“Why Would Anyone Want Me?” | Life With Disability & Chronic Illness

A photo of me, a young white female with long brown hair and blue eyes. I am seen from the shoulders up and I am looking straight ahead. I am not smiling
Me, aged 33

“I can’t see why anyone would want me”

As a disabled blogger, this is by far the most common message I receive from readers and followers – particularly those in their twenties, living with disabilities and chronic illness.

For anyone out there who has ever felt this way, I get it. I hear you!

Born in 1988 with a rare progressive condition (Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy), I’ve personally struggled with various insecurities and a lack of self-worth my whole life.

For me, the belief that “no one would ever want me” was fuelled by cruel comments, ignorance and exclusion.

Growing up, I felt invisible, unseen, overlooked, and yet, painfully inescapably obvious to all. I wanted to hide away, and, at the same time, longed for someone to notice me. To see me, the person beyond the disability.

A photo of me, aged 15, with blonde hair and sad, sallow eyes. I'm looking straight at the camera. I have my hand to my mouth.
Me, aged 15

I was one of only two disabled students at a mainstream high school, surrounded by 700 able-bodied kids. I stuck out like a sore thumb! I was the anomaly. And, I was ever-aware of it.

Seated in my manual wheelchair, unable to transfer, weight-bear or self-propel, completely reliant on others for mobility, I felt helpless, useless, a burden.

At 13, during the month of May, I was admitted to hospital with pneumonia. One of many bouts throughout my life. I didn’t tell anyone at school. No one noticed my absence. No one asked. It seemed, no one cared.

Experiences such as this further exacerbated my introversion, isolation, my mistrust in others and the overwhelming thought that I was better off alone. You can only really rely on yourself, right?

My health has always been, for lack of a better word, crap! Deteriorating with the progression of time. It is an incredibly limiting factor. So too is relying on carers. I can’t get myself in or out of bed, I can’t dress or undress myself, I can’t drive, or work. What do I bring to the table?

Me, aged approx 30, sat in a hospital waiting room wearing a face mask
Me, aged approx 30, sat in a hospital waiting room wearing a face mask

Spontaneity, what’s that? Everywhere I go, everything I do must be pre-planned. And often, those plans fall through when my chronic fatigue forbids me from leaving my bed for the entire day.

It’s no fun! It’s beyond frustrating and bloody miserable at times.

Why would anyone choose this life? Why would anyone choose to be with me? What can I offer?

I’ll be honest with you, these questions continue to plague my thoughts every now and then. Like a lingering grey cloud that will never pass by entirely.

A selfie of me, looking in the mirror, seated in my powered wheelchair. I have long, mid-brown hair and I'm wearing a grey cardigan and white leggings. In this photo, I am aged 33
Me, in my Sunrise You-Q Luca powered wheelchair. Aged 33

Yes, I’ve had romantic relationships. Some good, some not so good. I’ve dated both able-bodied and disabled guys.

My brief stint on dating app Hinge was an experience! Guys can be shamelessly brutal, often telling me I’m no one’s type and they wouldn’t consider dating a disabled girl. Though tough to hear, I was never surprised, nor do I bear any resentment.  Everyone has freedom of choice and can date whoever they want. I never felt any desire or inclination to convince anyone of my worth.

I won’t lie, my health issues and physical disability did present challenges, cause tension and resentment within relationships. Things were said that are forever imprinted in my memory.

The saying goes, “love is all you need”. I don’t believe this to be true. I think trust, loyalty and the ability to care for someone even in the darkest of times is arguably more important.

Love was very much present in one of my previous relationships, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t last because I couldn’t rely on him. He was all in on the good days. But on the bad days – my bad days – it became increasingly clear that he wasn’t invested. He couldn’t cope. Love alone wasn’t enough.

A photo of me taken from behind - my face cannot be seen. I am at Whitby, looking out to the sea. I am seated in my powered wheelchair. My hair is tied up in a messy bun. In this photo, I am aged approximately 27
Me, in my Quantum powered wheelchair, aged approx 27

I don’t want to feed you empty clichés or try to convince you it will all work out in the end; that there’s someone for everyone. Because relationships are hard, even without the added complexities of a disability or chronic illness!

What I will say, what I want to emphasise to anyone reading this, is to focus on your relationship with yourself. Be kind to yourself, prioritise your health, your wants and needs. Stop worrying about what others may or may not think of you. Does it really matter?

A black and white graphic image of a male wheelchair-user kissing the hand of a female wheelchair-user

When you do meet someone who is worthy of you, (yes, we’re ALL worthy of love, affection and intimacy), don’t try to hide your struggles and insecurities. Be open, honest and real with them. Let them see you at your very worst.

Some will cut and run. You will face rejection. We all do. This is part of life. Don’t waste your tears over these people. Trust me, it’s not worth it!

It’s easy to find friends and lovers when you’re young, fit, able and care-free.

But, this is where those of us living with debilitating conditions hold the advantage (lucky us!). Because our lives are far from easy and care-free. We can trust that the people who choose to be with us, no matter what, truly do care.

My Disabled Body | Muscular Dystrophy

Anyone who knows me will tell you I’m incredibly self-conscious of my disabled body.

I’m much more of a behind-the-scenes presence, and I hate being photographed!

My insecurities have deepened over the years, as my condition (Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy) has progressed.

My spine is curved significantly in a ‘S’ shape, shortening my torso and causing asymmetry. I am underweight with muscle degeneration, and contractures in all of my joints.

Oh, and I am a ghostly shade of pale!

Being so very slight of stature and a non-ambulatory powered wheelchair-user, clothes are ill-fitting, often uncomfortable and don’t drape well.

Most of the time I feel like a bag of crap!

As a kid, though aware of the physical differences between myself and my peers, I really didn’t care. I was generally happy with a good group of friends.

Me, wearing school uniform, aged 4
Me (right) with a primary school friend (left)
Aged 8, sat in my manual wheelchair at school
Me (second from left), aged 9, with primary school friends
Me, aged 9, with primary school friends
On holiday, in my manual wheelchair. Aged approx 12

But, of course, kids (and adults) can be blunt, and, sometimes cruel with their words and observations. As time went on, I was subjected more and more to stares, pointing, judgement and exclusion.

I became a full-time wheelchair-user at the age of 10.

Back then, it was very much a case of ‘suck it up and get on with it, these are the cards you’ve been dealt’.

Looking back, I guess it affected me more than I realised.

My teens were hard. I became increasingly withdrawn, conscious of what I consider my flaws, and constantly compared myself to other girls, wishing I looked like them.

Me, aged approx 15
Me, aged approx 17, trying to avoid the camera

Then came the dating years…

Comments such as, “you’re no one’s type” and “no one’s going to want you” massively impacted my self-perception and relationships.

Somewhere along the way, I lost myself and my sense of identity.

Now aged 33, I appear more child-like than womanly. I can honestly say, I’ve never felt sexy, or even attractive, in my entire life!

I’m not body-confident, and I don’t think I ever will be. I still compare myself to others and shy away from people, places and opportunities.

But, I am really trying to accept the fact that there is nothing I can do about my body. It is what it is – unique. I need to make the best of what I do have.

If others don’t like it, that’s absolutely fine, but they can kindly fuck off!

In an attempt to push myself out of hermit mode, I recently ‘dressed up’, took some sour-faced selfies, and posted them on Instagram…

…Excuse the Listerine in the background, haha!

The response was positive, complimentary and sincere. It gave me the confidence to write this post and ‘put myself out there’.

Why? Because I am what I am. I’m not “normal”. But what is “normal”, anyway?

Coronavirus | Thoughts from a Disabled Pixie

Needless to say, we are in the midst of uncertain and unprecedented times.

Photo of a card reading, 'keep hanging on in there' (left) and a medical face mask (right).
Photo of a card reading, ‘keep hanging on in there’ (left) and a medical face mask (right).

Everywhere we look, we are bombarded with the latest news regarding Covid-19; on the TV, radio, newspapers and the Internet.

While most is factual information from reliable sources, there is also plenty of unhelpful rumour and speculation, particularly on social media.

Personally, I don’t find it beneficial to watch the News three times a day, unlike my folks!

We all know by now what we should and shouldn’t be doing to limit the spread and keep ourselves and each other safe.

Guidelines on social distancing during the Coronavirus pandemic.
Guidelines on social distancing during the Coronavirus pandemic.

Why add to the stress and anxiety? I’d rather focus on other things; happier things!

Of course, the situation affects everyone in some way; domestically, financially, their work, education, physical and mental health.

This is an incredibly frightening time for many, myself included. I am considered high-risk, since I have a progressive muscle-wasting condition that affects my breathing.

A Friendly Reminder from a Delicate Little Pixie

Though we all must now adapt and change our way of life somewhat, it’s important to remember this is only temporary. Things will improve.

I’ve heard people complain about the restrictions; mostly young, fit, able-bodied people. Yes, it’s a pain in the fat ass! But it isn’t forever.

Funny meme about the Coronavirus featuring the character Jay from The Inbetweeners.
Funny meme about the Coronavirus featuring the character Jay from The Inbetweeners.

Also, please be aware that many disabled and chronically ill people are repeatedly forced into prolonged periods of self-isolation throughout their lives. Plans are often cancelled last minute due to poor health. This isn’t new to them.

So, before you complain because you can’t go out partying with your mates, or to the pub, please consider those for whom limitation and isolation is a way of life.

Final Thoughts

Show your thanks and appreciation for the NHS and those working in health and social care.

Illustration of NHS healthcare workers being saluted by Superman.
Illustration of NHS healthcare workers being saluted by Superman.

Be mindful of the most vulnerable in society, and help out if you’re able to.

Print-out for those wanting to help anyone self-isolating due to Covid-19.
Print-out for those wanting to help anyone self-isolating due to Covid-19.

Please don’t panic buy or stock pile. This isn’t the apocalypse, people!

Where possible, please support local businesses.

Be sensible, be safe, be rational.

This too shall pass…

Guest Post | Wealden Rehab ~ Occupational Therapy

Wealden Rehab Equipment Specialists share the benefits
of having an Occupational Therapist in the team

Care equipment specialist Wealden Rehab works alongside in-house and external qualified occupational therapists (OTs).

Our in-house OT, Gayle Cardwell has 20 years experience, benefiting the team with clinical skills that can
be transferred into private practice. The collaboration between care equipment
providers and clinical experts results in a truly personal service.

Gayle offers her knowledge and understanding of both mental and physical health and wellbeing to the product advisors at Wealden Rehab, emphasising the importance of a personal approach being necessary to achieve the best
outcomes.

Assessing each client holistically encompasses the environmental considerations, which improve solutions for installation of ceiling hoists and
more detailed clinical considerations for seating.

Installation of multiple celing hoist units at Foreland Fields School

Upon prescribing a piece of equipment, the occupational therapist must clearly show their clinical consideration. Gayle has devised and shared documents to encourage clinical reasoning when prescribing Wealden Rehab’s most popular
products. The documents are aimed at prescribing OT’s to consider the individual, environment, the task and to help justify the most appropriate outcome for the end user.

Gayle has provided a rigorous training program for all of Wealden Rehab’s product advisors, through individual and group training sessions. Her ongoing program is designed to enhance the assessments and the training they offer to their customers, which brings extra value.

Wealden Rehab recognise the
significance of having an OT in the team and a clinical approach in devising and delivering training for OT customers when prescribing Wealden Rehab products. We have observed increased confidence, greater understanding from OT’s in the
set-up and recommendation of our products, resulting in improving the end users
experience.

In the future, Wealden Rehab will be adding to the range
of products and, with specialist input, Gayle will be able to critique and share her clinical knowledge regarding new products. This will surely have an impact on the quality of life of many users, which is, Gayle says, ‘At the heart of
everything we do.’

Ceiling hoist installation by Wealden Rehab at the Chiltern School

Many thanks to Wealden Rehab for providing this guest post.

Mentoring Kids

Very few people know that I used to mentor and teach art to primary school children.

I’ve always found it easy to interact with kids. They say it how they see it – no agenda, no bullshit. And I have a very low tolerance for bullshit!

I’d happily take on a room full of kids over a room full of adults, any day!

I mentored one particular lad for about 18 months. He had just turned 8 when I first met him. He came from a deprived area, one of four siblings, his dad was in prison and his mum…well, let’s just say she wasn’t as conscientious as she should or could have been.

Later down the line, his 12 year-old sister accused one of the younger male teachers of indecent assault. Blimey, I remember that day vividly!

The lad, (let’s call him Bob!), was a lovely kid – really polite, always happy to see me (nice to be appreciated, eh).

Bob really struggled with reading and writing. To begin with, he refused to even try. All he wanted to do was play games. Time for negotiation – reading first, then we play games. He would often look up at me to read out the longer words for him. No mate, give it a try first. Break it down and work it out.

Admittedly, the school books were pretty crap, so I bought some more interesting ones to motivate him. He liked dinosaurs and pirates so that’s what we mostly read about.

I had studied art at university and he soon noticed that I could draw. So from then on, every session – “draw me a dinosaur!”, “draw me a pirate!”

Flipping heck, kid! How about you draw me a dinosaur!

In all honesty, I didn’t mind. It was nice to see him enthusiastic about something.

Despite my very obvious disability, in all that time, Bob never once questioned it – not that I would have minded if he did. From the get-go, I was just Caz the mentor.

He questioned everything else, mind you!!

~ How old are you?
~ What do you do?
~ Are you married?
~ Do you have kids?
~ Why not?
~ Where do you live?
~ Who do you live with?
~ Can I see your ID? (Yes, I showed him my ID to which he responded, “THAT’S NOT YOU!”)
~ What’s your real hair colour?
~ Can you dye your hair so I can see it, please??

NO, KID!!

I miss Bob. Happy days.

Walking vs Wheelchair: Accepting the Need for a Wheelchair

I was recently invited to write a guest post for the lovely SimplyEmma.

You can view my post for Emma here.


I’ve noticed a lot of discussion, within Facebook groups, around the topic of walking versus the use of a wheelchair.

Many disabled people gradually lose the ability to walk over a period of time. Often it occurs in stages: from independent mobility, to the need for walking sticks, then a frame and finally a wheelchair.

I appreciate that for the individuals affected, it is an incredibly difficult decision to make. Do I continue to walk for as long as possible, despite the struggle and restraints? Or, do I resign myself to the confines of a wheelchair?

I have noticed, from comments on social media, that this is how some view wheelchairs: objects of confinement and restriction.

On the contrary, I see my wheelchair as an essential mobility aid, removing the limitations I faced when walking for only short durations. The powered chair I now use offers me freedom and independence.

Obviously, your condition and individual circumstances determine whether or not you have the option to continue walking.

Personally, I never had a choice. I have Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy and lost the ability to walk quite abruptly at the age of 10. Not that I could walk very well or very far up to that point.

Nevertheless, the choice was taken from me. I had reached a stage where I literally couldn’t support my own weight. Grit and determination played no part. And so, I went from walking minimal distances whilst wearing leg splints, to using a manual wheelchair that I couldn’t self propel due to a lack of strength and joint contractures. Sticks and frames were of no use to me whatsoever.

It was a difficult transition, of course. But not totally unexpected. As a child, I was offered little assurance of how my condition would progress. Doctors simply didn’t know. They couldn’t tell me if I would maintain my ability to walk or not. It was a case of, wait and see; roll with the punches. So that’s what I did.

To be honest, I was to a large extent relieved to be using a wheelchair, despite the fact I was dependant on others to manoeuvre me around. Even just a few small steps was a huge feat and physically laborious. That in itself was disabling me.

Committing to a wheelchair full time meant that I was free to roam with my peers. Kids at school used to squabble over whose turn it was to push me around. I was no longer exhausted, battling to stay on my feet or falling over and injuring myself. Being non-ambulant, I no longer had to wear those unsightly leg splints, which pleased me no end!

I had recently started middle school and, within a matter of a few weeks, I found myself completely unable to weight-bear.

However, less than twelve-months later, I was fortunate enough to benefit from my first powered wheelchair. I can’t emphasise enough how much of a difference this made to my life.

I could zip around at break times with friends, I could take myself wherever I wanted to go without the need for assistance, and I could venture into the local countryside. I was no longer confined!

It’s been eighteen years since I took my last footstep. And, I can honestly say I don’t miss walking. Naturally, I wish I could stand, walk and run ‘normally’. But I would never trade my wheelchair for my old leg splints, the bumps and bruises from falling so often, and the constant exertion to achieve a few small steps.

Not that I have a choice.