Isn’t She Brave? | Sympathy and Disability
It was a Friday, my day off. Lovely. I had just been for a pub lunch with my friend. I’d eaten way too much and had a pint of coke so I was feeling a little bit giddy. On our way back I was laughing at everything. You know one of those moods.
The sun is shining and it’s not raining so I’m buzzing. On our short journey back we see a local man I recognise. I wave and he beckons me over. Love a good chat as we know. We have a chat about life, I say what I’ve been up to and we do the usual glad you’re well chat. None of this chat was negative just the usual talk.
Then he looks to my friend “isn’t she brave”
here we go again…
I’m going to call this man Bruce to keep his identity secret.
I burst out laughing.
I wondered what he meant by brave. He doesn’t know me. All he sees is a little person in a chair having a laugh. I have to laugh this off because he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know I have two jobs, lots of friends and a great social life. He doesn’t really get my sense of humour and that I’m just me.
If I knew him better I would tell him that actually it’s not ok to talk about me when I’m present as if I’m not there. To take pity on me when I’m really happy and to put his negative views of disability toward me on my day off. Because I get these comments a lot and it takes a lot to brush away each day and keep doing what you’re doing. I don’t want sympathy for having a good day.
The only brave thing about me was trying to conquer Fish and Chips AND cheesecake at lunch (I failed but it was great).
Here’s my Fish and Chips I bravely ate…
I know, where’s my medal ey?
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