artificial insemination syringe
It’s the middle of a weekday, the sun is shining brightly, and I’m gliding through my home in my favorite robe. You might expect a thirty-nine-year-old mom who works remotely to be dressed in chic loungewear or stylish jeans and a tee, yet here I am, looking as if I just woke up.
While assisting my preschooler in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My bare face, lack of accessories, and the coziest attire made me feel tired and even a bit pitiful. Why can’t I pull myself together? A quick application of mascara and some matching clothes would do wonders. I was sliding down the slippery slope of internalized ableism — a much more significant issue than my outward appearance.
For over fifteen years, I’ve been navigating life with chronic illness. An autoimmune disorder takes its toll, inching away at my physical and mental well-being day by day. Yes, we who live with chronic conditions are resilient, but it’s not by choice; our survival hinges on managing our diseases or facing dire consequences. There’s little room for ambiguity in our situations.
As if managing type 1 diabetes wasn’t enough, four summers ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After a mastectomy, my healing journey began, only to be interrupted this past January by a recurrence. Following two surgeries, I’m currently undergoing chemotherapy and preparing for radiation.
I absolutely deserve to roam in my robe. It’s soft and comforting amidst the discomfort of my situation. My hair is falling out, and I have a flat chest adorned with scars. I deal with acne and rashes from chemotherapy, and I’m perpetually tired—no amount of caffeine can fix that. My body is battling cancer, and the side effects are harsh.
Part of my struggle comes from the idealized images of healthy moms I see on social media. They redecorate their homes, run marathons, and shuttle their kids to sports events, all while sipping coffee and looking fabulous. I feel a sense of obligation to be like them, but I can barely muster the energy to move around my house.
Internalized ableism pushes me to believe I should just toughen up, maintain a positive outlook, and be stronger. The well-meaning but misguided advice from others often suggests that I need to be more resilient, as if overcoming my challenges is merely a matter of willpower. The phrase “get well soon” resonates painfully, implying that recovery is solely within my grasp.
Even without scrolling through social media, the “should be” thoughts plague me. I should be running errands, working, helping my kids, exercising, or cleaning the house. Instead, I find myself slowly moving from room to room in my robe.
I constantly remind myself to challenge these internalized messages. Chemotherapy is a significant ordeal, one that brings a slew of unpleasant side effects as poison indiscriminately attacks both healthy and cancerous cells. It’s a package deal; I can’t reap the benefits without enduring the downsides. I have every right to don my cozy robe, no matter the hour, and find solace in it during this tumultuous time.
I also recognize that this phase of my life isn’t everlasting. In a few weeks, chemotherapy will no longer be part of my routine. Radiation is on the horizon, but thankfully, its side effects are less severe than those of chemotherapy. If I still find comfort in my robe, sans makeup and jewelry, then so be it.
The focus should be on healing, not pushing myself to the brink. Healing requires time, patience, and self-encouragement. I used to pride myself on how much I could accomplish daily, but now, some days, simply showering or loading the dishwasher feels like a monumental achievement.
I’m learning to conserve my energy and celebrate small victories. I’ve become clear about what comforts me versus what drains me. When asked how I’m doing, I rarely respond with “fine”—because I’m seldom fine. Most days, I either feel okay, considering my circumstances, or I’m struggling to complete even the smallest tasks.
Navigating a health battle is challenging enough, but those of us who are sick must also contend with internalized ableism. This pervasive mindset bombards us with messages of inadequacy from society, which we often internalize, creating a cycle of self-doubt. Each day, I have a choice: to accept or reject these toxic beliefs. It can be easier to accept them, but it doesn’t help me heal. My journey is complex, but it’s far from impossible. Internalized ableism, be gone.
For more insights on navigating health challenges, you can check out this other blog post.