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Tag: disability

Too disabled to be hired, too intelligent to ask for help.

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It’s no secret that I have Cerebral Palsy. It’s also no secret that I’m well-spoken, and can function well, as far as in terms of cognitive processes. Basically, I’m self-sufficient and I can think pretty darn straight and logically.

It is rough living in the in-between of anything, especially in terms of abilities. I just got off the phone with a resource provider in town that basically told me, in so many words, I speak well so therefore I dont seem to need assistance and that I should make sacrifices in order to be independent.

After every sentence I spoke, after she collected my info, she kept saying I could “tap into resources”, (as if, as a disabled person with an extremely small support system, I haven’t exhausted all of them already), or that we could “do a Google search” online for odd jobs or other ways to bring in income.

I had already told her we had to trade in our car, we had to move, sell everything we owned, I put down cash for a deposit as well as first months rent on my own FROM SELLING EVERYTHING I OWN, and you mean to tell me, even though you haven’t seen me or my wheelchair (that I have to make payments on), that I need to sacrifice more? Yeah, no.

There’s nothing left to sacrifice, and I’m proud of that. I’ve done more than people on two legs would dream of doing, including risking everything to pave a path for myself.

In the South, there was no assistance for me. I lived without it for years. I’m not going to pretend I’m not disabled so that I can keep up with the Jones’s. I’ve been there and done that.

The simple truth is, we are all subject to aging, ailments, disability, and death. We will all have to experience being in need of care, and we should face that with humility. Otherwise, we’re in for a rude awakening and a huge blow to our pride.

I wouldn’t have sat on the phone with this person for over two hours if I had other options to consider at the moment, and she should know that. Where are the people that mind their own business?

It wasn’t like she would give me the space to say that yes, I was rejected from over 200 job positions BECAUSE IM DISABLED AND THEREFORE HAVE GAPS IN WORK EXPERIENCE. She wouldn’t let me speak but offered ‘advice’.

Please, if you can make someone hire me for a steady job, let me hear about it; because I can for sure say I dont want to be on the phone with someone who talks down to someone just for calling them.

Power imbalance much?

Go work in robotics or some shit, or better yet, go be a social worker and help someone less fortunate than you with all that knowledge you seek to possess, lady. Please let me live.

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Paying Homage To Caregiving, And Being Taken Care Of – Part 2/2

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Hello again, and welcome home. It’s so good to see you!
This post is going to be almost entirely subjective and deeply personal; I hope you are still able to relate in some ways. Let’s begin.

After thoughtful deliberation on part two, I concluded that I would let you in on my experiences and how I cope, often rather clumsily, with being confined by the limitations of my vessel.

The truth of the matter is simple. Sometimes I can cope. Other times, I’m angry that a chair is a reason I’m not yet gainfully employed. I feel guilty that I need so much help, even though for the most part my life is pretty normal: I can cook, manage my household, take good care of my spouse, I can speak, write, and flip people off when I need to. 😛

I don’t even mind being disabled. I’ve been this way since birth. What I do mind, however, is the warped perceptions of other people. People are understandably curious. Some situations are nothing short of ‘cringeworthy’.

As an example, when I got married, it was so strange to onlookers. I am blessed to have my wife; she bathes me, cooks, cleans, and I never need to ask her to pick up the slack or help me out with anything, really. She knows what I need before I do at times. We work.

Some folks never get to experience that kind of love and care, like this dude we ran into in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

There we are, loading our groceries in the car before going home, and he approaches my wife and taps her on the shoulder. He says, “Who is this? Is this your sister?” (Referring to me as I’m standing by the door). She says, “No sir, this is my wife.” The look on that guy’s face was worth a thousand words.

After a few long seconds of awkward silence, he looks over at my wife and replies, “Wow, you’re an awesome person – not a lot of people would do that.”

Look, don’t get me wrong. I get the sentiment. It was wonderful. In my opinion, he is absolutely right. My wife should win the Nobel Peace Prize for all the devotion she’s demonstrated to me. It’s my job to tell her that.

If she wanted people randomly stopping her while we’re just going home, she wouldn’t be in a monogamous marriage. I don’t need to be treated as a charity case or be viewed as an extra sack of potatoes.

Let me tell you, friend, my wife, the one on two perfectly good legs, ain’t all that easy to be with either. None of us are! If my extra needs are a little bit too extra, she would’ve been gone by now. I know I sound bitter, but I’m not, for the most part. Forgive me if I’m just astounded by how conditional commitment has become.

The guy didn’t have any bad intentions, but some shit should just remain admired rather than pointed out. Even better, how about saying you admire us as a unit, a team, a healthy marriage?

It’s not like I just sit and look pretty. I look a little bit scary and pissed off most of the time to be honest, especially if I’m low on caffeine.

Maybe I take care of my wife’s heart. Perhaps, and this is just my take on things, maybe she likes taking care of me because she gets a lot out of it – like love, strength, purpose and reciprocal appreciation?

Maybe the fact that I hold her at night is more than enough according to her individual needs, even though my needs are vastly different. Although independence is of great value in this world, perhaps me being in need of care isn’t an issue because there are always people in the world who find great joy in serving others?

Maybe she knows that I’m the type of person who would do the exact same thing for her if she were also in a wheelchair. Maybe I’m just badass and she recognized that instead of just looking at the hunk of metal on wheels I use to get around.

I struggle to remember this more often than not. I struggle with feeling like I have nothing to offer because of my physical limitations. I’ll probably always struggle with it.

If you’re in the same boat, it might be a challenge for you too. We just have to remember that everyone’s looking to be loved. We know a lot about love if nothing else.

Maybe we’re not right for the world, but we’re right for the ones who love us, and that’s always more than enough. Love is always the best thing to offer someone.



Happy Birthday, Mommy.

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Hey there. Today is April 17th, 2019. Today is mom’s birthday. Today is also the sixteenth anniversary of her passing on April 17th, 2003. Some folks are kind of shocked to realize that she died on her birthday. Like… almost as if it was a bad omen, or as if it was unfortunate. I’ve always thought it was a matter of perspective.

These are some heavy times for the lovers, the introverts, and the givers.

At the risk of coming across as blasphemous, I am personally glad my mother is not here to bear the burden of these polarizing trials life has handed to us.

Perhaps I may have had a rough decade or so and maybe my view’s a bit skewed. I digress.

As time goes on, the blindfolds come off; allowing my worldview to grow exponentially. I am grateful for growing pains. I hope to experience as many as I can.

My mother only lived to be twenty-seven.
I am currently twenty-six.

Admittedly, I have recently been plagued by the hope that I will not die at twenty-seven like my mother. This phenomenon is not uncommon; though I do find it odd how it hit me so suddenly, so heavily.

Death will not come for me. I will not allow it. Give me another five years at the very least and then we’ll talk. 😉

I’m kidding. Pretending is something I am atrocious at. Therefore, I won’t pretend that I plan to evade the reaper. On the other hand, I do not intend to go down without a fight. I have always struck out only to come back swinging.

Ask about me. 😉

My destiny does not have to align with my mother’s, and I don’t think she wants that for me. I will not allow her passing to override the joy of my own aging. (Honestly, I think I get more attractive the older I get). I’ll be a hot old lady.

I love the confidence that comes with aging.
I wish I was able to witness more people embracing the passage of time.

My mother was so young. She was just starting out. She had such love and light to give to others. She was hurt easily. She loved easily. The classic blessing begets the classic curse.

I have definitely followed in her shoes when it comes to being a lover. I love, and love, and love. These days, it’s called codependence. If love is my affliction, I think I’m doing pretty good for myself.

I didn’t love my mother as I should have. Who knows love at ten? Though, I love her now, every day, fully. There is not a day that goes by that she does not cross my mind. It is a feeling that cannot be grasped.

Yet, I can think of no one who deserved the freedom of the afterlife as much as my warrior of a mother.

I love you, Ma. I love you with all of my heart. I think of you daily. I know you don’t like to see me agonize over life the way I often do. So, I’m trying to get my shit together, Ma. I’m writing again. I try to be a good wife. I talk about you a lot. I wish I could see films about you. But, that wouldn’t suffice. Take care of your granddaughter for me. I miss her every day since I lost her. Though, I sure am glad she got to meet you on her own. My stories of you wouldn’t do you justice. I love you. I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright, Ma. Sleep good, beautiful. How lucky I am to have my daughter and my mother as guides.

Happy Birthday Mom ♥





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To you, Sweet Baby

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I cant seem to smoothly connect with you in person, to no fault of your own. My baby, I know that you’re trying. It pains me a bit to know that I love you on paper, more than I do right beside you.

Still, when I am gone, I will leave my writing to you, since all of this was inspired by you, and written for you, by me in the first place.

I love you. I admire you. These words will never suffice, because my anxiety, and codependent thoughts get in the way.

I really appreciate you.

Seven years. We’ve been through your gender transition, the loss of our only biological child, our family stepped out quietly. And I’m not the greatest at coping with Cerebral Palsy.

You still bathe me. You still clothe me.

You still hold me. You hold me when rent is past due; when the debts are high and the accounts are low, you still hold me. You believe I am worthy to be embraced.

You play Stardew Valley with me. You make time for me.

You believe I taught you what love was, simply because I stay; when it is you teaching me how to love – calmly, steadfastly, and quietly.

Thank you.

I love you always.

-Your Wife

F*ck it. Smile.

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You know how we see motivational speakers and when they’re done speaking, for a few minutes we believe the world won’t eat us alive? Me too.

I’m not saying that your dreams are too far out of reach; I’m not saying that you shouldn’t believe their light.

I’m saying that at this very moment, I’ve done all of the things that my spirit and creator asked of me. I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone, I’ve let myself see and be seen, and I’m proud of myself.

Still, it sucks when then there is little to show for it.

If you’ve put your last few dollars into a dream, your last bit of faith in a cause that seems to turn it’s head, if you’ve struggled to see results, or if you’ve doubted your purpose at all, I’m here with you.

When It seems easier to light a match and watch it all burn, while simultaneously flipping the debris a middle finger, (I can’t believe I’m about to say this) SMILE.

Can’t pay rent? Fuck it. Something will shake, or you’ll move on. See the road.

Got cancer? Fuck it. You’re still alive and beautiful. Your sickness does not define your legacy.

Homeless? Fuck it. Mortgages are expensive.

Negative in the bank account? Well, now you damn sure cant give those thieves your money.

I empathize with you, and I say these things to help laughter bubble up in your chest.

When we can’t choose anything else, we can choose to laugh.

I love you.

Welcome Home.

You’re safe here. <3

I have failed. Here’s Why I’m Okay With That.

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I will never again go to a school, job, or organization that does not value its students. I will never enter a shady job simply because it is a job. My time, brain and stress levels deserve better. You do too. Know your worth!

I entered school (College) in January 2019. I was determined to succeed and not waste any more of my life.

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Up until this moment, I have had a 4.0 GPA. I put all of my time, effort and energy into being there, and doing well. Things started out great until I reached out for disability accommodations, and then this [dis]organization revealed itself.

I was supposed to start at this school and then transfer to get my B.A. in Psych; I would then move on to my Master’s in Marriage and Family Therapy. It looks like I won’t be able to do that now. At least, not at this moment.

However, though I am disappointed, I remain unfazed by this. I am unfazed because I know I did my part 100%.

I purchased practice-test books, hundreds of dollars in school supplies, and this doesn’t include proctoring fees I was charged (which by the way, I did not even need to purchase because I’m not on campus, but was never refunded).

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As an example:
I wrote entire chapters by hand because something was off with the tests. What we were given to study was nothing like the exams we were assigned.

I thought I was crazy. Maybe I hadn’t studied hard enough – maybe I had to think outside of the box. So, I did. Still, the second and third exam came around, and again the tests did not match what we (my classmates and I) had read.

Lo and beholds, seventy-eight other students had the same issue. The. Exact. Same. One.


It was then that I realized other schools had the same exams word-for-word; apparently, it was what I had suspected – the materials were mismatched. I was so weirded out!

When the other students reached out to the professor, they were told it was something they, themselves had done wrong!

I’m guessing the teacher saw where I pointed out the tests were mismatched and felt as if I were playing hero. (To be honest, I guess I was, but there were so many students who had worked just as hard as me, I couldn’t stand the injustice and I felt compelled to help out).

So, I try to be a good person. Stone me.


(I did not cheat, I googled the answers BEFORE the tests, not during).

A few weeks later, one professor tells me that I have not read the chapters.
(Remember, of course I read them. I wrote them!)

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I was pissed off. I sent the professor photos of my handwriting on the work we were assigned – three to four pages front and back.

NO RESPONSE! NOTHING.

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I suspect this professor may believe I was cheating, because the institution’s name and password (that I need to enter class) has been removed. When I try to do the assignments, I simply can’t. I’ve sent multiple messages to no avail.

I learned that the “school” is on probation. Enrolled students were sent “word-salad”:
“We’re on probation but we assure you we are dedicated!”


What a crock.

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I can no longer give my all to shitty places, people, or even things that do not value dedication.

You shouldn’t either.

Do you know what that’s like? Running full speed at a brick wall? I bet you do, and I bet you’ve learned this lesson too. For that, I commend you for keeping your head on straight.

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BUT I NOTICED AN UNHELPFUL PATTERN WITHIN MYSELF.



I run at these brick walls. Again. And again. And again. Insanity? No.

It is more like the need to prove that I am worthy, no matter how much that stresses me out. No matter how one-sided things are, I noticed I push myself harder than I should. In some way, I think I have misplaced my intrinsic, static, God-given value. I have tied my value into how hard I work, how hard I push myself.

It’s almost impossible not to when as a culture people are praised and celebrated, rewarded even, for tenacity and grit.

Harder still, when you’re in a wheelchair: when you’re disabled and you strain, when you climb, when you take a few unassisted steps. When you don’t need to bother anyone to help you use the bathroom – when you can wipe your own ass. You know what happens?

YOU GET A FUCKING STANDING OVATION.


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How crazy is that? I had never made this connection before.

My friends, you are worthy not because of your actions. You are worthy because you are alive.



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If you have never known or come to this realization, I genuinely assure you that I am dead serious. I am so sorry that you have never felt loved just as you are; just as you should be.

Most importantly, I want to apologize to myself; to the child within me whose feelings got so hurt that they thought they had to prove themselves worthy of anything. To the little girl in me who was not protected – who only dreamed of unconditional love, who gave everything within her in hopes that others would give back, much to her dismay.


And to you, dear reader, I love you as you are.
Still, it is more important that you fail at everything so that you learn what you need to heal the most. It is okay to love yourself.

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Real Odd Love

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It’s 2:39 A.M., people. This post is an attempt to sort things out in my own head. First things first. I’m a volunteer crisis counselor for Crisis Text Line. (You should really check them out. There’s never been a time since I started that I’ve regretted it.)

Second of all, I’m married to a transwoman, who I had known as a man for almost five years before they came out to me. We are still together. We also previously had a child together which, unfortunately, I miscarried. HRT prevents biological children like 99% of the time, and for quite some time I was inexplicably angry, especially after I had gone through this entire transition with her and then was barred from going in to see the doctor with her.

Honestly, that’s the only thing that still really devastates me to my core. I wasn’t mad because I wasn’t allowed to go in. I was mad because I was treated like ‘the red-headed stepchild’ rather than her fucking wife who had recently carried and lost their only biological kid. I felt insecure because a lot of people see us as some scandal or a bad joke. I felt as if I were a beard, a ploy, a decoy, a means to an end. Now that I’m more secure of who we are, things have gotten better. We’re in group and couples therapy and have literally the greatest MFT I’ve ever been to. In August, we’ll have been married for five years and I would not change a single one of them.

WE ARE REAL. WE ARE VALID. SHE HAS NOT ‘HAD AN AFFAIR’.

I do not care that she’s trans; I only give a shit about whether or not she’s a good person. She always has been. I know that seems hard to believe, but she has literally wiped my ass for almost a decade now. I can’t reach my butt all the time ’cause I have, like, T-Rex arms. You can bet if she ever got sick I’d do the same for her.

Oh, yeah I forgot to mention, I’m also in a wheelchair. I have Cerebral Palsy. I moved around a lot when I was a kid. We found each other and she never left my side. Day and night since August 18th, 2012 she’s been, my hero. She bathes, clothes, cooks and cleans for me with zero complaints. We’ve each been a handful to each other but she is still without a shadow of a doubt, the best person I have ever met in my life.

LOVE EXISTS. REAL UNCONDITIONAL LOVE EXISTS AND IT IS MAGICAL IF YOU MAKE YOUR OWN WANDS. 

If you are trans, you are not unloveable or any other negative thing those shitty people, who aren’t right for you, made you believe about yourself. If you are physically disabled, you also are not unloveable; you are more than your body. You are mind. You are a soul. You are already made to love and be loved in return. There are people in this world who will be absolutely devoted to you, even if you think you resemble a potato, okay? You are not too broken. You are not too flawed. Who you are is exactly who you need to be.
Own. That.

Also, holy moly, the number of people waiting for us to get divorced is quite appalling. #StillDon’tGiveAShit
You see, I don’t give a shit because I realize that people are people, and, they can do whatever it is that they want or need to do to better themselves.

Also, I haven’t asked her to pray anything away. I’m saying this in the nicest way I possibly can: If you are asking someone to pray an essential piece of their being away, God will never answer in the way you want him to. God understands you, and he will give you the strength to change perspective if you wish to do so. Before you start throwing bricks through my window and all that nonsense, let me say this:

I am a Christian. I believe in God. I love God just as much as you do. However, in my opinion, asking God to take something away from another person is unjust. You cannot intervene with God’s will for that person. God knows his child is trans – that’s between that person and God. It is not your battle.

If your argument (or someone else’s argument) on why trans people are sinners is because “God doesn’t make mistakes” then… that kind of falls apart on itself because God doesn’t just peace out because his creation, his fearfully and wonderfully made creation needs to make some changes to feel better and to be better. If he does, then that’s no God I would choose to put my faith in.

God will meet you wherever you are, and he cares for you no matter what your situation is. The amount of depression and anxiety that my wife has been freed from since beginning HRT is astounding, okay? She had lost her will to live. If she had kept on living as a man, she would have taken her own life. You cannot serve God if you are dead on the inside as well as the outside. Now, since HRT has put her feelings, thoughts, and spirit in order, she can serve God better than she could before, because she doesn’t spend her days in a mental fog with crippling gender dysphoria.

In fact, the only thing I’ve ever felt the need to pray for her about was that people loved her and accepted her as much as I did. I did not ask God to make her a man or to stop her from transitioning. Instead, I talked to him. I told God that I was scared for her and that if this was truly the road she needed to go down, that he walks beside her and grant her clarity to make her decisions. I prayed that he keep her safe. I prayed that he provide her with the strength she would need to travel down a seemingly lonely road. I prayed that if this was not his will for her, that he help her make a U-Turn.

We all have lost nearly all support, save for a few long term friends. We have lost almost everything including our jobs, our routine, our life as we knew it. It is only now that we know the meaning of losing our lives in order to find them. Though the world seems to be crashing down around us, we know a carpenter. 😉

If loving her is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

YOU ARE LOVED.
YOU ARE SUPPORTED. 
IT REALLY DOES GET BETTER.

If you are a trans person who is struggling, please reach out to https://www.translifeline.org/
If you are a family member/friend/ally who loves a trans person, and you’re looking for help coping, please reach out to https://pflag.org/.

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