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It’s a bright weekday afternoon, and here I am, gliding around my house in my favorite robe. You might expect a thirty-nine-year-old mom working from home to be dressed in stylish athleisure or chic jeans and a tee, but instead, I resemble someone who just rolled out of bed.
While assisting my preschooler in the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There I stood, makeup-free, without any cute accessories, clad in the coziest attire possible. I looked fatigued, downcast, and frankly, a bit pathetic. Why can’t I just pull myself together? A quick swipe of mascara and some matching clothes could do wonders, right? I was slipping into a spiral of internalized ableism—far more distressing than my outward appearance.
For over fifteen years, I’ve been navigating life with a chronic, autoimmune disease. It’s a relentless journey, wearing you down hour by hour, day by day, year by year. Those of us living with chronic illnesses are undoubtedly resilient, but the truth is, we don’t really have a choice. Our health battles are stark: manage our conditions to survive or face dire consequences. There’s no room for gray areas in our reality.
As if living with type 1 diabetes wasn’t enough, I was diagnosed with breast cancer four summers ago. After undergoing a mastectomy, I began to heal—until January, when a small mass on my chest wall revealed a recurrence of breast cancer. I’ve since endured two surgeries and am currently undergoing chemotherapy, with radiation on the horizon.
I know I have every right to wander around in my robe. It’s soft and comforting amidst this otherwise tumultuous phase. My hair is falling out, and I’m left with scars from my surgeries. I’m battling chemo acne and rashes that pop up unexpectedly. Exhaustion has become my constant companion, and no amount of coffee can change that. With dizzy spells and aches in places I didn’t know existed, I’m reminded daily of the toll this fight takes.
One of my struggles is witnessing healthy moms on social media. They’re redecorating their homes, jogging miles, and shuttling kids to sports practices—all while sipping a latte and flaunting perfectly styled hair. I often feel I should be one of them, yet I can barely muster the energy to move around my house.
Internalized ableism tells me to toughen up, maintain a positive outlook, and that I’m stronger than I think. There are those who say God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers (ahem, me). I should be braver, more resilient, and simply accept that “it is what it is.” The phrase “get well soon” has been uttered to me countless times, as if my recovery is entirely within my control.
Even when I avoid social media, the “shoulds” linger in my mind. I should be running errands, working, assisting my kids with their projects, exercising, or vacuuming. Instead, I find myself shuffling from room to room, clad in my robe during the day.
I constantly combat the internalized ableism that plagues me. I remind myself that chemotherapy is a monumental undertaking. It’s a brutal process where poison targets both healthy and cancer cells, leading to a barrage of unpleasant side effects. Chemo is a package deal; you can’t reap the benefits without enduring the downsides. I have every right to embrace my robe as a protective cocoon in this storm.
I also recognize that this situation isn’t permanent. Soon, chemo will no longer dominate my weekly schedule. Though radiation awaits, it thankfully carries fewer severe side effects than chemotherapy. If I still require the comfort of my robe, sans makeup and jewelry, and quiet days at home, so be it.
The goal is healing, not pushing myself to the edge. Recovery demands time, patience, and frequent self-encouragement. I once prided myself on my productivity, but now, depending on the day, simply showering or loading the dishwasher feels like a victory.
I’m learning to conserve my energy and celebrate small wins. I know what comforts me and what drains me. I’ve become open and honest about my condition, rarely settling for “fine” as a response when asked how I’m doing. Most days, I’m either managing fairly well or struggling to complete even the simplest tasks, like making a phone call. I refuse to sugarcoat my reality—I’m not here to shield others from my truth.
Facing a physical or mental health challenge is daunting enough, but we also contend with internalized ableism. This persistent ableism sends us messages of inadequacy, suggesting we’re not “enough” or “normal.” Over time, even the most confident individuals can begin to internalize these harmful beliefs. We find ourselves fighting not only our health battles but also the pervasive influence of ableism. It’s exhausting and bewildering.
I recognize that I can either embrace these toxic ableist messages or reject them. While it might seem easier to accept them, it’s far from beneficial. My healing journey is complex, yet not impossible. Internalized ableism? It has no place here.
If you’re interested in further exploring the topic of home insemination, check out this piece on pregnancy and home insemination, as it provides excellent resources. For more insights, visit this article about overcoming challenges that might resonate with your experience. And if you’re looking for specialized information, Make a Mom is an authority on the subject.
Summary
Internalized ableism is a significant stressor for those living with chronic illness. As individuals navigate their health journeys, they often grapple with societal expectations and personal insecurities, leading to feelings of inadequacy. Embracing self-acceptance and rejecting harmful narratives is crucial for fostering healing and well-being.