Dating with a disability is rough. Especially when the disability is not always outwardly obvious. I can get away with faking it for quite some time.
I am a master.
I know which restaurants are stairless. Which ones have higher chairs (the easier to get out of). Which parking spots to use so that the man can walk me to my car without me having to step off of a too-high curb. I've learned how to politely decline dates that involve any activity more than a casual stroll where I could blame my snail's pace on wanting to breathe in a little more salty air.
The longest I've gone before revealing my "truth" is seven weeks. Yes, I dated a man--saw him two to three times per week even--for seven weeks before my grand confession. In my mind, this "truth" was a fatal flaw. The only reason I was unlovable. We all have these. In those recesses where we feel the most shame.
I would have kept the ruse up but I finally had to tell him because I fell.
And when I fall, there is no springing back to my feet. I've always marveled at the able-bodied person's ability to do that. Not I. I have to crawl to a chair or a curb or a tree stump (whatever raised surface I can find). I then have to lean my body weight on that platform and inch my legs into standing position. If there is no raised surface? I shudder to think. I used to be able to do a sort of downward-dog in reverse and make my way to my feet, but time has stolen that gift.
And so, Mr. Seven Weeks saw what I deemed my ugliest scar. And, I'm sad to say that things were never the same after that. Although, I think it was my lying by withholding the whole truth that really bothered him and not the Muscular Dystrophy itself.
I have online dated off and on for the past ten years. It's an interesting business, this presenting yourself for a world of strangers to browse your profile in some modern-day-dating-produce-stand. I'll take that one. Oh, wait, that one looks nicer.
People put their best face forward on these sites. Literally. Choosing the best picture--or in some odd cases, the creepiest--as their profile picture and writing about how they want to save the starving children and would do anything for their grandma.
In my past, I did the same, painting the best possible picture of myself. I posted only the pictures I'd retouched. I included only information that made me sound sassier and more worldly than I actually am. I did not include any mention of my disability, hoping to hypnotize the guy with my irresistible charm and then drop "the bomb" when he was so entangled in my beautiful snare that he wouldn't even blink twice at the mention of Muscular Dystrophy. Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
I'm both sorry and happy to say that this furtive plan never worked.
On these dates, I spent so much time avoiding the big reveal that I never truly got to be myself with any of these men. During dinners, I worried about where he would want to go next. About the curb access and chair height there. I worried about whether or not he drove a lifted truck that I wouldn't be able to climb into. And about what would happen if he invited me over and he lived on the second floor.
And so the relationships would end because the guy felt bored and I felt disconnected.
These times left me disenchanted with the whole love-thing. I have to admit, I was more than a little bitter. I always blamed my singlehood on not having met the right man. But what I failed to see was that I was never the right woman because I was never happy being my whole self. I felt like, in order to be loved, I had to compartmentalize the part of me that I deemed "dirty" and "unlovable". I had to leave it off of my profile, if you will.
After taking almost a year off from the online dating scene, I recently rejoined it. And this time I'm airing my "dirty laundry" right from the start. It's right there--in the first paragraph of my "About Me" profile. And you know what? I'm getting a lot of attention. And you know what's even better than that? When I go on dates with these men, I finally get to be in the moment, as my broken and beautiful whole self, instead of living in the What-Ifs.
That, my friends, is freedom.
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