedy” of genetics. Of course, this led to LGBTIQ+ people being increasingly seen in a very similar way to how most see disabled people; as objects of pity that it is morally right for a compassionate society to “fix”. Like it or not, it’s for their own good. Homosexuality & being transgender became psychological & physiological impairments, and intersex bodies became “choices” for parents. Medical attempts at conversion and treatment began, rather than allowing for queer liberation. This had very real, very harmful implications. A friend reminded me that an example of this was clearly seen during the AIDS crisis, when a lot of funding was seen going to organisations that wanted to “cure” homosexuality instead of the disease. From the start of the process of medicalisation, demands grew for society to be the thing that changed, accepting the community, rather than converting the individual. Some groups under the umbrella achieved “official” demedicalisation faster than others; homosexuality was removed from the DSM in 1973, while the World Medical Organisation (WHO) waited until 1990 to remove it from the ICD. The WHO only removed “Transexualism” from the ICD in 2018, and gender dysphoria is still a DSM classification while writing this in 2020.

Because these fights for demedicalisation are very recent (and in the case of things like the gender dysphoria in DSM, and the forced assignment of binary genders to intersex children are still ongoing), the language of those campaigns is still firmly embedded in the community. Given how many still see queer bodies as inherently immoral, it should come as no surprise, given the history, that there remain people who think queer folks have a “treatable” disease no matter what the WHO might say. The issue is not that we LGBTIQ+ people want social support and acceptance and an end to unnecessary and harmful medical interventions, it is that a lot of the language used to argue for this is disablist, and reinforces disablist narratives.

I’m going to look at two of those narratives in a bit more detail now.

Image by Alexandra Haynak from Pixabay

Medical Conditions are insults

“Being gay isn’t like being mad, being gay is normal because it doesn’t hurt anyone”

This feels very obvious to me, but I feel I should start with the most basic point: There will never be liberation for the LGBTIQ+ community while its disabled members are still oppressed. Its disabled members will continue to be oppressed while anyone in society, including LGBTIQ+ people, denigrate disabled people because they are still pathologised and medicalised. As a mad crippled queer, the knowledge that many of my queer sibs see the idea of being compared to me as some dire insult is at once infuriating and deeply upsetting. Especially coming from a community that was once seen as being like me until society changed its mind. Instead of showing solidarity with those of us still left behind, contempt is shown instead.

To reinforce the idea that there are “acceptable” bodies and minds is not helpful to either community. It is crucial to challenge the norms which say some bodies/minds aren’t acceptable. The LGBTIQ+ community is still actively trying to challenge this with regards to LGBTIQ+ people, but will keep being held back while it still reinforces this norm by affirming that there are people (some of whom are queer themselves) that should still be deemed unworthy of acceptance. As long as there are socially acceptable ways of calling the functioning of some bodies and minds “wrong”, the LGBTIQ+ community will always be skating on thin ice with regards to their own liberation.

Reinforcing these ideas is a harmful thing.

Social models for us, not you

“We’re not crazy or sick, LGBTIQ+ need social support & acceptance, not to be medically labeled”

Here we look at the notion that LGBTIQ+ marginalisation comes from society not accepting them and making it hard to get things like the appropriate medical support they need, while disabled people’s marginalisation stems from their inherent wrongness.

There is a pervasive notion that, while LGBTIQ+ people won’t be truly liberated until there is wholesale social change so people can accept and affirm the nigh infinite ways an individual’s gender, attraction, and sexuality present (or don’t), disabled people just need “fixing”. This simplistic approach does no one any favours. Of course there are disabled people out there that would like relief from undesirable impairment symptoms (pain, fatigue, frightening visions, high stress etc…), but even if you magically got rid of those, the majority of us would still be seen as impaired. People would still develop impairments and become disabled. We would still require aids and adaptations and access to medical care (which is a social issue in and of itself). The negative stereotypes about disability would still exist. We would still be marginalised, we’d just be in less pain while it happened. Much like LGBTIQ+ people, us crips also need widespread social change to be liberated. I get very frustrated listening to LGBTIQ+ people try to argue that their marginalisation comes from society not accepting them and making it hard to get things like the medical support they need, while disabled people’s marginalisation stems from their inherent wrongness. Disabled people that need medical interventions to help manage impairments are apparent proof of this, while LGBTIQ+ folks that need them to help live their lives are somehow different. I’ve tried to pick into the reasons that one should be considered impaired and the other not; that one should be considered disabled and the other not; and I draw a blank. I struggle to see how the LGBTIQ+ community can suggest that there is a need for a social model of difference/queerness/impairment for a dysphoric trans person undergoing a medical transition to manage a body that causes a degree of emotional/physical suffering & additional marginalisation, but not for a disabled person taking medication, or having prosthesis fit to manage a body that causes a degree of emotional/physical suffering & additional marginalisation. Where is the difference? What answers are there that don’t drip with disablist tropes where we are broken, subhuman, suffering, wrong, unnatural, dull & ugly? If you have one I’d like to know because this genuinely gets to me as a queer (and genderqueer) crip.

In saying all this I want to stress that I do not seek to undo the progress of the Trans community by pointing out the similarities in aspects of our struggles. More I seek to point out that there isn’t a distinct line that can be drawn between our struggles. I’m not trying to deny transphobia and homophobia existing, or argue that they should be re-medicalised. I am suggesting that LGBTIQ+ and disabled peoples’ transgression of societal norms around mental & bodily structure/function/feelings/desire are very similar, and both require those norms to be thoroughly challenged. That disabled people also require social interventions, especially when they have had any medical interventions they personally want to have to help manage/alleviate any symptoms they might find undesirable, and are now simply trying to live their lives as disabled people.

Reproduced Disablism

I want to leave this piece by talking a bit about some of the core disablism that is reproduced by talking about disabled people and queer liberation like this.

  • That disabled LGBTIQ+ people aren’t a part/ aren’t an important part of the LGBTIQ+ community.
  • That to exist with an impairment, as a disabled person, is so widely understood to be a negative thing that to suggest it to someone is to insult them.
  • Disabled People’s bodies/minds are in some way unnatural and abnormal, even though impairments are extremely common, often part of evolution, something that generally develops in us all as we age and so on.
  • To be disabled is to be an aberration that needs either correcting through doctors or spiritual interventions, or if that fails, some sort of tragedy that dooms the individual to the lowest class of existence. Immediately othering and marginalising disabled people.
  • To no longer be seen as a disabled person, to no longer be seen as impaired, to be seen as “normal” is a goal that should be held by all people that are classified as having impairments.
  • That disabled people can be liberated by medicine making them “normal” (where normal is the current capitalist construction of how an ideal worker/commodity’s body should be structured, think and function) or as close to “normal” as possible. Something queer theory explicitly argues against.
    • That this should go beyond helping those who wish to alleviate pain or other individually undesirable symptoms of their impairment, and that medical interventions to make them “normal” should be imposed on all.
    • This never mentions how the people that can’t be medically “normalised” enough to fit within society’s norms then can’t be liberated, leaving them as a perpetual underclass.

I’ve not dedicated any space to talking about disablism in the form of frequently inaccessible spaces, and the additional pressures in many parts of the community to conform to specific bodily standards that are unattainable for many disabled people. This is in part because I think they are a symptom of underlying disablism and living in a neoliberal society. It’s also in part because this post has gotten long and I think it’s time to stop

😉

To try and summarise all of this, I believe that disablism is still rife in LGBTIQ+ spaces & communities. I think one of the ways we can help combat this is to challenge the idea that there is a clear and distinct boundary between disablist oppression and homophobia & transphobia. There is at least a partial overlap because of a common root; both groups are seen to deviate from societal norms around bodily form and function, and expression of thoughts and feelings. As a result both groups experience moral & spiritual judgement for their difference, both experience a conflict between wanting access to any chosen medical interventions and not wanting to have medical interventions forced upon them, both want social change and to challenge norms, both have to deal with difficult stereotypes about their sexuality and attraction. Another way is to ensure that compassion, respect and solidarity arealso built where differences lie. We are stronger together, compassion is punk AF and smashing social norms is revolutionary

🙂

pseudodeviant
West Midlands, UK
A queer crip navigating the wor
ld

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Wrong Girl: childhood and gender conditioning

Posted on Wednesday, August 26th, 2020


Many thanks for sharing this piece with us, friend who wishes to remain anonymous. First published on Letter to Gender Critical Activists

There’s something I have been pondering, since reading this blog, on Letters:
https://letter.wiki/conversation/896

Mainly I’m pondering the question, how cleverly it wasn’t directly answered, and why.

It’s occurred to me that many people may not realise that many transgender children are not socialised in the exact same way as our non transgender peers. Therefore to assume we were raised the same way as people assigned the same sex as us, is a mistake. As the above article says, beautifully, we *fail* the gendered socialisation.

I cannot speak for anyone else, especially not transgender women. I can say that, anecdotally, my experience seems not that dissimilar to others in terms of the fact that our childhood socialisation is often different to that of our non transgender peers and siblings.

I am not an academic, so this will not be a peer reviewed piece linking evidence. This is a personal anecdote about my experience. No doubt there are proper evidential things within the plethora of gender studies work.

I do not usually discuss my personal life, hence choosing a faceless blog.

Content note for short references to sexualisation and to parental bullying and violence.

As soon as I realised sex existed and gendered ways of doing things, it was clear to me I was a wrong girl.

It was clear because my mother made it very clear that I kept doing it wrong.

Toys are not gender, but pay attention to the behaviour.

The first Christmas I remember, I wanted a football. I was nearly 4. We didn’t own one.

Instead I got a kitchen unit and a tea set. I think a lot of parents aren’t so gendered about toys now, and that’s great. Girls can play with anything.

My mum explained that Santa brought it, because I’m a little girl, my brother is a little boy. So, it was obvious to me that Santa didn’t realise I’m a wrong girl… That secretly I’m a boy and nobody has noticed.

It’s the first time I remember thinking it, as I don’t remember it starting. I remember because I thought Santa knew, as he even knows things our parents don’t. I felt surprised, and a bit sad.

I tried so hard that day to be a good girl, I made so much water tea until they made me stop and told me off. I got the message that I still wasnt getting it right. I felt so anxious and guilty, as I dont want them to know I’m not a girl.

After this, I start trying to pretend to be a girl. When I can remember.

I get told off, and sometimes hit, for a number of gendered misbehaviours not excluding sitting wrong, standing wrong, being to brash, being too loud, talking too much, being too intelligent, not having enough common sense, asking too many questions, being too opinionated, walking wrong, falling over too much, getting too dirty, playing with nature, playing marbles, climbing trees, damaging my clothes, not playing with girls, the list is endless and many of you can list it yourselves.

Did you think, gosh being a girl is pants? Did you think, is a boy being better? Did you think, this is just how it is for girls? Did you ever wonder what being a boy is like? What did you think, as I’m sure I don’t know. Please reply if you like :-).

I just kept thinking, “I’m not a girl and I’m in deep shit when they realise”. I feared being thrown away, as they were clearly angry enough at me, just for being a ‘wrong girl’.

I started to fear puberty. I was convinced that one day I would begin to grow a beard that wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know how to get a razor because I was only 6. Then they would all know.

😊

Maybe some girls do think this, I’d love to know.

Then I had a little sister and she was perfect. A “real girl”. Soon she was a great comparison for our mum.

When you keep getting your gendered behaviour wrong, the training gets more often and tougher. They try to hyper gender you, or give up, or a bit of both.

My little sister got it right from the beginning somehow, and I wondered about it. How did she know?

Any butches (butch women and trans butches) reading will no doubt be familiar with “having to wear a dress” for family / special event / function / school / etc, and I share that horrible experience.

At the same time, sometimes I wanted beautiful sparkly clothes and things, but I would be told I can’t have them, because I would just spoil them. I climbed a tree once in my favourite dress, I got in a lot of trouble. I secretly kept it, and still own it.  Can’t win for losing.

Proper girls like my sister have those nice things, but not me.

😊

My interest in all kinds of clothes remains

As you get older, if you are still getting your gendered behaviour wrong, it can get worse.

I have a much hated photograph of myself at 12 years old, still actually trying to “be a girl” so hard that I look ridiculous. I still feel humiliated, just seeing it.

Some of us trans folk may be pushed towards early sexualisation, with whoever people think our ‘correct’ sex, or gender is. I won’t discuss that here, as the consequences are well known to feminism, and extend to most transgender people too (of all backgrounds). In our case just add in a little “It’s to straighten you out”. Like other LGBTQ+ people.

By the time I realised I wasn’t going to grow into a man, I was just in time to dread my actual puberty – and hate that with all the passion of many other transgender people (also well well documented, not going into that here). I seem to have similar dysmorphic view of my body as many other trans folk, although I don’t want to change it. I have a whole different body in my head, so I don’t care.

Around then, puberty, I remember just wanting to tell people to call me “A person”. Wanting all of sex and gender just to leave me the hell alone.

And there I stay.

All of the common ground above we have, but one thing is very different, surely.

I did not experience sex and gender socialisation as a girl. As soon as I was given it, I knew it wasn’t mine. I experienced it knowing I wasn’t a girl. Right from go. Or rather – believing I was other, wrong, and very confused about it all.

I didn’t experience my childhood gender training as a girl. I experienced it as other. Instead of thinking why are girls treated this way, I thought, “I shouldn’t be treated this way because I’m not a girl.”

This means our experiences will differ in important ways. Especially around my ability to understand women’s issues.

I cannot tell you all the differences, only you can tell me, in a way, but maybe if we talk together kindly in a space without judgement, we can find out.

And while we’re doing so, we could consider whether it’s at all fair to assume that any transgender people are raised like other same-sex children, or gender socialised like other children, and especially whether we experience it the same way non transgender people do.

I think this is the basis of many wrong assumptions, which make it hard to even ask the right questions about what is going wrong between us.

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Two Poems

Posted on Wednesday, July 22nd, 2020


Content note: explicit sexual content


The Space Between


Leave it in the space
between daydream and
wet dream, in those mornings
when I wake up in pain,
fall asleep in pain,
and the only comfort
is a hand rocking my clit.
I whimper out in orgasm,
feel the pain slip away
even if it always returns.
Not just the stiff, burning
electric-shock pain of a
chronic pain condemnation
but the loneliness creeping in.
the inadequacy. The longing
to be touched and the
resistance. The fear.
I am still a virgin,
Dreaming virgin dreams,
calling out the names of
old loves, faces eroded
by a frazzled memory.
I imagine you on top of
me, I mime it
with my legs spread
wait for you to fill me up.
To kiss me as you fuck me.
The first time will be
overwhelming or it will
be disappointing. I am
afraid it will hurt.
I am afraid I will be
thrown back to some
past violence, afraid I
will crawl away in fear.
Most of all, I will be afraid

to look into your eyes
where you might see me
vulnerable for the first time.
So it’s easier to imagine
it rough, where I tell you
to spank me, pull my hair,
bite my shoulder or
twist my nipple.
It’s easier to imagine
scenarios of polyamory,
of having my face sat on,
of being hidden.
For all my teasing, all my
jokes and desperation,
all I really want is you
inside me, above me,
holding me, pulling me in.
telling me I’m the one.
Not any other girl or boy,
who I might imagine
joining us in bed
to escape the heartbreak
of rejection.
You’ll slot yourself inside me,
smile and say,
“I love you.
I want to fuck you because
I love you.
I don’t want you to hurt
anymore.”


Becoming someone’s pet


I read an article
where a woman
spent seven hours
getting flogged.
Afterward, she drove
home, took a bath
and, with a glorious
realisation, discovered
the chronic pain
in her legs and back
had vanished. It wasn’t
the pills and their
liver-poisoning side-effects,
it wasn’t physio and
it wasn’t CBT.
It was pain. The delights in
being punished had reset
her brain, knocked her
nervous system back
into order.
I’ve been thinking
about that a lot
myself. Those secret fantasies
I dare not commit to paper
when I play with
my nipples, late at night.
I wonder if it would work.
I take so many vitamins and
antidepressants. I deep freeze
my legs, drink three cups
of coffee a day,
bathe in Epsom salt baths
just to function.
My subconscious strays
into the realms of bondage,
of spankings and teasing and
‘Open your legs!’
Could I train my body
to see the pleasure in pain?

Could I take the sting out
of its persistence?
Would it let me stand
on my own legs for
more than ten minutes
without them buckling
beneath me?
Or would it be a placebo?
Would pain overwhelm me?
Would I become its
Master, in the same way
I’d turn my body over to
another, allow them to tie me
down, blind me and make me
theirs?
My legs are useless now,
why not string them up?
Why not kiss my thighs
plunge yourself inside,
while I’m crying and cumming,
and call me a good girl?
If the pain outlasts the session —
will you make me yours?


Caucasian woman with short hair and red patterned head band. headshot.
Sarah Loverock

Sarah Loverock is a writer, poet, and MA Creative Writing student. She has been previously published in Streetcake, ang(st) zine, Perhappened and Pussy Magic. She loves all things witchy and spiritual, history and mythology, and cute animals. She is available on Twitter @asoftblueending.

 

 

This is part of the Sister Stories series.